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The initials under which I write these confessions are not those of my real name, which I could not disclose without exposing myself to the revenge of formidable enemies. As it is, I run a very great risk in making revelations which affect some of the most powerful personages now living; and it is only by the exercise of the utmost discretion that I can hope to avoid giving offence in quarters in which the slightest disrespect is apt to have serious consequences.

If I should be found to err on the side of frankness, I can only plead in excuse that I have never yet betrayed the confidence placed in me by the various Governments and illustrious families which have employed me from time to time. The late Prince Bismarck once honoured me by saying: ‘To tell secrets to Monsieur V—— is like putting them into a strong box, with the certainty that they will not come out again until one wants them to.’

In these reminiscences it is my object to recount some of the services I have rendered to civilisation in the course of my career, while abstaining as far as possible from compromising exalted individuals or embittering international relations.

That I am not a man who opens his mouth rashly may be gathered from the fact that, although at any time during the long struggle between Briton and Boer for the mastery in South Africa, I might have completely changed the situation with a word, that word was not uttered while a single Boer remained under arms.

In order to explain how I came to be concerned in this affair, I had better begin by giving a few particulars about myself, and the almost unique position which I hold among the secret service bureaus of Europe and America.

By birth I am a citizen of the United States of America, being the son of a Polish father, exiled on account of his political opinions, and a French mother. From my childhood I showed an extraordinary aptitude for languages, so that there is now scarcely a civilised country outside Portugal and Scandinavia in which I am not able to converse with the natives in their own tongue. At the same time, I was possessed, ever since I can remember, with a passion for intrigue and mystery. The romances of Gaboriau were the favourite reading of my boyhood, and it was my ambition to become a famous detective, the Vidocq of America.

Fired by these visions, I ran away from the insurance office in which my parents had placed me, when I was little more than sixteen, and applied for admission to the ranks of the famous Pinkerton Police. Although my youth was against me, my phenomenal command of languages turned the scale in my favour, and I was given a trial.

Very soon I had opportunities of distinguishing myself in more than one mission to Europe, on the track of absconding criminals; and in this way I earned the favourable notice of the heads of the detective police in London, Paris, Berlin, and other capitals.

At length, finding that I possessed unique qualifications for the work of an international secret agent, I decided to quit the Pinkerton service, and set up for myself, making my headquarters in Paris. From that day to this I have had no cause to repent of my audacity. I have been employed at one time or another by nearly every Government in the world, and my clients have included nearly every crowned head, from the late Queen Victoria to the Dowager Empress of China. I have been sent for on the same day by the Ambassadors of two hostile Powers, each of which desired to employ me against the other.

On one occasion I acted on behalf of a famous German Chancellor against his then master, and on another on behalf of the Emperor against his Chancellor; and neither had cause to complain of my fidelity. I have been instrumental in freeing a Queen renowned for her beauty from the persecution of a blackmailer set on by a foreign court; and I have more than once detected and defeated the plots of anarchists for the assassination of their rulers.

In this way it has come about that I enjoy the friendship and confidence of many illustrious personages, whose names would excite envy were I at liberty to mention them in these pages; and that few events of any magnitude happen in any part of the globe without my being in some measure concerned in them.

Often, when some great affair has been proceeding, I have felt myself as occupying the position of the stage manager, who looks on from the wings, directing the entrances and exits of the gorgeously dressed performers who engross the attention and applause of the ignorant spectators on the other side of the footlights.

The true story of the famous telegram which may be said to have rendered the South African War inevitable is one which strikingly illustrates the extent to which the public may be deceived about the most important transactions of contemporary history.

Every one is familiar with the situation created by that celebrated despatch. For some time previously all England, and, in fact, all Europe, had been agitated by the intelligence that Johannesburg was on the eve of insurrection, that the Boers were drawing their forces together about the doomed city, that Dr. Jameson had dashed across the frontier with five hundred followers in a mad attempt to come to the aid of the threatened Outlanders, and that his action had been formally disavowed by the British Government.

Close on the heels of these tidings came the memorable day on which London was cast into gloom by long streams of placards issuing from the newspaper offices bearing the dismal legend, ‘Jameson Beaten and a Prisoner!’

