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If it were possible to write the secret history of a European Ambassador what a revelation would stand before the eyes of the astonished public! We read our newspapers and form our opinions on great international questions from their pages, or from speeches in the House of Commons, while all the time those "behind the scenes" are smiling to themselves at the very small amount of knowledge which the press and public are really permitted to obtain; or else, while the people are flattering themselves over the prospect of a "peaceful political outlook," as contained in the "leaders" of the daily paper, those in whose hands the "outlook" is really placed are trembling with anxiety lest some piece of delicate diplomacy should fall through. Nor is the public aware of the plots and counterplots which take place among a class of men chosen especially for their diplomatic faculties, and often pitted against one another in a warfare that demands more brains than the most skilful military leader in Europe.

The incident I am about to narrate forms a small part of the secret annals of the diplomatic service, though at the same time soother equally secret element entered into the plot.

It will be remembered that in 189- there were rumours going the rounds of the press concerning friction between some of the great Powers of Europe, nor were there wanting those who prophesied "wars and rumours of wars." The centre of the agitation was that great field of international trouble and dispute vaguely known unto us as "The East." Some fresh troubles had arisen in the "Eastern Question," owing to the unexpected attitude of one of the smaller Powers, which appeared to be setting her more powerful neighbours at defiance, and encouraging them to quarrel among themselves. The Prime Minister was harassed on every side. Questions were asked in the House, but cleverly evaded, and the foreign policy of this country seemed for a few weeks to be wrapped up in sphinx-like mystery, until suddenly the crisis was at an end, the stocks rose merrily, and the public once more breathed freely. But it is little known that a far different result might have been the case; and therefore the incident about to be chronicled will be of all the more interest. One stipulation must be made, and that for obvious reasons. The names of those who took part in the adventure must not be disclosed, for it was from one of these that the facts of the case will be set down. There is no fear of his discovery, and I have permission to publish his story, which runs as follows.

It was during a prolonged stay in the East of Europe that I first became aware of the existence of a secret society which has its members spread through many countries, and which I will refer to under its Anglicised name of "The Watching Brotherhood." Why and how I became a member myself matters little in the incident I am about to narrate. Perhaps I was young and foolish, and fired with false ideas of "Liberty." Perhaps it was because, being a cosmopolitan, I had few patriotic instincts, and was the more ready to devote myself to the cause which "The Watchers" professed to have in hand. On my return to England I found a little handful of the "brothers" in London. Perhaps it will be better understood when I say that most of these were of Russian extraction, and probably exercise more influence even in this country than might be supposed. Among the few who constituted our branch of the society the most important was a man whom we will call Koravitch, a fine muscular fellow of English descent by his mother—a man who would stick at nothing, and the narration of whose exploits would form a volume in itself. Koravitch was our chairman, and one evening, when we met at his summons in a quiet house not a hundred miles from Tottenham Court-road, he came into the room with a more serious expression than I had ever seen him wear.

"Comrades," he said, an soon its he had taken his seat, "we have serious business before as to-night, and before long some of us may be called upon to act."

"What is it?" we asked breathlessly.

"The peace or the war of Europe, perhaps," he answered. "Great things are being weighed in the balance. But listen while I read you this message from B—"

B— was one of the heads of the society, and a word from him meant much. We anxiously listened while Koravitch read the following:—

"To our brothers, greeting! The time has come and the great opportunity has arisen. The Powers of Europe are looking one another in the face in anger and in terror. Irresolution characterises three Governments, and peace is threatened with destruction. Let there be war! Let the nations fight, for then shall follow the rising for Freedom."

The explanation was this: If Europe could be involved in an Eastern war it was determined to light the torch of a great revolution in Russia and other countries in sympathy with such a movement. How far such a rising would be successful it is difficult to judge, but "desperate men use desperate means to attain their ends."

