It may strike the reader as curious that I took Kim with me, but I knew he could be of tremendous use to me in Constantinople. In addition to speaking his Kaffir dialects, he knew Arabic. Any negro boy who could speak Arabic could learn almost anything in Constantinople, which abounds in black men of all tribes and nationalities. Among the servants of every household, Kim would find many compatriots from whom he could get information, impossible for any European to obtain.

After an uneventful trip to Constantinople, I took preliminary quarters in the Brasserie Kor, a quiet, second-rate hostelry on the Rue Osmanly. I went to an unpretentious place to avoid attracting any particular attention. Had I put up at an expensive hotel there would immediate]y bave been queries about me. Who is this stranger? He seems to have money. If it isn't his money, whose money is he spending? It is not well to invite a Turk's suspicion. As I was totally unacquainted with Constantinople, I used the first week for getting familiar with the geography of the city. It was necessary that I learn the location of the various legations and the residences of high court officials. The next week I found lodgings in the very center of the district of court residences and began to seek out the haunts and places of rendezvous of demi-mondaines, favorites and hangers-on of the Turkish officials. On the second day of my arrival, I had presented my credentials and letters at the German Pera Hospital, and had my name entered as a visiting honorary surgeon. Every day thereafter, rain or shine, I made it a point to spend some time at these hospitals, and it was well that I did. Once a day and often twice I would sign the book at the hospital and I believe that the signature Dr. Franz von Graver appears on the record books of the Pera and German Hospitals in Constantinople, at least one hundred times. Was I not fulfilling my duties as a physician doing research work?

I finally located myself in the residential district of Pera where I rented a small residence, typical of the well-to-do Turk of the middle class and quite in keeping with my assumed character. An elaborate residence would have aroused immediate suspicion, for there is no country on earth where curiosity and suspicion is so easily roused as in Turkey. Kipling, who knows the East so well, portrayed Port Said as the dwelling place of concentrated wickedness. He is right, but I do not think he has ever visited Stamboul. In Stamboul there is with no exception the most conglomerate mixture of nondescript nationalities on the face of the earth. Not only are all nationalities represented but breeds of men that defy all pathological research, hideous in their conglomerate intermixtures. If an Albanian bandit, himself a mixture of Greek and Nubian mulatto, has issue by an Arab woman with French blood—find the genealogy. Can you imagine a more difficult field of operations for an Occidental and a stranger?

In the course of my preliminary observations, I found Constantinople to be a city of sharp contrasts. The quarters inhabited by your true Ottoman are characteristically clean and comfortable. The remainder of the city except foreign quarters is intolerably dirty. With true Oriental tolerance, the Turk lets things gang their ain gait. The casual observer and traveler always confounds the Turk with the rest of the nondescript mass of humanity that swarms in Constantinople. That is a crass mistake. Your true descendant of Ossman is a clean, dignified, easy-going gentleman with a deep philosophical strain in his make-up, contaminated by hundreds of years of contact—not association, for your true Turk does not associate—with the outcast Mischling of southern Europe and Asia Minor.

My mission was indeed a difficult one and only by tedious, painstaking work, observing the life of the city and its character, I succeeded in isolating the individual who gave me the key to the circumventuous political life and the government of Constantinople. It took me a full month of night work to become familiar with the innumerable demi-mondaines. They were of French, Russian and Circassian birth and extraction, and were identified with the various Turkish court officials from the Grand Vizier down to an officer in the Ganitsharies. This preliminary work is always exhausting, but it is so necessary on a mission of this kind. One blunder, one step in the dark, and you are gone. One spends months without any tangible results, often going on the wrong track. One has to be excruciatingly circumspect in one's inquiries. To use a hunter's expression, there is no quarry so wary, sharp-sighted and keen at smelling the wind as a political demi-mondaine.

In this work Kim was of inestimable value to me. In fact, without him I would not have succeeded at all. All the households kept by the Turkish officials and their favorites swarm with negroes of the various types. A white man has not the slightest chance of finding the way into their confidences. The universal golden key does not unloose tongues in such cases in the Orient. But Kim as a member of the once mighty Zulu nation (he was really a descendant of a prince of the house of Dingnan) was able, through a mysterious free masonry still existing among colored races the world over, to obtain most valuable information.

My method of campaign was to ascertain the name of one of the favorites of the Turkish officials, to locate her residence and then put Kim to work. Finally locating one of these women, I would manage to learn her name and where she lived. Then it was time for Kim.

"Kim," I said, "I want you to find out who comes to see her, whether it is always the same official and if so, how frequently. I want you to learn everything you can about any letters she may receive. I want to know just where she gets her money from, if she has any outside sources of revenue, other than in Constantinople. I want every scrap of any kind of information about her."

And Kim would go his way, seek out the servants in that household and he would generally come back with all this information.

Now I noticed that a certain Mlle. Balniaux was very much in the company of Abdulla, who was at that time the influential adviser of the Grand Vizier. It was known in Berlin that the Grand Vizier had lately become very deaf and antagonistic to German influence. The Wilhelmstrasse knew that France and Russia were at work, but were in the dark as to the channels. Therefore I sent Kim to ascertain if Mlle. Balniaux was visited by Abdulla at her private residence. I told him to learn the exact hour of arrival in each instance and the length of the visits. The bare fact that Abdulla might be seen in her company in public bore no particular significance. These women are always accompanied by a whole retinue of officers and young Turkish noblemen. It is part of their work. Their method of procedure is to bewitch young officers and officials, attach them to their person, make them spend huge sums of money and then play their card. I noticed that the money Turkish officers squandered on these women compared to their pay and income was tremendous. They think nothing of going ahead blindly and buying the most expensive jewels; I have seen them even buy motorcars. The result is not difficult to forecast. The young officer soon finds himself head over heels in debt. Two courses are open to him. Either he must pay the debt or be transferred to some dreary interior post, and a Turk who has been in the gay life of Constantinople would rather commit suicide than go to any inland garrison. Those women then pay the debts, exacting state secrets as the price of their timely assistance.

Abdulla, therefore, might only be one of these hangers-on. Kim established connections with Mlle. Balniaux's household and soon I had the required information. He brought me letters and scraps of paper that Mlle. Balniaux's dark skinned servants had stolen for him. He supplemented this by conversations that the servants had overheard and told to Kim. All this showed me that more by good luck I had stumbled upon the hotbed of the prime mover of the whole intrigue, Mlle. Balniaux. There was not the slightest hope of intimidating or buying over this particular lady's allegiance. I had to learn exactly who was subsidizing her machinations and there was no possibility of obtaining the clew from her.

I must find the accessible person among her intimate friends. From time to time I had seen her with a pretty little dark-haired girl who danced in the Folies Arabic. I learned her name was Cecelia Coursan. I began to frequent the Folies, a kind of cabaret crowded every night with Turkish officers. Admiration was no longer a delight to her and she accepted it with a wooden smile.

The Folies is quite dissimilar from its European or American prototypes, by reason of its Oriental atmosphere. Most of the year round it is conducted in the open. Picture a large court, the center of which is covered with a priceless Smyrna carpet. Seated around on little divans and silk cushions are the principal native performers, Neulah girls wearing the teasing Yamashk, covering half their faces although the rest of their figures are visible through gauzy Damascene shawls. The European performers, dressed in the latest and most startling Paris creations, flirt and flitter among the audience—seated round on dainty marble-topped bamboo tables, inhaling, in the case of Madame, a dainty "Regie," or if Bey or Effendi, a Tshibuk or Narghile, gravely drawing on the amber mouthpiece and slowly exhaling the perfumed smoke. The gorgeous officers' uniforms, mostly a vivid red, blue and gold; the picturesque flowing robes and burnouses, with here and there a six-foot stalwart silk trousered Albanian with gold and silver inlaid daggers and pistols thrust in his sash, make a picture reminding one of the Sheherezade.

Observing that everybody was bent on spoiling this popular little houri by emphatic admiration, I made myself conspicuous by a peculiarly British stony indifference. Nor was I wrong in my tactics. The piqued little dancer was not to be ignored.

One night she approached my table and challenged me in French, at which I gave a noncommittal smile. I pretended that I did not know French. Then she tried indifferent German and I looked at her with puzzled blankness. Finally she spoke to me in a piquant English and I answered. She spoke English extremely well and it developed that she had been a choriphyée at the London Empire. I let the acquaintance grow leisurely. One night I found her in a fit of despondency, over a quarrel with her friend, Mlle. Balniaux. My subterfuge getting effective, I was just beginning to ply her with questions when a Turkish officer full of cognac wandered by and dropped a remark to her in French. It went against the grain for those swine to cast innuendoes to a white woman and forgetting my play acting, I told him his comments were uncalled for and advised him to draw in his horns a bit. After a little bluster to which I angrily replied in French, he disappeared, and, as I sat down at the table, Cecelia was looking at me with a queer smile.

"I thought you did not understand French," she said. "I observe you have a pretty good Parisian accent." Then the full significance of my blunder came to me and I felt like the classic capricornus, meaning goat. She said she was tired of the Folies that night and suggested a drive. I called a careta and as we were driving down the boulevard I said to her:

"Is this existence always pleasant? Is it not as it was with that officer, often unendurable?"

She replied in a bantering tone, only half hiding a hurt undernote.

"I'm getting used to it," she said. "A Turkish pig is no worse than an English cad or a German boor."