While the populace were yet reeling under the blow, divided between distress at this humiliation for the British flag, and indignation at the criminal recklessness which had staked the country’s honour on a gambler’s throw, there came the portentous news that the head of the great German Empire, the grandson of Queen Victoria, had sent a public message of congratulation to the Boer President, rejoicing with him in the face of the world over an event which every Englishman felt as a national disaster.

That hour registered the doom of the Pretorian Government. Jameson was scornfully forgotten. The British people, as proud as it is generous, made up its mind that the forbearance so long extended to a vassal of its own, could no longer be shown with honour to the protégé of a mighty European Power.

On the very day on which this celebrated despatch appeared as the chief item of news in all the newspapers of the world, I received an urgent cipher message from the Director of the Imperial Secret Service, Herr Finkelstein, demanding my presence in Berlin.

My headquarters, as I have said, are in Paris, and fortunately I was disengaged when the summons arrived. I had merely to dictate a few dozen wires to my staff, while my valet was strapping up the portmanteau which always stands ready packed in my dressing-room, and to look out my German passport—for I have a separate one for every important nationality—and in an hour or two I was seated in the Berlin express, speeding towards the frontier.

From the bunch of papers which my attentive secretary had thrust into the carriage, I learned something of the effect which the German Emperor’s interference in the affairs of South Africa had produced on the public mind in England. It was evident that the Islanders were strongly roused, and were preparing to pick up the gage of battle which had been thrown down. No sooner had I reached German territory than I found evidences of an even greater excitement. The whole nation seemed to have rallied round the Kaiser, and to be ready to back up his words with martial deeds.

By this time I had little doubt that I had been sent for in connection with the outbreak of hostile feeling between the two Powers. But it was impossible for me to anticipate the actual nature of the task which awaited me.

On reaching Berlin I was met by a private emissary of Finkelstein’s, who hurried me off to the Director’s private house. The first words with which he greeted me convinced me that the business I had come about was of no ordinary kind.

‘Do not sit down,’ he said to me, as I was about to drop into a chair, after shaking hands with him. ‘I must ask you to come to my dressing-room at once, where you will transform yourself as quickly as possible into an officer of the Berlin Police. The moment that is done, I am to conduct you to the Palace, where his Majesty will see you alone.’

As I followed the Director into the dressing-room, where I found a uniform suit laid out ready for my wearing, I naturally asked: ‘Can you tell me what this is about?’

Finkelstein shook his head with a mysterious air.

‘The Kaiser has told me nothing. But he warned me very strictly not to let a single creature in Berlin know of your arrival, and from that fact I have naturally drawn certain conclusions.’

I gazed at Finkelstein with some suspicion. We were good friends, having worked together on more than one occasion, and I knew he would have no wish to keep me in the dark. On the other hand, if he had been instructed to do so, I knew he would not hesitate to lie to me. The secret service has its code of honour, like other professions, and fidelity to one’s employer comes before friendship.

Keeping my eye fixed on him, I observed carelessly—

‘You will tell me just as much or as little as you think fit, my dear Finkelstein. On my part I shall, of course, exercise a similar discretion after his Imperial Majesty has given me my instructions.’

As I expected, the bait took. Curiosity is the besetting weakness of a secret service officer, and the Berlin Director was no exception to the rule. Putting on his most confidential manner, he at once replied—

‘My dear V——, if you and I do not trust each other, whom can we trust? Rest assured that my confidence in you has no reserves. I have spoken the bare truth in saying that the Kaiser has given me no indication of his object in sending for you. But the fact that he has ordered me to take these precautions to conceal the fact of your arrival in Berlin tells me plainly that there is a person whom he wishes to keep in ignorance; and that person can only be——’

‘The Chancellor?’ I threw in, as my companion hesitated.

Finkelstein nodded.

‘You consider, perhaps, that it is against the Chancellor that I am to be employed?’ I went on.

‘It looks like it,’ was the cautious answer.

‘And the reason why this task is not placed in your hands?’

‘Is because I am a native of Hanover, and the Kaiser regards me rather as a public official than as a personal servant of his own dynasty,’ said Finkelstein.

‘In other words, he regards you as a creature of the Chancellor’s,’ I commented bluntly.

The Director made a pleasing and ingenious attempt to blush.