"Now," went on Koravitch, "there is something more. I have a most important matter to put before you. Two of the Powers are bringing pressure to bear on the British Cabinet to induce England to act with them independently of Russia. If they are successful the chances for war will be increased tenfold. So grave has this political outlook been considered at St. Petersburg—for, somehow or other, the affair has leaked out—that it has been determined to send an Extraordinary Embassy from the Tsar's Government, armed with a treaty of a private nature, by the signing of which England will agree to act with Russia, in agreement with certain proposals the latter Power intends to make—the end of which will be peace. So important does the Tsar consider the question that this embassy is being kept a dead secret, and even the Russian Ambassador in this country is unaware of it."

"Is this true?" asked one of the "brothers."

"Did you ever know me to lie?" asked Koravitch, sternly. "Of course it is true. Our society has its agents everywhere—and evens the Tsar's palace is not free from them."

"And who is the Ambassador chosen?"

"Sklavotski," said the chairman.

"What! Sklavotski?" we echoed.

"Ay—none other. A pretty good handful to cope with, eh?"

For the name carried terror with it. Sklavotski had been one of the cleverest secret police agents in Russia. Then he was appointed to diplomatic service of a dangerous character, and it was commonly reported that no one had ever got the better of him.

"Yes," continued our chairman, "it is none other. And now comes the point that concerns us. It is ordered that every possible delay be placed in the way of his journey here. Right across the Continent our agents are at work, and no pains have been spared. Even a railway accident has been planned on one of the lines on which he has to travel. But one thing has been strictly ordered, and that is that his life is not to be attempted. The question stands thus: His interview with the British Prime Minister must be prevented until the representatives of the other two Powers have prevailed upon him to take the other course. Also, if possible, the private treaty which he carries must be obtained. Now you may be sure that he will take every precaution, for no man knows the risk he is running better than himself."

"And how does this affect us?" asked a "brother."

"Well, you see, in the event of his slipping through the hands of our friends on the Continent we must try to got the better of him on this side of the water."

"Which way will he come?" I asked.

"It is not quite certain, but in all probability via Kingboro', coming on to town by the 'Catton and Slowbridge' line. If he doesn't meet with any accident abroad, he ought to be on our shores on Friday evening. Now, listen, and I'll tell you what our plans had better be. First of all, which of you knows Sklavotski by sight?"

"I do," I replied. "I shouldn't seen forget him, with that scar over his eyebrow and his big white moustache and imperial."

"Very well. Then you and the 'Lynx' (a sobriquet for another "brother") and myself will go down to Kingboro' on Monday, and I'll arrange to have a cipher telegram sent to me there detailing movements abroad. I'll leave you, G——, in charge here, and wire you instructions if he doesn't come by that route. But remember, all of you, be faithful to your oath, and do your duty."

It in not worth while to mention the details of the meeting which followed. Suffice it to say that on Monday night we three above mentioned found ourselves meeting by appointment in a road outside the East Coast seaport of Kingboro'.

"Hold yourselves to readiness to act to-morrow," said our leader. "My advice states that the Ambassador's all right so for—he's a clever one, he is—and he may get over here after all. Now the boat is timed to arrive at seven to-morrow evening. It's dark at six, so we'll meet in the road at the back of the station."

"Have you got any plan?"

He shook his head.

"I simply can't think of anything. But if he comes we'll have to nab him somehow. Perhaps we'll do it in town. Anyway, we'd better separate now. So, goodnight."

At six o'clock the next evening we met as arranged.

Koravitch had important news for us.

"I've had cipher telegrams to-day," he said, "which make the affair more pressing than ever. Sklavotski is on his way. There's to be an attempt to tamper with the boat's engines, though they don't think it will come off. But on Ambassador Extraordinary from one of the opposition Powers is making for England, and will be in London early to-morrow morning, arriving at Dover by the first boat. At all risks he must have some hours' start of Sklavotski, or else the whole thing falls through."

"That means that Sklavotski must be prevented from getting to London tonight," I said.