The typical, philandering Broadway or Bond Street masher makes the physiological mistake of undervaluing the innate sense of decency inherent in every woman. Gentle courtesy and manners impress a courtesan by reason of the novelty. The inverse is often useful in dealing with a pampered society woman.

Much to the annoyance of the Turkish officers, I often thereafter took the pretty Cecelia away from the Folies, after her performance, for a drive, and I began to compare her small confidences with certain bits of information that Kim had given me. I knew, or I could pretty well guess, that she was not staying in Constantinople, enduring the insults of those Turkish officers, simply for the money she could earn as a dancer. Then I made my second dramatic play for confidence. I suddenly stopped going to the Folies. I suppose it was rather lonesome in Constantinople and a man who was not a Turk was a novelty.

One afternoon she sent for me and I was confronted with a human situation which I must in this narrative of Secret Service operations treat as impersonal though it is full of pathetic implications. I found her with her luggage packed.

"Why haven't you come to the Folies lately?" she demanded with a pretty air of bossing the situation.

I told her my work at the hospital had made heavy inroads upon my time.

"Oh!" she began, tapping a little boot impatiently on the floor; after a pause, "I have to leave for Paris. . . . Well?"

"That is most unfortunate."

"Is that all?"

"To say anything more would only be painful, Machere Cecelia."

"But there is no need of our being blue. Why not make the occasion a happy one? Why not come along to Paris?"

She looked up at me with an impudent little smile.

"My dear little girl," I said, "I am no man of means and I cannot go gadding about Europe. Besides, I have my work here. I will be busy at the hospital for another month."

That seemed to displease her. She looked at me carefully, unconsciously her manner changed. She became somewhat appraising. It seemed as though a different woman was speaking,

"Franz," she said, "a man like you is wasting his time pottering around a hospital with your evident knowledge of the world and people. With your education and travels you ought to be very valuable to certin men back in Paris."

I felt what was coming, but I asked her to explain. She did so and from her I received a tentative offer to enter the French Secret Service. I had difficulty in mastering the muscles of my face to keep from betraying the laughter that was almost ready to break out. Very gravely I asked her to tell me more about Secret Service. Proudly, Cecelia showed me letters that she had received from Paris. From the addresses and the signatures I thus learned the individuals in direct control of the system that was undermining German influence by using demi-mondaines such as Mlle. Balniaux. I gathered that Cecelia Coursan was only a go-between for Mlle. Balniaux in making her reports to the French government. I asked her some more questions, exclaiming that her proposal interested me tremendously.

I pretended to be particularly anxious as to what pay I would receive were I to come to an understanding with "her friend in Paris." She assured me it was liberal and urged me to hasten to Paris. I told her that as soon as I finished my work at the hospitals I would do so. She then asked me to take charge of her mail and to forward any letters that might come for her. I did—to the Wilhelmstrasse.

That incident is one of those in my Secret Service work of which I am not entirely proud. Of course from my viewpoint Cecelia Coursan was not a woman, she was simply the paid agent of another government and it was a case of her wits against mine; at least with this sophistry I quieted my doubts.

Three years later I found the same little woman in an obscure cafe in Antwerp. She was no longer in the French Service. I concluded that her blunder in Constantinople had "broken" her, for she seemed to have gone down the ladder. She did not recognize me, but as she seemed to be in straitened circumstances, I found a way to assist her to at least three months' board and lodging by sending her anonymously 500 francs. It was conscience money.

When I had thus located and coupled up the chiefs of the French Secret Service with the situation in Constantinople, I began quietly to cultivate the acquaintance of the average Turkish officer. I had to learn the tendency of their thoughts. I met officers and merchants, administrators and students. From them all I learned that they were sick of the intrigues and wire-pulling of the harems. I learned of the discontent of the Young Turk party. I gathered that the time was ripe for an overturning of the government. In my report I made a correct forecast of the trend of affairs. I drew attention to Enver Bey, who was even then considered clever, even dangerous, by the Grand Vizier. As a most aggressive Young Turk, they had sent him to an obscure post in Thessalonia, but upon sounding out the younger officers I found that he was still regarded highly. Without doubt my reports in addition to the reports made by von der Golz, the accredited German instructor of the Turkish Army, helped to shape the policy of the German Foreign Office. I learned beyond all doubt that the Sultan Abdul Hamid was nothing but a figurehead, that the Grand Vizier, bought by Russian and French gold, was running the government in a way that was antagonistic to German influences and that the swarms of demi-mondaines in French and Russian pay were corrupting the higher Turkish officials to their cause. All these things I included in my report and after four months I was back in Berlin.

To better understand the diplomatic significance of this mission, I shall recast the political situation. The modern German policy in the European Orient, inaugurated by Bismarck as a defense and check against Russia, has always been keen on the friendship and good will of the Turk for reasons which will be obvious enough later. During the Caprivi Chancellorship, the relation between the two empires became rather lax. Wilhelm II with his keen farsightedness set about to remedy this. In his usual spectacular, but in most cases efficient, manner, he went with his royal consort in state to Palestine, calling first on the Sultan. The tremendously enthusiastic reception that the Moslem countries accorded him is a matter of contemporary history. This was really a master stroke of diplomacy although sharply criticised at the time.

Until the Kaiser's visit, France, with more or less right, considered herself protector general of all Mohammedans. From now on this began to change. The immediate result of the Emperor's visit was a close understanding between the Wilhelmstrasse and the Sublime Porte. The buying of vast quantities of guns, ammunition, and the influx of Prussian officers and drilling instructions, besides huge orders of all sorts of German goods was significant.

The always uneasy jealousy of France and Russia was at once aroused, England, in this instance, not taking any decided stand in affairs. England had spent many lives and much money, notably in the Crimean War, to keep Russia out of Turkey and was averse to encouraging Russo-French influences at the Sublime Porte. How far England would like either Germany or France to acquire control of the Dardanelles remains to be seen. With Russia, it has been bloody wars and grim struggles since the days of Catherine, misnamed the Great, to gaincontrol of the Dardanelles. Unceasing intrigues have been and are still going on in Stamboul. Russia's influence has been steadily undermined by Germany, in Turkey and Asia Minor. Since the disastrous campaign against Japan, Russia has made strenuous efforts to recoup her sphere of influence through her coalition of the principal Balkan States. Of this you will learn later.

Germany, always including Austria (the external policy of both countries on all these questions is synonymous), found French-Russian influences at work. Through their marvelous, efficient Intelligence System, Germany soon learned who were the prime movers and puppets; in this instance the Grand Vizier and the Seraglio officers; the then sultan, Abdul Hammid, "The Damned," being completely cowed and under the thumb of his Grand Vizier, could not be relied on for a moment. After my mission they knew in Germany that the time was ripe for a radical change, and they engineered it. Result: A revolution and the Young Turks in power, with Enver Bey, Tuofick Pasha, Ibrahim Mander Bey and similar men, with German training and learning, directing affairs. Germany regained complete sway and is to-day easily the most powerful influence in Turkey. What significance this has on the general bearing of European politics, I shall discuss in a later chapter.

Chapter V. The Grand Duke's Letter

After a number of more or less strenuous missions, I felt thoroughly run down. During the Boer War I had been shot through the left lung and now I began to experience trouble. A series of hemorrhages brought about by unchecked cold and exposure, led me to consult Professor Bayer, the noted specialist in Berlin. He advised me to get away from everything for a month at least, recommending the pine ozone.

There is no lack of pine forests in Germany or Norway; and I had plenty of acquaintances in both countries. To any one of them I would have been welcome, but this would have entailed social obligations and I wanted to be absolutely alone. There were but two of my friends at whose places I could do exactly as I wished, where man and beast knew me. One, whose place was in the Pushta, Hungary, was probably away on a hunting trip and Hungary was too remote. The other, a schoolmate of mine, lived near Furstenwalde, about fifty-eight kilometers from Berlin. Furstenwalde, I decided, was an ideal spot, near Berlin, yet isolated enough and in the heart of one of the largest of the well-cared-for Prussian domain forests. So Ehrenkrug, the seat of the Koenigliche Ober Forsterei and the family seat of the Freiherren von Ehrenkrug, was the place I selected.

I had enjoyed three weeks of rest and quietness, doing some desultory fishing and shooting but spending most of my time in a hammock slung under some of the giant Fichten, when my sylvan idyl was disturbed by the red-faced, stub-nosed post boy of the Forsterei.

He brought me a letter from Graf Wedel, an astonishing missive.

Dear Graves:

I hope your health has improved sufficiently for you to attend to this matter. Be pleased to understand that this is by no means an official command. However, I need not point out to you the advantages, accruing to you through your assistance in the case. The matter briefly is this. I have been approached by the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerein to assist him in the solving of a rather delicate private affair. It is outside the usual routine but we find it advisable to comply. The mission is delicate and leads into England, for which reasons I have decided to let you undertake the affair if willing. In case of acceptance, all necessary leave of absence will be arranged. This is not a command but let me again point out the advisability of your showing compliance.

Truly yours, V. Wedel.

Three weeks in the pine forests had been better than all the physicians in Berlin. Besides, I was tired of the monotonous country life and was hungry for the fleshpots of Egypt. Between the lines of Wedel's letter I could read the opportunities for earning a handsome fee. I wrote Wedel that I had no objections, providing the mission was something I could accomplish, for I was still in the dark as to its nature. I knew that intruding into the private affairs of ducal and princely houses is often a most unthankful business. I have ever found it more satisfactory and less nerve racking to undertake a mission into some foreign country than to become involved with some petty local affair of royalty. For some such affair I judged to be the dilemma of the house of Mecklenburg-Schwerein.