‘I can only affirm to you, on my sacred word of honour, that his Majesty has no cause to trust me any less than if I were a Prussian,’ he declared. ‘And I shall take it as a personal kindness if you will endeavour to convince the Kaiser of my loyalty.’

‘I will take care that he knows your sentiments,’ I answered, with an ambiguity which Finkelstein fortunately did not remark.

By this time I had completed my transformation. A glance at the cheval glass showed me a stiff, well-set-up Prussian official, exhaling the very atmosphere of Junkerdom and sauerkraut. I gave the signal to depart, and we were quickly driving up the Unter den Linden on our way to the Imperial Palace.

‘Announce to his Majesty—the Herr Director Finkelstein and the Herr Inspector Vehm,’ my companion said to the doorkeeper.

A servant, who had evidently received special instructions, stepped forward.

‘The Herr Inspector is to be taken to his Majesty at once,’ he said firmly.

Finkelstein bit his lip as he unwillingly turned to re-enter his carriage. I followed the lackey into the private cabinet of the monarch who had just found himself the centre of an international cyclone.

“A glance at the cheval glass showed me a stiff, well set-up Prussian official.”

Wilhelm II. received me cordially. It was not the first time we had met. About the time of his ascending the throne I had been the means of inflicting on him a defeat which a smaller man would have found it hard to forgive. Fortunately, the German Kaiser was of metal sterling enough to recognise merit even in an enemy, and to realise that my fidelity to my then employer was the best guarantee that I should be equally faithful to himself, if it fell to my lot to serve him.

‘What has Finkelstein told you?’ was the Emperor’s first question, after he had graciously invited me to sit down.

‘Only that he was able to tell me nothing, sire.’

The Emperor gave me a suspicious glance.

‘He appeared to regret that your Majesty had not given him your confidence,’ I added, choosing my words warily. ‘He assured me that you might rely on his entire devotion, as much so as if he were a native of your hereditary States.’

‘And what do you say as to that?’ demanded the Kaiser, with a piercing look.

‘I think that your Majesty cannot be too careful whom you trust.’

Wilhelm II. allowed himself to smile gravely.

‘I see, Monsieur V——, that you are a prudent man. If Herr Finkelstein wishes to convince me of his loyalty to the Hohenzollerns, he cannot begin better than by renouncing the pension which he continues to draw secretly from the Duke of ——.’ His Majesty pronounced the name by which a well-known dispossessed sovereign goes in his exile.

Familiar as I long have been with instances of perfidy in others, I could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment at this revelation of Finkelstein’s double dealing. The Kaiser continued—

‘After that you will not be surprised if I caution you particularly against letting Herr Finkelstein know anything of the object of the inquiry I wish you to undertake.’

I bowed respectfully, and waited with some impatience to learn the true nature of my mission.

‘I could not receive you here without taking some one into the secret of your employment,’ the Kaiser went on to explain; ‘and I chose Finkelstein in order to give the affair as much as possible the aspect of a private and domestic matter. In reality the task I have to set you is one of the most grave in which you have ever been engaged.’

The Kaiser took one of the Berlin papers of the day before, which was lying on the desk in front of him, and pointed to a column in which was set out in conspicuous type the telegram which had convulsed Europe and Africa, and had already caused Lord Salisbury to issue orders for the mobilisation of his Flying Squadron.

‘I have sent for you, in two words, to find out for me the authorship of this telegram,’ the Kaiser said.

“‘I have sent for you, in two words, to find out for me the authorship of this telegram,’ the Kaiser said.”

Notwithstanding my long training in the most tortuous paths of secret intrigue, I was fairly taken aback by this announcement.

‘That telegram!’ I could only exclaim. ‘The one which your Majesty addressed to President Kruger!’

‘I never sent it,’ Wilhelm II. declared gravely. ‘It is a forgery pure and simple.’

For a moment I sat still in my chair, almost unable to think.

‘But what——? But who——?’ I articulated, struggling with my bewilderment.

‘That is what you have got to find out for me,’ was the answer. ‘Let me tell you all I know. The first intimation I had of the existence of such a thing was the sight of it in the Press. I sent instantly for the Chancellor, who came here wearing a reproachful expression, and evidently prepared to complain bitterly of my having taken such a step without previously informing him. When I told him that the whole thing was an impudent fabrication, he could scarcely believe his ears. In fact, for some time I believe he was inclined to consider my repudiation of it as a mere official denial.’