"Aye, not only presented. He must be kidnapped, and kept till midday to-morrow."

"How is it to be done?"

"We must get him on the train, somehow."

"Are ordinary passengers allowed to travel by it?"

"Yes—you go and take first-class singles to London. And we'll keep an eye on each other, and on him."

The boat was late in arriving that night. We heard that some of the machinery had got out of gear during the passage, but after a short delay had easily been set right again. Anxiously we three watched the passengers as they disembarked from the boat. There was the usual medley—groups of laughing foreigners, two or three phlegmatic Dutchmen, pale-faced ladies, oven to the inevitable clergyman, an old man who was evidently nervous of the landing platform, and who slipped at the end of it. I stepped forward and helped him to his feet, receiving his thanks in a voice choked with a cough. Presently we three spies instinctively glanced at one another as an individual appeared on the landing platform, a man wearing a heavy fur-lined coat, conspicuous for his large white moustache and imperial. His soft hat was drawn down over his forehead, but not no closely as to prevent a scar over his eye from showing. It was Sklavotski! He appeared to have no luggage except a handbag, and when this had been examined by the Customs officers we followed him to the platform.

The train was drawn up—rather a long one—and behind the rear brake-van was an extra coach containing a luggage, two first, and two second compartments. The bulk of the passengers made for the centre of the train, but Sklavotski, casting a searching glance around him, walked straight to the last carriage and got into the first-class compartment nearest the back of the carriage, tipping the guard to lock him in.

It was at this moment Koravitch suddenly exclaimed:

"Oh, the fool—he's played right into our hands! Now, quick, you two, get in that carriage."

"What—with him?"

"No, you can't do that. Get into the other first-class compartment—the one at the front end of the carriage, and get the guard to reserve it. I'll be with you in a minute."

We got in, and, curious to know what our leader was about, I leaned out of the window to watch him. First he carefully observed the space between the last carriage and the one in front of it. Then he walked to the end of the train and gave a glance behind. His next move was to run down the platform, and, looking round to see if he were unobserved, he darted into a room, the door of which opened on to the platform. In a moment he had emerged, apparently holding something beneath his great coat. Then he joined us in the carriage, and the guard locked us in.

"No stop before London, guard, is there?"

"No, sir."

In five minutes we were off, and Koravitch produced from under his coat a railway lamp.

"What on earth are you going to do with that?" we asked.

"Well, it isn't worth while to make big accident out of this trip, and I want the train itself to go on," he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see presently—there's a big job before us. Now, do you think you two can tackle Sklavotski?"

"How?"

"Well, you'll have to go along the footboard, and get in with him. Then, somehow or other, you must persuade him to drink this little refresher" (and he took out of his pocket a small bottle); "you needn't be afraid, it will only make him sleep comfortably."

"But what are you going to do?"

Koravitch first proceeded to light the lantern, and to turn on the red glass. Then he answered:

"Well, I've got a very dangerous job. I'm going to uncouple this carriage, and let the rest of the train go on. I shall put this lamp behind the coach in front of us, for if the train ran on without the tail light, she'd be pulled up pretty soon by a signalman, and I want to leave the light on behind our carriage, so that the next trains on the 'up' line will pull up at the red light ahead of her, and so there won't be a smash. As to the uncoupling, it's a difficult job, of course, but I know how to go about it. It's lucky he did not travel by the opposition route, as those trains are fitted with the auto-vacuum brake, and I should not have been able to work it. But the 'Canon and Slowbridge' use the 'Westinghouse,' and I can turn off the cocks, and manage all right. I know how that works. Then there's the electric communication to unfasten. Then there are the safety chains on each side of the coupling—they'll be easy enough—and lastly, the actual coupling itself. There'll be just footing enough, or I'll manage to hold on somehow while I unscrew the coupling, manipulate the brake, and then when the coupling gets slack I'll slip it off the hook as we go down a gradient. The train will go on, and we shall slowly pull up. I know just the spot where it had better be worked, so that we shall pull up in a quiet place. But there isn't any more time for talking now."