Within two days there came another communication from Wedel asking me to be at Mecklenburg-Schwerein on a certain immediate day. Taking leave of my friends, and thanking them for their hospitality, I left for Schwerein. Upon my arrival at the seat of the dukedom I was met by a quiet landau of the Grand Ducal stables. Two flunkies in the Grand Duke's livery took my luggage, escorted me to the carriage and I was driven up to the old castle. The landau took me to a side entrance and I was promptly shown into an austere and unpretentious chamber. Scarcely had I entered when a quiet, elderly, benevolent-looking gentleman dressed in a shooting jacket appeared in another doorway, evidently much perturbed. I at once recognized him as the old Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerein. He appraised me for fully a minute; then as if to himself he said:

"You're only a boy, but I suppose they know," shaking his great gray head. "Strange times. Strange times." Then suddenly realizing his inhospitality, he urged me to be seated. "Take a seat, take a seat."

Unlike the gentlemen of the Wilhelmstrasse, he did not plunge immediately into the subject at hand. He began a chat with me about purely personal affairs. Finally the conversation drifting around to the cause of my visit, he said:

"Can you fulfill this mission?"

I told him I could not say until I had learned what it was. I requested that he give me the privilege of refusal should I find myself unable to negotiate it successfully. He agreed that it was fair and when he looked at me again he seemed to suggest that he did not believe me so young after all.

"There's rather an unhappy and most inconvenient entanglement in my household," he began. "My nephew, the young Grand Duke, is tangled up and ensnarled with a certain lady in England whom he wishes to marry. It is unfortunate that she is of too high a social status to be entirely ignored or roughly bought off. Still, she is not eligible for admission into our house. For more than political reasons, it is impossible that she enter into an alliance with us." His eyes flashed. "This lady has lately threatened to make trouble through my persistent refusal to countenance her desired relationship." He frowned. "She has in her possession compromising letters and documents which my nephew was foolish enough to give her. These must be returned to my hands. Monetary questions need not be considered for a moment. Pressure and influence have been tried on both my nephew and the lady. But of no avail. The means I leave to you. But force and publicity must at all cost be avoided. I can give you very little help as to procedure and information. What do you think of the chances?"

It has ever been my way to he conservative in making promises and I said:

"I hope your Highness will pardon me, but I find it often undesirable to voice my thoughts until I have reached a certain stage of my investigations."

This appeared to impress him and he rose saying:

"I am entirely in your hands. Communicate direct with my chamberlain, or if necessary to use cable, I shall arrange with your chief in Berlin for forwarding facilities. Be good enough to wait and I shall send you my secretary." Slapping me on the shoulder, "You'll not regret it, helping us out of this quandary."

Neither did I. The Grand Duke stalked out. A flunky appeared and conducted me to a private little dining-room where cold game and wine were served and at the end of which the secretary came in and handed me an envelope with the Grand Duke's compliments and a request to start at once on my mission. Assuring him I would be on the road that same night, I returned to Berlin. I got Stammer of the Wilhelmstrasse on the telephone and requested a preliminary two months' leave of absence. I then caught the Hook of Holland Express en route for London.

Upon opening the Grand Duke's letter I had found it contained three bank notes of 1000 marks each and a draft for 500 pounds on the English, Scottish and Colonial Bank, with a note saying that any future request would be honored at three days' notice to the same bank. Thus I would have all the money I wanted in London.

On the way over, I followed my usual custom and considered the situation in detail. The lady in question was in society and the first thing to do was to try to get in touch with the little circle or clique in which she moved. This might have been difficult in any other city but London. But a man of appearance, culture and money, setting his stage right, can with tact and persistence force an entry into any clique of London society.

The only thing I had to worry about was a setting of my stage. I was undecided about it. One often has to leave things to circumstances, being guided by any momentary points that may arise. My first task was to create an impression, something that would get people talking about me. I did not want to show any sensational parvenuism; London is not impressed by that.

Rather, I must become known for some eccentricity that would arouse legitimate curiosity. Your Britisher, the women included, are always interested in a man of travel, a hunter, a desultory globe-trotter; and nothing attracts the English mind so quickly as a well-bred eccentricity in manner or habit. The broad lines of my plan determined upon, I left the precise setting of the stage until the last minute.

I quartered myself at first at the Russel Square Hotel, in a few days transferring to the patrician Langham. I began by making tentative inquiries. I purchased all society papers which I read from cover to cover, and then carefully feeling my way put further questions that would locate the set in which my lady was a central figure. From acquaintances I made around the hotel, from the society reporters of newspapers, I began to get little scraps of information. Fortunately it was the season in London and everybody was coming into town. I soon knew who the Lady's intimates were and their favorite rendezvous. The next step was to become familiar with the personality of the lady and to gain some idea as to her habits, her likes and dislikes. I heard that the lady was in the habit of going horseback riding in Hyde Park. Every day I made it my business to take a two-hour canter along the bridle path. My patience was rewarded on the fifth morning, for I saw her galloping by with a party of friends.

The next morning I was on the bridle path at the same hour. Finally she came galloping along with the same group, and after they had almost gone from sight, I galloped after them. I found out where they kept their horses and after they had dismounted I sauntered up to the stable and made inquiries. I learned that they always went out at the same time of day. Thereafter I made it my business to pass the lady on the bridle path day after day. I pride myself on few things, but my horsemanship is one of them. Many a hard tussle and bleeding nose I got riding Brumbies across the wild tracks of Australia. I also learned a trick or two among my Tuareg friends which I exhibited for the lady's benefit on various occasions. I did not hope to gain an introduction, but only to attract attention and familiarize her party with my appearance, applying one of the test points of human psychology. I employed the theory of the subconscious attraction of an often-seen, though unknown face.

I soon ascertained that my lady and her friends followed all the whims of London society. One in particular interested me. They were in the habit of frequenting Carlton Terrace between three and four every afternoon and eating strawberries. I also went to eat strawberries.

Carlton Terrace during the strawberry season is an exquisitely colored fashion plate of life's butterflies and drones. This throng of fashion and beauty, marked with its air of distinction carelessly abandoned to pleasure, ever murmuring pleasant nothings and tossing light persiflage from table to table, is truly an interesting study of the lighter sides of life. One sits on a magnificent markee-covered, glass-enclosed terrace, overlooking the Thames with its ever-changing scenes of fussy tugs and squat barges.

At Carlton Terrace one pays well for the subtleties of eating. By courteous consideration of the waitresses I managed to secure a much-coveted outside corner table, near to the one reserved for the lady and her party. I always made it a point to withhold my entrance until the lady was in the terrace; then I would stroll in alone, take a seat alone, and show a desire to be alone. They have a very clever way of serving strawberries at the Carlton. A vine, growing from ten to twelve large luscious berries is brought on in a silver pot. It is the acme of luxury. You pick the fresh berries from the vine on your table, the Terrace supplies quantities of cream, and you pay half a sovereign—$2.50—for a dish of strawberries. One dish is enough for the average customer. Every afternoon I ordered five!

Day after day I consumed in strawberries two sovereigns and a half—$12.50—of the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerein's money. Always tipping the girl a half sovereign which made my daily strawberry bill come up to three sovereigns ($15). For about ten days I did this, always at the same time, always being careful to make my entrance after the lady's party was seated, always ordering the same number of portions, always giving the girl the same tip. It wasn't long before I began to be observed. I soon saw that not only the attendants but the patrons of the Terrace were becoming interested in my foible. One day as I passed I heard someone say:

"Here comes the strawberry fiend."

I was satisfied. I knew it would be easy now to effect an entrance to the lady's set. I had been marked as something out of the usual in the restaurant which from three to four in the afternoon at that time of the year is the most fashionable in London. Now, a woman like my lady does not flirt. If you glance at her under favorable conditions, such as my strawberry "stunt" had created for me, she will return the glance. You both half smile and do not look at each other again that afternoon. That is not flirting. Splitting hairs, we shall call it psychic interest.

I continued my strawberry festival and one day a manager of Carlton Terrace told me that people were making inquiries about me. Several men had wanted to know who I was. Under questioning, he told me that one of the men was a member of the lady's set. It was easy to put together two and two. Obviously the inquiry had been inspired by her.

Meanwhile I had sent several communications to the Grand Duke, insisting that pressure be brought to bear upon his nephew and to keep him away from London; not even permitting him under penalty of stopping his allowance, to write the lady in the case until the Grand Duke gave his permission. By now, London had gradually filled and the season was at its height. I went the rounds of the theaters from Drury Lane to the Empire, and I visited the clubs. I found here men whom I had met previously and presently I rounded up two or three fellows with whom I had been fairly intimate at one time or another on hunting expeditions and at continental watering-places. I made them introduce me to different sets. Dexterous maneuvering obtained me invitations to afternoon teas and at-homes in the same circle frequented by my lady.

I was introduced to her at an afternoon reception. She was a typical outdoor Englishwoman. Not particularly handsome, hut possessing to the full the clearness of skin and eyes and strong virile health, that is the hereditary lien of Albion's daughters. Tall, willowy and strong, of free and independent manners and habits, she was the direct antithesis of the usual German woman. I reasoned that this was probably the reason of the young Duke's infatuation.