I ventured to raise my eyes to his Majesty’s as I observed—

‘Your Majesty has taken no steps to make your repudiation public?’

The Kaiser gave an angry frown.

‘That is the serious part of the affair,’ he answered. ‘Kruger, in his eagerness to proclaim to the world that I was on his side, had sent copies of this infamous production to every newspaper in the two hemispheres before it reached my eyes. At the moment when I first saw it, it had already been read and commented upon all round the globe. The British newspapers were already threatening war, and my own people had been excited to a pitch of enthusiasm such as no other act of mine has ever called forth. You see the position I was placed in. If I were now to disavow this forgery, my disavowal would be received everywhere with the same scepticism as was felt even by my own Chancellor. The British would triumph over me, and my own subjects would never forgive me for what they would regard as a surrender to British threats.’

I sat silent. I realised the full difficulty of the Kaiser’s position. He was committed in spite of himself to the act of some impostor, whose real motives were yet to be discovered, but who had already succeeded in bringing the two greatest Powers of Europe to the verge of war.

‘Before I can undo the mischief which has been done,’ the Emperor proceeded, ‘I must first of all ascertain from what quarter this forgery emanated. When I have obtained that information, backed by clear and convincing proofs, it may be possible for me to satisfy the British Government that they and I have been the victims of a conspiracy. If you can succeed in furnishing me with those proofs, it shall be the best day’s work you ever did in your life.’

I listened carefully to these words, scrutinising them for any trace of a double meaning. It was impossible for me to dismiss entirely from my mind that suspicion which the story told by Wilhelm II. was naturally calculated to excite. I asked myself whether the Kaiser was really in earnest, or whether he was not inviting me, in a delicate fashion, to extricate him from the consequences of his own rashness, by putting together some fictitious account of the origin of the telegram, which might impose on Lord Salisbury.

It was clearly necessary, however, for me to appear to be convinced.

‘May I ask if your Majesty’s suspicions point in any particular direction?’ I asked, trying to feel my way cautiously. ‘The President of the Boers is perhaps——’

The Kaiser interrupted me.

‘I do not think Kruger would dare to provoke me by such a trick. He would know that he would be the first to suffer when it was found out. No, I am convinced that we must look nearer home for the traitor.’

Something in the Emperor’s tone struck me as significant.

‘If you could give me any indication of the person——’ I ventured to throw out.

His Majesty looked at me fixedly as he answered—

‘Does it not occur to you, Monsieur V——, that there is in my Empire a powerful family, the heads of which seem at one time to have cherished the notion that the Hohenzollerns could not reign without them, a family which aspired to play the same part in modern Germany which was played by the Mayors of the Palace in the Empire of the Merovingians?’

‘You allude, sire, without doubt, to the Bismarcks?’

‘My grandfather was forced into war with the French by a forged telegram. There would be nothing surprising in an attempt from the same quarter to force me into a war with England.’

I had no answer to make to such reasoning. Daring as such a manœuvre might appear, it was absurd, in the face of historical facts, to pronounce it improbable.

After a minute spent in considering the situation, I turned to the question of how the fraud might have been carried out.

It was quite clear to me that such a message could not have gone over the ordinary wires. The despatches of Emperors are not, as a rule, handed in over the counter of a post-office, like a telegram from a husband announcing that he is prevented from dining at home. I asked the Kaiser to explain to me the system pursued with regard to Imperial messages.

‘That is a matter about which you will be able to learn more from the Chancellor than from me,’ was the answer. ‘Foreign despatches go through the Chancellery, and there is a staff of telegraphists there to deal with them. The wire goes direct to the Central Telegraph Office, I believe, from which it would, of course, find its way to the Cable Company.’

‘Then this fabrication must have been sent from the Chancellery in the first instance?’ I inquired. ‘It could not have been received at the Central Office from an outside source?’

‘Impossible. They would not dare to transmit a message in my name which had not reached them through one of the authorised channels.’

This was the reply I had expected. But I did not fail to mark the admission that there was more than one channel through which the forgery might have come. I was quick to ask—

‘Is there not some other source from which this telegram may have reached them besides the Chancellery? Your Majesty, no doubt, has a private wire from the Palace.’

