Her Majesty's Minister

“The telegram was despatched from the maritime station at Calais by some person who signed his name as ‘Gaston.’ He is evidently known to our friends at the Quai d’Orsay.”

There was a brief and painful pause. Such a catastrophe staggered belief. Surely the spies of France did not use the Roentgen rays in order to read the letters carried on one’s person! It would almost appear as though they did.

“Fate seems entirely against us, Ingram,” observed Lord Barmouth, breaking the silence at last. “In every effort we are thwarted by these scoundrelly spies. Our most secret instructions leak out in a way that is absolutely unaccountable. Indeed, the position has now become so critical that I dread to contemplate the result. In the matter of Ceuta we had an illustration of the marvellous astuteness of our enemies, while to-day here is an example much more alarming. And further, we must send home a despatch acknowledging ourselves checkmated. Our position is an ignominious one – most ignominious,” he added vehemently.

“If I were at fault I would willingly bear any blame attaching to my actions,” I said in a tone of protest; “but as far as I am aware I am utterly blameless in this matter.”

“I do not seek to fix any culpability upon you, Ingram,” His Lordship hastened to assure me. “While serving under me you have always done your duty with a thoroughness and tact worthy of the British diplomatist. All I can say is that it is excessively unfortunate for us all, and for the nation at large. Those instructions there, as you will see, are of the highest importance at this juncture; but we are now quite unable to act because our secret intentions have become common property. They will probably be in the Figaro to-morrow.”

“The whole affair is at present a complete enigma,” observed Kaye, who, turning to me, added: “If you cannot give us any clue whatever, I can’t see what can be done.”

“I can give you absolutely no clue,” I answered, utterly bewildered by this amazing turn of events. “All I know is what I have just related.”

The chief of the secret service turned his eyes full upon me, and asked slowly:

“You have, for instance, held no further communication with Mademoiselle de Foville?” Mention of that name caused me to start. All came back to me – how that the Ambassador had suspected her, and Kaye himself had declared that she was a spy.

“She left Paris before I went to London. I have no idea of her whereabouts.”

“You do not suspect that she was in London at the same time as yourself?” he asked. “I mean, you saw nothing of her?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“And on the several occasions when you called upon her in the Rue de Courcelles you gave her no idea of the policy which His Excellency was pursuing? I know you visited her several times, for, suspecting her, I had placed a watch upon her movements.”

“I told her absolutely nothing,” I answered, annoyed that this man should think fit to spy upon me.

“Strange,” he said thoughtfully. “Now that is really very strange, because her subsequent actions would appear to give colour to the theory that she learnt from you some secret which she was strenuously endeavouring to obtain.”

“I don’t quite follow you.”

“Well, I have ascertained that the French Ambassador in Berlin has been receiving full reports of the progress of our actions regarding Ceuta.”

“From her?” I asked quickly.

“Not exactly from her, but through her.”

“Then that woman is actually a spy!” cried His Excellency.

“Without the slightest doubt,” responded Kaye. “My inquiries in Berlin and Brussels have substantiated our suspicions. She is one of the smartest secret agents in Europe.”

“I know that she is a friend of Wolf’s, but what proof have you that she has any connection with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?”

“I have obtained proof – absolute proof,” he answered.

“In what manner?”

“By inquiries I made in Berlin. She is well known in the Wilhelmstrasse. She was compelled to fly from Germany because it leaked out that she was a French spy.”

“Cannot you give me any further explanation?” I urged. “I am much interested, as she was once my intimate friend.”

“Yes,” interposed the Ambassador, “unfortunately so. It was once rumoured, Ingram, that you actually intended to marry her.”

“Or rather,” observed Kaye, “she intended, for her own purposes, to marry Mr Ingram, I think.”

I pursed my lips, but made no response. My reflections at that moment were bitter enough without these observations from my friends.

“But do you suspect that she has had a hand in our latest betrayal?” I inquired a few minutes later. “You have just alleged that she is in the French service. If so, it hardly seems credible that she would give her information to the French Ambassador in Berlin.”

“On that point I am not yet absolutely certain,” Kaye responded. “I am, however, quite convinced that the exposure of our plans regarding Ceuta filtered to the French through their Embassy in Berlin.”

“Then, contrary to supposition, de Hindenburg, the German Ambassador here, may be assisting France against us?” I said in surprise.

“It seems much like it. Our inquiries all tend towards that theory. The German Ambassador has of late had almost daily interviews with the Minister of Foreign Affairs. These are generally believed to be in connection with the Samoan difficulty or the Transvaal; but without doubt the chief subject of discussion has been the formation of a plan whereby to checkmate our policy towards Spain in the matter of Ceuta.”

“Well, up to the present they have done so,” the Ambassador admitted, turning sharply upon his heel from the window, out of which he had been gazing moodily. “We appear to be arriving at a most critical stage, for what with the constant Anglophobe feeling here, the vile attacks of the Paris Press, the disgusting caricatures of Her Majesty and her subjects, and the army of spies surrounding us on every side, honest, straightforward diplomacy – the diplomacy which should preserve the peace of Europe – is well-nigh impossible. In all my career in the service I never knew a blacker outlook than at this moment – never, never!”

“The complications that have arisen are due entirely to spies,” I remarked.

“They are due, it appears, mainly to your friend, Yolande de Foville,” he said in a harsh voice. “We have to thank that interesting young lady for rendering all our diplomacy in that direction abortive.”

“You had suspicion of her the other day?” I exclaimed. “What caused you to suspect her?”

“Drummond knew her in Brussels, and mentioned her.”

“As a secret agent?”

“Yes, as a secret agent. He warned me to be wary of her.”

“Well,” I said, “I, who knew her most intimately years ago, never suspected it for one single instant.”

“Ah, Ingram,” the Ambassador answered, a smile crossing his serious, hard-set face, “you were in love with her. A man in love never believes that his idol is of mere clay.”

A sigh escaped me. His words were indeed true. A thought of Edith flashed across my mind. The face of that woman who was false to me rose before my vision, but I swept it aside. All was over between us. Diplomacy and flirtation are sister arts, but diplomacy and love never run hand-in-hand. I had quaffed the cup of life, with all its infinite joys and agonies, in one intoxicating draught.

Kaye rose at last and departed, promising to leave no stone unturned in his efforts to discover how the contents of the secret despatch had been obtained by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; and then, at the Ambassador’s dictation, I wrote a despatch to London explaining to the Marquess the reason why his instructions could not be acted upon. Thus were we compelled to acknowledge our defeat.

Below, in the hall, I met Sibyl dressed smartly, ready to go out.

“What!” she exclaimed, laughing, “you are back again! Why, I thought you would be at least a week in London. Did you bring that lace for me?”

“Yes,” I answered, “I have it round at my rooms. I’ll send it you this afternoon.”

“Why are you back so soon?” she inquired, holding out her hand, so that I might button her glove. “Was London too hot?”

“The heat was insufferable. Besides, we have much to attend to just now.”

“Poor father!” she exclaimed, looking up at me. “He seems terribly worried. Tell me, Mr Ingram, what has happened? I feel sure that some catastrophe has taken place.”