"How do you do, you wild Colonial boy. Still as fond of strawberries as ever?"

We both burst out laughing.

"So your ladyship observed and classified my little maneuvers."

"Of course," with a toss of her head.

Unforced and pleasant chatting followed. I could more and more understand the Grand Duke's infatuation; in fact, considered him quite a "deuced, lucky beggar."

From that day on I made it a point to be present whenever she attended public places, such as the theater, concerts or restaurants. Gradually and imperceptibly, by little services here and there, I won her confidence. There was an after-theater supper, in the Indian room of the Windsor, and I was invited. By this time people had come to know something about me. I was a globe-trotter, a man of leisure, interested as a hobby in research work in medicine. I discovered that her affair with the young Grand Duke was a fairly open secret in her set; also, that she was expecting him in London almost daily. Gradually I hinted that I knew the young Grand Duke. As I gained her confidence further, I invented amorous affairs for him and hinted to her about them. In this way I finally managed to induce her to talk. Subtly I instilled a vague resentment against him, which was accentuated by his non-appearance in London society up to now. His Highness having been kept away by his Serene Uncle, the serene one having been cautioned to do so by me.

Two months passed before I was invited to the lady's home in Mayfair and by that time, partly because I pretended to know the young Grand Duke, I was on a more intimate footing. I had learned that she had met him at a hunting party at the Earl of Crewes' shooting box in Shropshire. Later, she intimated that this was but their official meeting and that their acquaintance actually dated from a mountain trip she had taken to Switzerland, the universal playground of royalty traveling incog. I learned too that her heavy bridge gambling had cost her a lot of money.

The information that the lady was in debt did not come easily. To obtain it, I had to work on her maid. Whenever the occasion arose, I made it my business to tip the maid liberally. I contrived to do a number of little things for her. Knowing the lady to be out, I called at the house one day and while pretending to be waiting for my hostess, I put some leading questions to the maid. I learned that her mistress was pressed for money. That was an opening worth working on.

Thereafter I contrived to be present whenever there was a bridge party at the lady's. They are pretty high gamblers, those English society women, and I came to see that the lady was generally a heavy loser. It was my good fortune for her to lose to me one night. Now, it is the custom at these gatherings not to hand over cash; instead, the unlucky one pays with what corresponds to an "on demand note." I took her note that night and with others—the whereabouts of which I learned from the maid and which I indirectly purchased from the holders—I took all these to a notorious money-lender and made a deal with him. He was to take the notes and press the lady for payment, of course keeping my name out of it. It is obvious that, trying as I was to w in her confidence, I could not go myself and hold these obligations over her head. That same day the money-lender paid the lady a call. He paid her a good many other calls, harassing her, threatening legal action and driving her until she was almost to a state of nervous collapse. Well-placed sympathies soon made her talk and she burst out pettishly that she was in debt and that most of her acquaintances were in debt—nothing unusual in that set.

This was an opportune chance to be of material benefit to the lady. Seriously we talked over her affairs. I found them pretty well entangled. We discussed the young Grand Duke. I gradually persuaded her that there was no hope of a legitimate marriage with the house of Mecklenburg-Schwerein, but because of her association with the young Grand Duke and the fact that she had been betrothed to him, it was only right that the Duchy provide her with some means of assistance. The ice was perilously thin, for the lady is a high-spirited woman of ideals and I had to be careful to word my language so that it would not appear as though she were blackmailing. In justice to her, I believe that if she had taken that view of it she would have dropped the entire matter, and retired from society for the season rather than go through with my plan. Finally I said:

" Have you any means by which you could compel the ducal house to make adequate acknowledgments and redresses to you?"

After a long hesitation, she jumped up, swept from the room and returned presently with a handful of letters. I saw on some of them the Grand Duke's coat of arms. The young fool had been careless enough for that! She shook the letters in a temper and cried:

"I wonder what Franz's uncle would say to these? Why, I could compel him to marry me."

Here was the chance. The iron—in this case my lady's tempe—was hot. I suggested that we sit down and talk it over. As an introductory attack, to create the impression that I knew what I was talking about, I hinted that I was connected with a leading family in Germany and that I was in London incog. I approached the situation from the viewpoint that I was her friend, not a friend of the house of Mecklenburg-Schwerein, but that, by knowing them and their ways, I could be of great assistance to her.

"It is regrettable," I consoled; "but you have no chance for a legitimate, even a morganatic alliance with the young Grand Duke. I consider their entire attitude toward you utterly unfair. In view of your understanding with him, you are most certainly entitled to adequate recompense from his house. If you went into court you could obtain this on grounds of breach of promise, but I can understand your feelings. Such a step would only cast odium upon an old and noble family such as yours."

That seemed to her liking.

"But what can I do?" she said.

"In view of my friendship for you," I told her, "I would consider it an honor if you would permit me to act on your behalf. I think I can negotiate with the young Grand Duke's uncle and I promise that he will regard the matter in a fair light. I appreciate the extreme delicacy of the situation and you must observe the necessity of a man handling this affair."

She shook her head and tapped the letters nervously.

"No. It is intolerable," she said. "Not to be thought of."

I saw that I had to make it stronger. I thereupon invented the most ingenious lies it has ever been given me to tell. In about five minutes I had painted the young Grand Duke in such colors that the adventures of Don Juan were saintly compared to the escapades of his ducal highness.

"Why, consider it yourself," I said. "He was to be over here with you during the season. He has not come. You told me yourself that he has not even answered your letters. Well, that's all there is to it. Your ladyship, he and his house deserve any punishment that you can visit upon them."

The idea of punishment appealed where the other had failed. The outraged pride of woman, especially an Englishwoman, is a terrible thing. Soon after that I made haste to take my leave. At my quarters I wrote two letters to myself and signed the Grand Duke's name to them. In these I offered to pay her ladyship's debts. They were addressed to me and after allowing a reasonable time to elapse, I again went out to Mayfair and read them to her. She was now cold and hard and gave me full permission to go ahead and make any arrangements I deemed advisable. I thereupon went to the Grand Duke's bank in London and notified them that I must have 15,000 pounds ($75,000). In four days I had the money. The rest of the transaction was commonplace. She handed over all the letters and documents and I gave her the 15,000 pounds. I know to-day that her ladyship travels extensively in a very comfortable manner on the yearly appanage allowed her by the old Grand Duke. I do not know whether she still goes to Carlton Terrace to eat strawberries, but I flatter myself that her present good fortune is partially due to the fact that she once went there.

At the time of closing our little transaction, she took the precaution to protect adequately and seal all letters and documents from my perusal. Of course that was a disappointment. I put the packet away carefully, closed up my aftairs in London and went back to Germany, going direct to Mecklenburg-Schwerein where I delivered the package to the old Grand Duke in person. He seized it eagerly and opened it in my presence. I noticed as he ran through the letters that he did not stop even to glance at them. He did, however, stop and pick out from the pile an official looking document, at the sight of which a tremendous sigh of relief seemed to escape him. The document had a decidedly close resemblance to a marriage license as issued in Switzerland. Of course I only got a fleeting, cursory glance at it, but the eagerness of the Grand Duke in pouncing upon that one document and ignoring the letters, and hints previously dropped by her ladyship, embellished by rumors I later heard in Switzerland, all leave very little doubt in my mind that a clandestine marriage did actually take place between this lady of the English nobility and the young Grand Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerein.

His Royal Highness must have been satisfied, for besides a fee of 5000 marks, I received a few days later through Wedel a diamond pin and a magnficent gold watch and chain inscribed with the Grand Ducal arms of Mecklenburg-Schwerein inscribed:

"For services performed faithfully to my house."

Chapter VI. The Intrigue at Monte Carlo

Back in Berlin from a mission to Vienna, my dispatches delivered, once more comfortably ensconced in my quarters, on the Mittelstrasse, I was looking forward to an evening at the Pavilion Mascotte. I was just getting into my dinner coat when my man bowed an orderly through the door and at once all my plans took swift flight out the window. The orderly brought a command for my immediate attendance at the Wilhelmstrasse. Now the gentlemen of the Wilhelmstrasse are never kept waiting and do not accept excuses. Within twenty minutes I was shown into the chambers of Count von Wedel; in thirty minutes I was out again, having complete orders. They know what they want at the Wilhelmstrasse and they generally get it.

As I hurried back to my rooms I went over what von Wedel had said:

"You are to be ready to take the midnight express to Monte Carlo. You will there keep watch on and report any possible meeting between the Russian, French and English ministers, at present traveling about the Riviera. You will have the assistance, if necessary, of the Countess Chechany. If you need her, send her this card" (he had given me the card with his signature across it, a reproduction of which is presented on this page)." If meetings or conferences take place, you must obtain the tenor thereof. Here is an order for your primary expenses." He had flicked an order for 3000 marks, about $750, across his desk. "Anything you wish elucidated?"

Not having met the Countess, I had requested her description. Pushing a button, Count von Wedel had given the answering secretary an order; within three minutes I was shown the photograph of the lady and her signature, of which I took a copy. Having no further requests I had bowed myself out.

My first act was to cash the order; second to decide and prepare the character I wished to assume in Monte Carlo. I decided on a South African mine owner. I know considerable about mining, and being well acquainted with South Africa, the Rand and Transvaal, I had the advantage of knowing my locality first. A Secret Service agent is always careful to choose a character with which he is fully familiar. One is certain to meet, sooner or later, men in the same walk of life; and unless one be well primed, one is bound to be "bowled out." I knew there would be South African mining men at Monte Carlo.