The Kaiser looked a little put out.

‘That is so, of course,’ he conceded. ‘But that wire is used only for my personal messages, and those of the Imperial family.’

‘Still, a message received over this wire, and couched in your name, would be accepted at the Central Office, would it not?’ I persisted.

‘Undoubtedly. But the Palace operator, a man who works under the eye of my secretary, would not dare to play me such a trick, which, he would be aware, must be detected immediately. Take my advice, Monsieur V——, waste no time over side paths, but go direct to the Chancellor, and commence your perquisitions among his staff.’

I bowed respectfully, as though accepting this plan of campaign. But, as I withdrew from the Emperor’s cabinet, the doubt pressed more strongly than ever upon my mind whether I was not being asked to play a part. I half expected to find everything prepared for me at the Chancellery, prearranged clues leading to the detection of a culprit who would recite a confession which had been put into his mouth beforehand.

I was perfectly willing to perform my part in the comedy in a manner satisfactory to my employer, but all the same I meant to keep my eyes open, and not to let myself be the victim of a deception intended for English consumption.

In this mood I presented myself before the Chancellor. As soon as the Imperial autograph introducing me had met his eye, his Excellency threw aside, or pretended to throw aside, all reserve.

‘I am delighted to find the Emperor has placed this business in your hands, Monsieur V——,’ he said obligingly. ‘Your reputation is well known to me, and I am convinced that you will be perfectly discreet. The Emperor is, of course, thoroughly taken aback by the results of his unfortunate impulse, and wishes to relieve himself of the responsibility he has incurred. In that I am quite willing to help him, but not at my own expense, you understand.’

I murmured something about the Bismarcks. His Excellency gave a smile of contempt.

‘All that is absurd,’ he rapped out. ‘The Emperor is quite foolish about that family, which possesses no more influence to-day than any Pomeranian squire. No, if his Majesty wants a victim he ought to be content with one of his own staff. I refuse to allow the Imperial Chancellery to be discredited in the eyes of Europe.’

This reception, so unlike what I had anticipated, made me begin to think that my inquiry would have to be serious. After a little further conversation with the Chancellor I decided to go to work regularly, beginning by tracing the Imperial telegram back from the Central Office.

The Chancellor readily furnished me with the necessary authority to produce to the Director of the Telegraph Service, to whom I had merely to explain that I had been instructed to verify the exact wording of the now famous despatch.

It is unnecessary for me to detail my interview with this functionary, whose share in the business was purely formal. Suffice it that within a quarter of an hour after entering his office, I came out with the all-important information that the congratulation to Mr. Kruger had come direct from the Imperial Palace, over the Kaiser’s private wire.

By this time it was clear to me that either Wilhelm II. was playing a very complicated game indeed with me, or he really was the victim of one of the most audacious coups in history. My interest in the investigation was strongly roused, as I made my way to the Palace for the second time that day, bent upon a meeting with the telegraphist by whose agency, it now appeared, the war-making despatch had come over the wires.

My recent audience in the Imperial cabinet had invested me with authority in the eyes of the household, and I had no difficulty in getting a footman to conduct me to the operator’s room, which was situated at the far end of the corridor which I had previously passed through on my way to the Kaiser.

The room being empty on my arrival, I dismissed the footman in search of the operator, who, he informed me, would most probably be found with the private secretary to the Emperor.

The moment I found myself alone I stepped up to the apparatus. I am an expert telegraphist, and the machine speedily clicked off the following despatch—

‘To the German Ambassador, London.—See Lord Salisbury privately, at once, and inform him British Government entirely deceived as to my sentiments. Proofs will be sent to you shortly.—Wilhelm, Kaiser.’

I had hardly taken my fingers off the instrument when the door opened and the operator walked in.

Herr Zeiss—I heard this name at the Central Office—appeared to me to be a simple-minded man, more likely to be the victim of a conspiracy than himself a conspirator. I thought it my best plan to assume an air of omniscience at the outset.

‘How is this, sir!’ I demanded with some sternness. ‘Do your instructions permit you to leave this instrument unguarded for any person who pleases to send his own messages over the Emperor’s private wire?’

The telegraphist stared at me with a mixture of surprise and alarm.