Procuring necessary papers, such as mining journals, quotations, a couple of South African newspapers and photographs, I went home and had my man carefully select and pack my wardrobe. I caught the midnight Lloyd Express. Selecting a pleasant middle compartment, and getting my seat registered, I made myself comfortable and began to map out a campaign. This was rather a tough problem. To be in the slightest degree successful, I had to get near, and if possible in touch with the ministers that Count von Wedel had designated. How is this to be done? I knew it was far from easy, almost impossible, to make their casual acquaintance.

I began to cast the personality of the three men over in my mind. There was Prince Kassimir Galitzin, at that time high in the favor of the Czar. There were Delcasse of France and Sir Edward Grey of England. All three were gyrating about the Riviera and the Savoy—ostensibly it was for their health, possibly for other reasons. In any case the health of these gentlemen seemed a matter of some concern to the German emperor. Health trips of more than one statesman in or about the same locality are looked upon with much suspicion and promptly investigated; more so when there is any extra political tension. At that time—it was in 1910—the air was tense, Germany was in the dark, unable to distinguish friend or foe.

Sir Edward Grey's habits were unknown to me. With Delcasse's I was somewhat familiar. Prince Galitzin—ah, yes! I knew him pretty well, _bon vivaint_, extremely fond of a pretty face. Um! I began to see light. Here is where the Countess might come in. By her photograph, an extremely beautiful woman; but photographs often flatter and do not give an indication as to personality. _Festina lente. I could see.

Five forty-five the next afternoon and I was installed at the Hotel Metropole in Monte Carlo. After a refreshing bath, I had supper served in my room, and sent for the hotel courier—this an old globe-trotter trick. Hotel couriers or dragomen are walking encylopædias. They are good linguists, observant and shrewd. They are masters of the art of finding out things they should not know, and past grand masters in keeping their mouths shut unless you know how to open them. Not with palm oil. Oh, no, nothing so crude! You would never get any truths or anything worth while, with bribery.

I had to find out local intrigues and gossips, who was in Monte Carlo and what was doing, who were the leading demi-mondaines and gamblers? Were there any possible Secret Service men? Hence the courier, a Swiss from Ober Arau, a district of Switzerland, I luckily knew well. When he knocked at the door, I cheerily bade him come in. I made my manner as good natured as possible. I offered him a real Medijeh cigarette. As befitting his station, he was slipping the cigarette in his pocket.

"Oh, no!" I said. "Light it, won't you? Have a little smoke with me here. I'm a bit lonesome. I want to get my bearings. Won't you join me in a glass of wine?"

That was my first oar in. After some commonplace conversation, as to how the season was, I asked:

"Anybody of interest here?"

I winked knowingly. Possibly it pleased the courier to have someone to chuckle over a secret. All my oars were in.

"At the Grand Hotel de Londres," he said slyly, "there is a gentleman who does not fool me."

I offered him another cigarette, helped him to another glass of wine.

"He is registered there as Count Techlow, but he can't fool me. He is the Prince Galitzin."

"What's he doing; gambling a lot?" (I knew he wasn't.)

"No," replied the courier, "he's keeping pretty quiet."

"Is there a Countess Techlow?"

The courier shook his head. Buenno! The coast seemed clear. I knew it was extremely awkward and often dangerous to tempt the quarry away from a demi-mondaine, especially at Monte Carlo. After chatting some more I bid the courier good night. I would see the Countess the first thing in the morning.

Along toward noon I called at the Nouvel Hotel Louvre where von Wedel had told me I would find Countess Chechany. I sent in my own card bearing the name of H. Van Huit, Doorn Kloof, Transvaal (the reader will recall my experience at Doorn Kloof); also von Wedel's card with his signature.

I had to wait for some time, but finally the Countess received me in her boudoir. She was in bewitching negligee. From the photograph I was prepared to find a very handsome woman, but shades of Helen! This was Venus, Juno and Minerva—the whole Greek and any other goddesses rolled into one! Tall and willowy, superb of figure, great dark-blue eyes, masses of blue-black wavy hair, full red lips forming a perfect Cupid's bow. But why go on—I might get too enthusiastic, and mislead the reader. After my adventure I never saw the Countess again.

I knew that by birth the Colmtess Chechany was a high Hungarian noblewoman. By marriage she was related to the Counts of Tolna Festetics, a leading house in Hungary. Also, she was one of those marvelously beautiful women peculiar to that country. Waving a small jeweled hand, she begged me to take a chair beside her. A cigarette was daintily poised in her fingers.

"Be seated, Mr. Van Huit of Transvaal," gazing at me with a roguish grin.

We both burst out laughing. Of course she knew what I was. Von Wedel's card showed her that. But, as her next words plainly showed, she knew a great deal more.

"I've got a badly sprained ankle, Doctor. Can you do anything for me?"

I must have shown a pretty stupid face, for she laughed amusedly again. I certainly was surprised, for up to now I had never met her, and my being a doctor was known only to one or two persons in the Service. Besides, it is strictly a rule of the Imperial Secret Service never to discuss or divulge personal matters. Her attitude by no means pleased me. I cordially hate anyone, especially women, knowing more than I do. One never knows where one is standing in a case like this. I decided not to show my curiosity, but I was determined to learn how she knew about me. Coolly I said:

"Well, Countess, you have somewhat of an advantage. But if I can be of any assistance to you, pray command me."

As answer, she sprang up, and pirouetting around the room, exclaimed:

"Now, why be peevish. If you're good and nice, I shall tell you sometime all about it."

She never did, for with all her ingenuous mannerisms, my lady was about the deepest and least fathomable bit of femininity I have ever met—besides being the possessor of a devil of a temper. After some more banter, which I instigated to become somewhat acquainted with my prospective partner, I came to business.

"Do you know, Countess, the object of my mission?"

"Nothing beyond the intimation of your coming and the command to cooperate with you if necessary. So you had better enlighten me, mon chère."

I did so with some reservation, it being my habit not to let anyone into a thing too much, least of all a woman. I suggested that our first object was to make Prince Galitzin's acquaintance. As his Serene Highness resided at the Hotel de Londres, we agreed to dine there. After accepting a dainty cup of chocolate I departed, purposely returning home by way of the Londres. Here, with a little diplomacy, I managed to reserve for dinner the table I wanted, one next to the Prince. Well pleased, I later dressed, armed myself with a bouquet of La France roses, and called on my partner.

I had the roses sent up and waited. The Countess sent word that she would be down shortly. I smoked three cigarettes. Still no Countess. I have yet to meet a woman who could or would be punctual. Finally I heard the soft swish and frou-frou of silk garments and looking up saw her ladyship coming down the grand stairway. She was brilliantly robed, jewels flashed at her neck and wrists. She was of that type of beauty difficult to classify, although assured of approval in any quarter of the world.

"Tired of waiting, mon ami?" tapping me playfully on the arm. "See, in return for your patience I am wearing your roses."

She had them pinned on her corsage. We entered our carriage and drove to the Hotel de Londres, discussing the parts we were going to play. Would the Russian Bear be caught? I wondered. When we arrived, I saw that the hotel was pretty well filled. Everybody who was anybody seemed to be there. I noticed a number of prominent American society ladies. Experience has taught me that there are three places where you meet sooner or later every known person in the world,—Piccadilly Circus, the terrace of Shephard's Hotel, Cairo, and Monte Carlo.

Remembering our diplomatic conversation of the afternoon, the maître d'hôtel came rushing forward and with profound bows directed us to our table, which was tastefully decorated with La France roses, the Countess' favorites (charged to expenses). As we walked slowly down the passage to our table, many eyes were turned toward us. The Countess appeared unconscious of it all. Lazily, half insolently observant, yet wholly unconcerned, she was without doubt the most strikingly beautiful woman in the assembly; this, though the society of the world seemed to fill the Londres that night. Poor Galitzin!

As we seated ourselves, a hush fell about the immediate table to our right and left. It was followed by a low buzzing of curious or interested, wise or ignorant, human bees. On our right I saw the Prince Galitzin. From the moment of our entrance he had kept looking at the Countess. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, and abruptly he changed seats with one of the gentlemen at his table. Obviously his view of the Countess' face was not at the angle he wished. Screwing his monocle in his eye, he began to stare pretty consistently.

Of course this delighted me. The avidity with which his Serene Highness was swallowing the bait promised much. I thought it advisable, however, to create a little diversion, something that would drive away a possible suspicion that this was a "plant." It was perfectly obvious to all that the Prince was becoming fascinated. Also, he was losing his head, for he was showing his fascination in a rather rude manner. His staring began to attract some attention.

That was the opportunity I was looking for. Calling the maître d'hôtel, I requested him, pitching my voice so that it would be easily audible at the surrounding tables:

"Persuade the gentleman on our right to discontinue his annoying stare."

I saw that the Prince had heard my request. Flushing deeply red, he abruptly rose and with a bow to the Countess went out of the room. It was as I wished.

We finished our exquisite and excellently well-served dinner, and went out to the Terrace Gardens to have our café Turc and cigarettes. This, to my mind, is the most enjoyable hour of the day, especially in a place like Monte Carlo, well groomed, well fed, surrounded by an ever-varying throng of interesting people, beautiful scenery, exquisite music, the ideal dolce far niente.

Slowly inhaling the smoke of my excellent Medijeh, I fell into a sort of contemplative reverie while waiting for the Prince. I knew he would come. Back and forth in front of me wandered humanity, all grades and shades. Here a prince, scion of a noble house, there a parvenu, fresh from his latest stock-jobbing victory. Here a mondaine, a demi-mondaine with a reputation in half a dozen countries. Here a group of famous lights of the stage, there a couple of eminent statesmen. Truly, a cosmopolitan crowd. What if the antecedents of some of the pleasure seekers here were known? I recognized many and it being my business to know such things, their stories came back to me magically. Skeletons at the feast? Oh, yes, grewsome ones, too. Just as well, an all-wise Providence has ordained our inability to see behind the veil. I knew that the woman opposite me could no more afford to lift her veil than I could mine.

Then one of the gentlemen from the Prince's table came up and addressed me. First, however, he handed me a card, which I saw bore the name of Prince Kassimir Vladimir Galitzin.

"Monsieur," said the Prince's companion, "I'm deputed by the Prince to convey his regrets, should he have caused Madame or you any annoyance. The Prince begs permission to make his apology to Madame in person."

I replied in words to the effect that Madame being a free agent and only an acquaintance of mine, must decide this for herself.

"Personally," I added, "I have no objection."

The Countess simply nodded. The Prince's envoy bowed and went away.

He returned in a few minutes with the Prince. Mutual introductions, general chatting, the Prince confining himself exclusively to the Countess. About half an hour's talk, refreshments, and there came an arrangement for luncheon the next day at which the Countess and myself were invited to be the guests of the Prince.

The luncheon was duly gives at the Hotel Londres and the Prince was a princely host. Having been invited, I had to attend. There was a theater party that evening however, to which I was not invited, and supper after, to which I was not invited. Indeed, when I met the Prince Galitzin on the grand promenade the next day, he gave me a very princely stare and kept on walking. All of which suited me perfectly well. He was in the hands of the Countess.

From afar I watched him become daily more infatuated. They were constantly driving and attending theaters together. The Prince was showering valuable presents right and left. In the midst of this, I received information that Delcasse had arrived at Nizza. The Countess had her eyes on the Prince, so this left me free to take care of Delcasse. My work was now to learn if the French minister held any meetings with Sir Edward Grey or Winston Churchill, ministers from England, who were shortly expected also to arrive at Nizza. Subsequently I guessed there would be a final meeting with the Prince. I continually and unobtrusively followed Delcasse everywhere, but nothing eventuated owing to unforeseen circumstances in the House of Commons, and the Cabinet of England, Sir Edward and Churchill were unable to take their "vacation trips" in person. So they sent an emissary with important documents to Delcasse, one of which came to light in his subsequent meeting with Prince Galitzin.

On the night of the ninth of November I received a wire from the Countess. It w as delivered at the Hotel Anglais, Nizza. Opening it, I read:

"Return. De Camp here. Meeting our friend."

Of course by De Camp she meant Delcasse. Clearly he had slipped away from me. "Our friend" referred to the Prince. This was news indeed! Hiring an automobile I made record time for Monte Carlo. I arrived at my hotel about three o'clock in the morning of the tenth and found awaiting me in my room, the Countess' maid. She delivered part of an important conversation which had taken place between Delcasse and the Prince, and of which I shall presently give the substance and its explanation. Instructing the maid to inform her mistress that I wished to see her at ten A. M. at the Casino, in the Salle des Estranger, I dismissed her. I chose the Salle des Estranger because it was the most frequented and for that reason the least suspicious meeting place.

We met as appointed and the Countess confirmed the maid's report. For about three hours on the evening of the ninth, Delcasse, of France, and Prince Galitzin of Russia were in conference in the Prince's chamber at the Hotel de Londres. Having changed her hotel and being in a chamber adjoining the Prince's, the Countess had managed to overhear most of this conversation. In her report there were naturally some blanks. She had not been able to hear every word uttered. But the purport and trend showed me it was of tremendous importance.

It was evidently an arrangement between France and Russia, with the understanding of England, to force Germany into an abject isolation. Going further, they were trying through a closer alliance of these three great powers to curtail the activities of German expansion and completely coup her up diplomatically. The Countess told me that Prince Galitzin and Delcasse were going to meet again that same afternoon about five o'clock. As it was absolutely imperative to obtain knowledge of the rest of the conversation I enjoined the Countess to exert all her skill to secure the details at this most important interview, and to meet me once more in a corner of the Salle des Estrangers, this time at seven o'clock.

I returned to my hotel, settled my bill and had my grip taken over to the railway station; I got a ticket for Milan. It is always advisable to lay your plans carefully for a possibly very hurried exit, the nearest friendly border in this instance being Italy. In the event of trouble arising, hurrying through France would have been out of the question. Switzerland is an independent country which would have held me up officially on being requested to do so, although they do not extradite for political offenses, but being held up is bad enough. But once across the Italian border, I was safe enough. A semi-official hint from the Wilhelmstrasse to the Quirinal would always procure an open sesame for me—no danger of being held up there. Hence the ticket for Milan.

The intervening hours I spent on the outskirts of Monte Carlo, dropping into many a quaint little wine cellar. At dusk I entered the Salle des Estrangers of the Casino and settling myself comfortably in the appointed corner, awaited developments. It was a trying wait. I sat there from seven to ten-thirty, smoking incessantly. I was just finishing my last cigarette and I had about come to the end of my resources in entertaining myself. One has ample time to conjecture all sorts of possible mishaps, and mishaps are deucedly uncomfortable in this sort of work.

Not to create curiosity or suspicion, by my long occupation of this particular corner, I had started a tremendous flirtation with a rather plain, rather rotund lady of the English Cook's Tour type. Her return glances and smiles attracted the amused attention of most of the passers-by, especially the attendant of that part of the Salle. This was rather good, for if one does not gamble or flirt in the Casino he is regarded by the commissaires as a Chevalier d'Industrie, in other words "confidence man."

Just then I saw the Countess' maid making a signal to me from the entrance door and without as much as by your leave I hurried after her. In about ten strides, I overtook the girl.

"Have you got anything for me?"

"No, sir," she replied. "But her Ladyship wishes to meet you. You are pleased to make a rendezvous."

This was clever and suited me; knowing that she must have procured something of importance, I selected a little café, the Boulanger, close to the station, and after giving the girl a louis, I jumped into a carriage and drove there. In a short time I was joined by the Countess who had thrown a hooded mantle over a brilliant evening gown. Quietly slipping into a chair next to me she took some folded papers out of her glove, and while fastening a little rosebud into my lapel slipped them into mvv pockets with the words:

"All I could obtain, but you'll find it sufficient. I'm leaving for Rome to-morrow night. Bon voyage!"

I looked at my watch and saw I had time to catch the train for Milan. No sooner was I locked in my coupe and the train in motion, when I had a good look at the papers. They were two half sheets of note paper, embossed with the princely coat of arms and containing abbreviated sentences of dates, and names and a route, all in the handwriting of Delcasse and the Prince. The whole gist with her repeated, overheard snatches of conversation showed clearly an intended secret visit of the President of France to the Czar of Russia, the names of the officials to be present and the meeting place, the Czar's yacht, the Staandart, off Kronstadt. This meeting, however, did not take place, the Kaiser forestalling it by his quick action on the Moroccan situation.

From Milan I went to Berlin and within forty-eight hours the documents were delivered into the hands of Count von Wedel, and then into the hands of the Emperor. Their significance was this:

The Moroccan trouble was very ominous. Germany was in a position where, sooner or later, she would be forced to act. Before this mission the Kaiser was in the dark. France, Russia and England did not have their cards on the table. He did not know which countries would remain neutral in case of war with France. He had suspected that there was some sort of an understanding brewing against him. The results of my mission—learning of Sir Edward Grey's message to Delcasse, Delcasse's meeting with Prince Galitzin of Russia—confirmed this beyond all doubt.

But how strong was this alliance? How close would England stick to France? This he did not know. He only knew that there was a sort of an agreement, and to find out just how strong was the bond between England and France, he used a master stroke of diplomacy. He brought the Moroccan question to a crisis, long before it was anticipated; he sent the warship Panther into Agadir Harbor and forced England and France to show their hands. How close war was averted, only four persons knew at that time—the Captain of the Panther, von Wedel, the Kaiser and myself. And how Europe just missed being plunged into a tremendous war I shall tell of in my secret mission that nipped war in the bud.

I came near forgetting. For his discretion at Monte Carlo, the Czar rewarded Prince Galitzin by transferring him to a province in Siberia.

Chapter VII. The Kaiser Prevents a War

It was Kaiser weather in Germany. Back from a five months' trip to the Far East, Berlin seemed to me like Heaven. I had finished a secret diplomatic mission for the Kaiser and as a result my pocketbook was full. Days and days in the Orient make a man try to crowd into the first twenty-four hours home, all the enjoyments that his city offers. Accordingly, with money running through my fingers like sand, I planned a long ride in the Grunewald; I saw myself ordering the few special dishes one gets at Kempinsky's; I would buy a good seat at the Metropole and to wind up I would look in at the Admiral's Palace when the performers were mingling in the audience. It being my first day back in Berlin, that programme appealed to me a lot more than did the European diplomatic tangle. I had been idling the early afternoon hours at the Café Bauer, Unter den Linden, but my programme for the rest of the day finally chosen, I got up, paid my bill and strolled home.