‘I don’t know who has authorised you, Herr Inspector——’ he began, when I cut him short.

‘Am I to go to his Majesty, and ask him if you have permission to leave this room when you please, without taking any precautions against the unauthorised use of the wire?’

Herr Zeiss quickly changed his tone.

‘That is not a thing of which I am ever guilty,’ he protested.

‘You have been guilty of it just now,’ I retorted.

‘I have not been away two minutes. No one could have taken advantage of my absence.’

‘Nevertheless, advantage has been taken of your absence.’

‘I don’t believe it!’

‘Ask the Central Office to repeat the message you have just sent them, then.’

Casting a frightened look at me, the man complied. I have seldom seen an expression of deeper astonishment and terror on a man’s face than that which marked the unfortunate operator’s as my despatch came back to him, word after word, ending with the Imperial signature.

‘My God!’ he cried out. ‘Who has done this? I shall be ruined!’

‘Whether you are ruined or not depends entirely on yourself,’ I said sharply. ‘It is in my power to save you, but only upon one condition.’

“‘My God!’ he cried out. ‘Who has done this? I shall be ruined.’”

Herr Zeiss turned on me a gaze of mute appeal.

‘You must tell me the exact truth,’ I proceeded, ‘and you must tell me everything. How often have you left this room without taking precautions against the misuse of the wire in your absence during the last two days?’

Zeiss considered for a moment. Then his face brightened up.

‘Not once, I can assure you positively of that, Herr Inspector.’

This answer, given so confidently, came as a severe check to me. I looked at the man sternly, as I responded, with assumed confidence—

‘And I am positive that you are mistaken. An unauthorised use has been made of this wire, and I am determined to know by whom.’

The operator’s face fell once more. He appeared to me to be honestly at a loss.

‘Come,’ I put in, ‘think again. Begin by recalling any occasions on which you have been called away hurriedly, and have perhaps omitted to lock the door.’

‘But there has been no such occasion. I swear to you that I have not once left this room without taking ample precautions.’

I fancied I discerned a touch of hesitation, rather in the operator’s tone than in his actual words.

‘Speak more plainly,’ I said. ‘What do you mean by precautions?’

‘Either the door was locked, or else——’ This time the hesitation was palpable.

‘Or else what?’

‘It was left in the charge of a trustworthy person.’

‘And that trustworthy person, who was he?’ I found it hard to suppress all signs of excitement as I put this question.

‘The gentleman who will shortly be my brother-in-law.’

‘Ah! Perhaps this gentleman is an employee in the same department as yourself?’

‘Not at all,’ Zeiss protested earnestly. ‘He is a teacher in the Military College. He knows nothing of telegraphy; in fact, he has sometimes asked me questions on the subject which have convinced me that he is quite a fool where electricity is concerned.’

‘Indeed! And the name of this foolish person, if you please?’

‘Herr Severinski.’

‘A Pole!’ I exclaimed.

‘No, a Russian. He was exiled to Siberia on account of his political opinions, but escaped. He teaches Russian in the college.’

‘How did he come to be left in charge of this room?’

‘He called here the day before yesterday, in the evening, to speak to me about his marriage with my sister. They have been engaged for some time, you must know. While he was here I received a note from my sister herself, pressing me to come and speak to her at once outside the Palace. I went, leaving my brother-in-law to wait here during my absence. My sister, I found, merely wished to urge me not to object to any proposal made by her betrothed. On my return I found Severinski yawning and apparently bored to death in my absence. I asked him, and he assured me no one had come near the room while I was away.’

I could scarcely resist smiling as the whole intrigue, so simple, and yet so consummately successful, lay bared to my perception. My whole anxiety now was to keep the worthy but stupid Zeiss ignorant of the transaction in which he had been an unwitting accomplice.

I brought him away from the Palace with me, so as to leave him no opportunity of warning Severinski, and we proceeded together to the Russian’s quarters. I flatter myself that the professor of the Military College was not a little disconcerted when he saw his dupe followed into the room by an Inspector of the Berlin Police.

I explained my position in such a manner as to let Severinski see that I knew everything, without enlightening the other man.