My boy Kim must have been on the lookout for me; before I could use my key the door flew open.

"Master!" he exclaimed in his heavy, jerky voice. "You are wanted on the telephone."

I had an uneasy suspicion of what that meant, which was confirmed when my boy added, "Number A 11 wants you."

Bismillah! That settled it! That ended my Grunewald, Kempinsky's, the Metropole, the Admiral's Palace. It meant the highway away. It always means that when a man of my position is in Berlin and somebody says to call up that number, A 11. Whenever A 11 summons it is wise to be prompt. It is the number of the Wilhelmstrasse, the foreign office of Germany.

I lost no time in getting a connection and I was told to report at the Wilhelmstrasse at 10.30 that night. I was to hold myself ready for instant service. I must come prepared possibly for a long journey.

I gave orders for my boy to have me dressed by ten o'clock. I decided to take a nap, for I knew that midnight interviews with the gentleman at the Wilhelmstrasse often led to some mighty unexpected and protracted traveling. Before going to sleep, however, I went over the European situation. What had loomed big? I hoped it was something big, for while a Secret Service agent doesn't get blasé, he likes to work when thrones or the boundaries of empires are involved.

I reflected that June—it was in 1911—had been a decidedly strenuous month for more than one cabinet in Europe. Germany and France were snapping and snarling. France was going around with its chest stuck out; its attitude decidedly belligerent. Of course, this cockiness was due to the fat fingers of honest John Bull; indeed, England had more than ten fingers in this pie that was baking. I knew that the air was full of Morocco and war talk. I knew that there was a certain faction in Germany that was trying to push the Kaiser into a war. This clique, composed of army and navy men and the junker, the "Jingo" party, the big gun interests, backed by public opinion, were trying their utmost to urge war with France. What was the latest at the Wilhelmstrasse?

On the stroke of 10.30 I was there. I handed my number to the commissaire. This number is important. All German secret agents are known by number, all carry little cards and a photograph of mine is published between these covers.

Presently the commissaire returned and showed me into the chambers of Graf von Wedel, Privy Councilor to the German Emperor. With another man in evening dress, I was told to wait in an antechamber. We bowed, and although we took pretty good stock of each other, neither spoke. It is an unwritten law not to hold unnecessary conversation in the Imperial Secret Service. After about half an hour's wait, we were shown into the Count's private room. This rather astonished me, for the usual rule at the Wilhelmstrasse is to interview only one man at a time. Clearly something out of the ordinary was in the air. After the Count greeted us, he inquired if we were known to each other. Receiving a negative, he introduced us. My companion was a Herr von Senden, ex-officer of the Zweite Gaarde Dragona.

"You will both be taken at half-past eleven to a certain room," said the Count. "You will advance to the middle, wheel to your right, face the portière and stand at attention. You will answer all questions, but make no comments or queries yourself. I need not enjoin you to total silence. You understand?"

We bowed. Just then a gong boomed somewhere below us. A last word from the Count, "Be ready!" He left us. Reappearing almost immediately, he beckoned us to follow him. We noticed that he seemed even more grave than usual. Down a flight of stairs along a great corridor we made our way, no one speaking a word. At the end of the corridor we saw two sentries; then, a big solid oak door, guarded by an attendant in the livery of the Royal Household. At a sign from the Count we halted; he knocked. The door was opened by an officer of the Erste Gaarde du Corps and, remembering our instructions, we entered and came to attention in the middle of a large room, facing an adjoining chamber, the portières to which were divided. The room in which we stood was brilliantly lighted, but the other was dark, save for a green glow that came from a shaded reading lamp on a big writing desk. Senden looked at the desk and gave a sort of gasp.

Then I quite understood his emotion. For seated behind that heavy, old-fashioned desk, was Wilhelm II, Emperor of Germany.

We stood at a rigid attention, absolutely silent, for full five minutes. The dimly lit, solitary figure at the desk made no sign but went on writing. I am not a timid or a nervous man, the sort of work I was doing seasons one pretty thoroughly. But this began to get on my nerves. Drawn up in front of the Emperor and waiting, waiting. Contact with the great ones of the earth, especially through Secret Service, can take some almighty queer turns and a short circuit is confoundedly unhealthy for the negative wire. The more I looked at that silent, lonely figure, War Lord of Europe, the more I began to feel a great big longing for the African Veldt, a thousand miles north of Port Natal, preferably.

Suddenly the Emperor made a move, and there came a sharp, rather high pitched voice, saying, "Wedel, I will see the doctor."

At once Herr Senden was shown from the room; obviously the mission, whatever it was, was not for him. I never saw him again.

I was bidden to step to within three paces of the Emperor; the officer who escorted Herr von Senden from the room attempted to return, but was waved out. There were just the three of us: Count Wedel, standing at the corner of the desk on the right, the Kaiser and myself. I had seen the Emperor on many occasions, but never so close before. He appeared to be lost in some document. He looked well but older than any of his portraits. Tanned, almost dark, his rather lean face bore a striking likeness to Frederick the Great; more so than ever, for he is getting gray. I realized that none of his portraits do his eyes justice. Of a bluish-steel gray, they have an icy, impersonal, weighing look in them. It is hard to define. It struck me in that moment that Lord Kitchener, Teufick Pasha, Cecil Rhodes, and Li Hung Chang had exactly those same eyes—the eyes of men who feel it in them to master the world.

Presently His Majesty looked up, and in that same, rather shrill voice, asked:

"How long are you in the Service?"

"Three years, sir."

"You know Morocco?"

Morocco! So that was it. France and Germany quarreling over the bone, at the point of war! I replied:

"Yes, sir!"

"How long were you in Morocco?" continued the Emperor.

"About twelve months, sir."

On this he seemed to hesitate. Frankly, I was nervous, so instead of thinking about Morocco, I noticed that the Kaiser wore the undress uniform of a Colonel of the Grenadier Guard with the star of the Order Pour le Merite, dangling from his coat button. As if making up his mind, he turned again on me those gray eyes.

"You know Kaid MacLean?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did you get to know him?"

"I happened to be of assistance to Sir Harry Kaid MacLean who was at that time Commander-in-Chief and Man-of-Affairs to the Sultan of Morocco."

My answer seemed to please the Emperor, for his eyes gleamed.

"Any likelihood of his remembering your services?"

I hesitated, then said:

"I cannot vouch for another man's memory, sire. Besides, I do not care to put the Kaid to the test."

The Emperor looked at me queerly, but, evidently satisfied with my answer, he turned to Count Wedel, saying:

"He will do. Have the dispatches ready."

At once the Count hurried noiselessly into an adjoining room. The Kaiser, making one of his characteristic sudden movements, flung himself back into the chair, looked steadily at me, and added:

"Besides the official dispatches you will memorize these commands, for the Captain of the warship Panther." He handed me a note, which I did not immediately look at, for he continued: "Outside of Count Wedel, no one is to know anything of your mission. No one is to know that you are carrying a verbal message from me to the Captain of the warship Panther. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

The Emperor as abruptly drew himself forward, and propping his head with his hands, fell into a deep study, gazing fixedly at nothing. He seemed in that moment to be considerably older. His face, even for the tan, had that grayish look of a man who is carrying some tremendous responsibility. It came to me swiftly, the popular clamor for war, Panther!—the Panther was lying off Spain ready to steam across the Mediterranean to Morocco. And I was to bear secret orders from the Emperor to the Panther's captain.

Then I opened the note that the Emperor had given me, and began to memorize its contents. Amazement must have shown on my face. A blow with a feather would have knocked me down. So wonder Wilhelm II was staring blankly, no wonder this message had to be delivered verbally. Hurriedly I began to memorize it. Presently, I saw Count Wedel come in and he and the Kaiser began to talk in whispers. Then Wilhelm looked up and said:

"Have you memorized it?"

"Yes, sir!" Taking the note from me, he at once struck a match and held it under the paper until it was reduced to ashes. Then making a curt gesture of dismissal, Wedel gave me a signal to retire and we backed toward the door. I was in possession of a secret known only to the Emperor himself and which at that moment the cabinets of France and England and the financiers of the world would have given hundreds of thousands of dollars to possess. Out into the hall we backed, always being careful never to commit the discourtesy of turning our faces away from the Emperor, and the last I saw of him, was that lonely figure seated at his desk, the greenish light playing over him, around and beyond him darkness and his face illuminated against that background, grayish, old. There he was, at his desk at midnight, in an underground chamber of the Foreign Office, the Emperor of Germany, working in solitude, while most of his subjects slept, tirelessly mapping out a policy the trend of which he dared discuss with no man save Wedel and possibly his oldest son.

Bowing, we were out in the hall; the big oaken door closed. Wedel led the way to his private chamber. He produced a package of sealed papers and handing it to me, said:

"Doctor, this is a most important affair. There is a most serious trouble brewing somewhere—trouble about war. We have our suspicions as to what power is behind all this and we are going to find out. You are well enough acquainted with the situation to require no further illustration. You know how here at home they are also trying to force the Emperor into a war— You will leave this package at the Embassy in Paris. It must be there at the Rue de Lille to-morrow noon. To do so you will have to catch the Orient Express at half-past three this morning. At the Paris legation you will receive another package which you will take on to Madrid. After delivering this, you have carte blanche to make your way to the Panther, which you will find off Barcelona. Also, you will visit Gibraltar and inform yourself of the strength and state of preparation of the British Naval Squadron there." He paused. "This time you will not apply at the cashier's desk. Your expenses are borne this time out of the Emperor's private chatulle. In a few hours time I will have French and Spanish money ready for you and send it to your lodgings. You thoroughly understand your instructions? Of course, you have not forgotten the message that you memorized before the Emperor?"

I assured him I had not and after a cordial handshake I bowed myself out and hurried back to my quarters. Here I found that my boy had my traveling bag ready with his usual completeness. One does not take much baggage on these trips. Pajamas, slippers, smoking cap, tooth brush, have seen me three-quarters around the globe, and I never carried a six-shooter in my life. In all my experience I have seen few secret agents who do carry it. The only protective article I ever carried was a little silk bag containing a mixture of cayenne pepper, snuff and certain chemicals. It is very effective to throw into the faces of those who attack you.

Soon there came a messenger from Wedel with the promised funds, a thousand francs and two thousand pesos. It lacked a half hour to three-thirty, so I made my way to the Friedrichstrasse depot on foot. Experience has taught me that the Orient Express is generally overcrowded and that unless one reaches the depot early and uses a good deal of palm oil, it is impossible to secure a decent seat. A judicious oiling of palms enabled me to get a very pleasant window seat in the middle compartment. After making myself at home I took a tour through the train. It is my invariable custom to take stock of my fellow travelers and in this case it was most imperative.

Nothing happened until we pulled in at Frankfort-on-the-Main, the second last stop for the express in Germany. Glancing out of the window I saw a party of three entering the carriage. They selected the compartment next to mine. Obviously they were traveling together, equally obvious was it that there was plenty of room in their own compartment. The train was hardly in motion, however, when the woman of the party entered my compartment. She started to complain about being annoyed by the man next door and to ask my protection. As a matter of course, I got up and offered my assistance to remove her belongings into my compartment. I had, up to now, not the slightest doubt as to there being anything fishy in her request. I had, in fact, no reason to be apprehensive of any interference, because only two people besides myself—Wedel and the Emperor—knew my mission. Of course, there were others who would have given anything to know of it, who would have done anything to prevent my reaching my destination.

I had hardly entered the compartment and tried to remove the traveling bag indicated by the lady as hers, when one of the men exclaimed:

"How dare you remove my wife's property?"

The lady in question stood in the corridor of the carriage. I had my back to her but I could see her by means of the looking-glass with which the sides of the compartment were framed. I noticed her make a sign to the man. Of course, this put a different light on the affair. It was preconceived. For the life of me, though, I could not see how they could use the situation to advantage.

Presently I was enlightened. When the conductor came along, the "husband" coolly requested my detention on grounds of interference with his wife's luggage. He was stanchly supported by the other man and by the lady who had come to me for assistance. I attempted to explain, but it didn't go down with the conductor. Pending our arrival at Cologne, he locked me up in my compartment and leaving me, said that he intended to hand me over to the station master here.

I had time to ponder over my situation. I was thoroughly angry, chiefly with myself. Here I was, an old, and presumably experienced, secret agent and I was caught by a simple device. But the simplicity got me! When one is prepared for elaborate schemes, the simplest trick lands one high and dry. Still I could see no daylight. They could not hope to keep me on this preposterous charge. A single wire to Berlin would settle the matter, but then there would be a delay. I would not reach Paris until six o'clock at night. Wedel had insisted that I be there at noon. Hum!

Delays at this time were of tremendous importance. A difference of six hours might mean war. Powerful influences in Germany were all for war. It filled the air. It needed only a false or overstep on the part of any government official to bring about an explosion. France seemed fairly itching for a fight. My verbal message to the captain of the Panther must be delivered on schedule or the explosion might occur. I began to see what they hoped to gain by the trick of detaining me, but how they got word of my mission I have never been able to learn. I must have been shadowed from my lodging to the Wilhelmstrasse and subsequently lain in wait for on general principles.

According to the time-table, the Orient Express stops at Cologne nine minutes. This time it stopped eleven. The station master held it up. After the party in the next compartment made their charge, we all hurried to his office. I called the station master aside and showed him my Secret Service card.

I showed him a package addressed and sealed to the German Embassy at Paris. It was an official linen envelope tied with a black and white silk cord and with the Foreign Office seal on the back. He was impressed.

"This is a ridiculous charge," I declared. "Telephone the Wilhelmstrasse at my expense. Detain me and you do so at your own peril. That is all. I have given you the facts. I put no obstacle in the path of your duty. I judge, though, that you are a man of discretion."

The station master was a man of discretion. I could imagine what was going through his mind:

"This fellow who says he is the Emperor's messenger," he doubtless thought, "has three more hours on that train before he crosses the German border. If he isn't what he claims to be, we can catch him at the Frontier. If he is what he claims to be and I hold him here, I will get in trouble."

Finally, he told the others that their charge was too thin and they hurriedly left his office. I never saw them again. The station master escorted me to my compartment and I noticed that from Cologne to the French Frontier I had no other traveling companions. My arrival and what I accomplished in Paris is commonplace. Arriving in the Gare du Norde, I took a taxi to the German Embassy on the Rue de Lille, where an under-secretary signed for my dispatches and handed me two letters addressed to the Embassy in Madrid. I immediately posted his receipt to the Wilhelmstrasse, something German secret agents always must do—mail the Foreign Office signatures for documents as soon as they are delivered. Without further adventure I reached Madrid. As the train was four hours late I did not present myself at the Embassy. I was met by a commissaire at the station, delivered him the paper, received his signature, posted it to the Wilhelmstrasse, and made connections for Barcelona. Somewhere off the city, on the open sea, the Panther was waiting.

With the utmost difficulty I chartered a tug and in the twilight set off to find the Panther. It was coming night when we finally saw her dark trim hull lying against the horizon. Well named the Panther, for in this case a false spring by her meant war. As we steamed up alongside a sentry hailed us from the deck. I shouted that I had come to see the Captain, but he told us to stand off. Finally, after persistently hailing the warship, the officer of the watch came to the rail and held parley with me.

"I have Imperial orders to see the Captain," I shouted.

Apparently this satisfied him, for he let me come on board. Without further delay I was shown into the Captain's room. Very important, the Captain. Picture him, a man in the forties, straight-backed, rather jolly, and with one of those German naval beards. The slightest mistake by the Captain of the Panther and England and France would have flung themselves into war with Germany. He stood for a moment regarding me, then he said,

"Well, what is this? What is your Wilhelmstrasse number?"

"Seventeen," I told him.

That appeared to satisfy the Captain. I knew that the Wilhelmstrasse had wired him that "Number Seventeen" was coming. Still he was careful.

"Where were your first instructions received?"

"From Wedel."

"Subsequently?"

I felt him looking at me sharply.

"Confirmed by the Emperor," I replied, "and I deliver you herewith the following message. You are requested to use the private service code as soon as I have delivered this message to you and repeat it at once direct to Count Wedel."

The Captain got up and, moving noiselessly to the door, opened it swiftly. There was no one about.

"All right," he said, "let me have it."

I repeated what I had memorized, what the Emperor had given me in the secret chamber and immediately afterward destroyed all visible trace of. I said: "On no account, it does not matter what official commands you have received or may receive, are you to use open force when the Panther goes to Agidir. No matter what stress is brought to bear upon you by arising conditions, no matter what affront may be done your code of naval honor, you are under no circumstances to use any force against France or England."

Like myself, when the Emperor gave me that message, the Captain of the Panther was dumbfounded. It was a direct contradiction of the official orders he had received from the Foreign Office to go to Morocco and make a demonstration against the French and the English interests. Those previous orders had been to create war, this verbal message was to stop war. Could the German "jingos," the big gun manufacturers, the shell people, the army and navy men, the powerful feudal faction have heard me deliver that message to the Captain of the Panther, they would have bellowed in rage. The whole empire wanted war, but the tired, swarthy faced man in the little underground chamber at the Wilhelmstrasse, not "absolutely absolute" as he is popularly supposed to be, deemed it wise not to fly in the face of public opinion at the time and countermand the official orders to the Panther. So he had done so in the dark, verbally, by me, knowing that so he served the best interests of his empire.

The rest is contemporary history. You remember how, on Sunday morning, July 7, the Panther steamed to Morocco, how it forced its way into the harbor of Agadir and created an international sensation by remaining there more than two weeks. You remember how a French and an English warship came simultaneously, how they formed in what was equivalent to common line and how, with officers and everybody itching to open fire, war just missed being precipitated. You may not know that the British and French officers sent an ultimatum to the Captain of the Panther. Unless he left Agadir he would be forced to leave. That meant war.

Now, had the Captain of the Panther not received the private message from the Emperor, he would have been forced by his naval code to resist this ultimatum by force. Had he gone there acting under the original official orders, red war would have blazed across in Agadir Harbor. The slightest slip would have caused it—the report of a rifle. But the Panther steamed away.

And this is the cleverest part of the Emperor's scheme; he knew that France and England were allies, he didn't know, though, just how sincere this alliance was. By sending the Panther into Agadir he learned that the entente cordiale really meant something, that England and France were allies, that they were prepared to resist Germany shoulder to shoulder in war. It took a master stroke to bring the situation up to the point of war—for it was a dangerous business, with all Germany roaring for war—and then avert war when England and France were on the verge of it. But with his verbal message the Emperor shrewdly accomplished it. The results were before him. By creating the situation he knew that he had two powerful nations opposed to him. Good!