‘The day before yesterday Herr Zeiss left you alone in his room in the Palace. You took the opportunity to send a telegram, the terms of which are known to me, over the Emperor’s private wire. For this offence you and he are liable to severe punishment. What I now have to propose to you is to make a confession which will have the effect of exonerating every one except yourself. If you do this, I think I can promise you that you shall suffer no penalty beyond, of course, the loss of your post in the Military College.’

Severinski gave me a glance of intelligence.

‘You do not require me to denounce anybody else?’ he inquired significantly.

‘I do not require you to confess what is obvious to every one,’ I returned with equal significance.

Poor Zeiss followed this exchange with an air of bewilderment. It was evident that the discovery of the other’s guilt had caused a shock to his confiding nature, and he was still trying to reconcile the Russian’s prompt surrender to me with his previous stupidity on questions of electrical science, when I summarily dismissed him from further share in the interview.

As soon as we were by ourselves Severinski spoke out boldly enough.

‘I am quite willing to give you a statement that I sent the telegram. But I am not going to tell you anything more. You must know that I am an Anarchist.’

I waved my hand scornfully.

‘If I consent to your suppressing the truth, Professor Severinski, it does not follow that I am willing to listen to absurd fictions. Be good enough to write out and sign a circumstantial account of your own part in this clumsy plot, and I will undertake that you shall not pass to-night in prison.’

The Russian had the sense to do what he was told without further parley. I got from him more than I expected. He consented to put in writing that it was after his betrothal to Fraulein Zeiss that he had been solicited to make use of his connection with the Kaiser’s private telegraphist, and he stated the amount of the bribe, a very heavy one, paid him for his services in sending the Imperial congratulations to the President of the Transvaal. We became so friendly over the discussion that Severinski, who was bursting with vanity over his success, wanted me at last to let him tell me too much. I was obliged to order him to be silent.

‘If you tell me that you are an agent of a certain great Power, I must repeat what you say to the Kaiser. Then one of two things will happen. Either your Government will avow your action, in which case you will be hanged as a spy, or it will disavow you, in which case you will pass the rest of your life in prison as a criminal lunatic.’

This menace had all the effect which I could have desired, and I was satisfied that the Russian would now hold his tongue.

Bidding him a cordial farewell—for I confess the fellow’s audacity had inspired me with some admiration—I hastened back to the Palace, to lay the results of my investigations before Wilhelm II.

‘Your Majesty has been victimised by a secret agent whose employers are interested in bringing about a feeling of ill-will, if not an actual war, between Germany and Great Britain. The day before yesterday this agent, whose name is Severinski, and who is employed to teach Russian’—Wilhelm II. started—‘in the Berlin Military College, visited your private telegraphist in the room at the end of this corridor. He had previously contrived that the telegraphist should be called away during his visit, and he took advantage of this absence to send the message which has caused so much trouble.’

The Kaiser made no reply until he had finished reading the proofs I laid before him.

‘And you did not ask this Severinski by whom he was set on?’ demanded his Majesty, giving me a keen glance.

‘I did not know whether you would wish me to do so,’ I answered respectfully.

‘You were right, a thousand times right,’ exclaimed the Emperor. ‘As long as they are in doubt whether I know it is they who have played me this trick, I have the advantage of them, and they will keep silence for their own sakes.’ He paused in deep consideration for a minute, then he looked up quickly. ‘All this time I must not forget the English. Tell me, Monsieur V——, are you personally known to Lord Salisbury?’

‘I have that honour, sire. On one occasion——’

‘Enough! There is not a moment to lose. You will leave Berlin by the first train, and proceed straight to the Ambassador’s house in London. He will take you round to the Prime Minister, and you will offer him the proofs which you have just offered me, explaining at the same time that the excited state of public feeling in both countries makes it impossible for me to take any open action in the matter.’

I bowed and moved towards the door.

‘I will wire to the Ambassador to expect you,’ called out the Kaiser.

‘Pardon me, your Majesty has done so already.’

‘How?’

‘I also passed five minutes alone in the room of Herr Zeiss,’ I explained.

In the years which have elapsed since this celebrated episode, Wilhelm II. has left no means untried to convince the British people of his friendly sentiments towards them. It is as a service to his Imperial Majesty, though without authority from him, that I now venture to lift the veil from the most astounding transaction in the annals of even Muscovite diplomacy.