"One moment," I said. "What do you propose doing if you manage to stop the coach?"

"Oh, we'll get Sklavotski out of it."

"And then?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Then we'll think of further developments. Sufficient to the moment is the danger thereof—quite sufficient. Now, then, off you go. Stop, here's a railway key in case his door's locked. Take care not to let those people in the other compartments see you. Good luck, and I'll be with you presently. Steady, now. One out of each door, so as to take him on each side!"

So saying, he put the lamp under his coat, so as not to be seen by anyone as he walked along the footboard, while "the Lynx" and I stepped out, one on either side of the carriage, I taking the key, as it was on my side that the guard had locked the door. Very stealthily I crept along the footboard, carefully avoiding being seen by the occupants of the second-class compartment I had to pass. At length I arrived opposite the door of the compartment in which Sklavotski was travelling, and ventured to look in at a corner of the window. He was lying down on the seat, with his bag for a pillow, apparently fast asleep. At this moment I caught sight of my companion's face at the opposite window, and saw that he was ready for the attack. Quickly and noiselessly I inserted my key and unlocked the carriage door. To open it and spring in was the work of another instant, and simultaneously my companion entered by his door. Sklavotski sprang up and uttered a curse in Russian; but in less time than it takes to tell the story we were on him, and, holding him down firmly to the seat, notwithstanding his violent struggles we managed to force his mouth open by holding his nostrils, and to pour the contents of the little bottle down his throat. A shudder or two ran through him, his struggles grew less and less, and very soon he was resting quietly, to all intents and purposes fast asleep.

Then we turned our thoughts to Koravitch. He had not yet appeared, and we were still rushing along at 50 miles an hour. I looked out of the window, craning my neck to see as far as possible, and then to my joy observed that the train in front of our carriage was leaving us, and that a red light was gleaming brightly behind as she sped into the darkness. At the same moment a dark figure appeared creeping along the footboard, and Koravitch entered our carriage.

"Bravo," he said, "capital! You fellows have managed it splendidly."

"And you?"

"It was a terribly tough job, but I meant to do it. The screw coupling was the difficulty. I've got my left wrist sprained holding on—lucky I've gone in for gymnastics, for I couldn't have managed it else. But there's no time to talk now—we're slowing down. There's a bit of an up gradient here that will soon pull us up."

"What's the next move, then?"

"To get this fellow out of it. Ah, the handbag." He ran hurriedly through its controls. "No, it's not in that. I'll pitch it out, then. Now—we're slowing up. Open the door on this side. Good! We're on an embankment. As seen as we stop, I'll get out, and you drop him and follow. We must chance those people in the 'seconds' seeing us, but it's precious dark, and I don't think they will. As soon as the carriage pulls up it will begin to roll back down the incline, and from what I know of the line will go half a mile before stepping. We're stopping—I'll jump," and he sprang out into the six-foot way. We had got the sleeping ambassador ready on the floor, and in half a minute we were all out of the carriage, just before it stopped.

"Lie down," said Koravitch.

We did on. The carriage, surely enough, began at this moment to roll back. A window was opened and a head thrust out. The speed increased as the coach passed us, and we heard a voice say in German:

"Ach Himmel! we've broken loose!"

That was all, and we waited for no more. Then we carried the ambassador down the embankment, and found ourselves in a field. "What shall we do now?" I asked.

"Well, the first thing is to get as far away from the line as possible," answered Koravitch, "and we must take him with us—better carry him by turns. He's not extra heavy; who'll take first?"

"I will," I said. So Sklavotski was hoisted on to my shoulders, and we started off. Presently we struck a narrow country lane, which led us away from the railway. We had gone nearly three miles down this lane, carefully avoiding a little row of houses in it, when Koravitch, who was carrying the ambassador, suddenly stopped, and exclaimed:

"Look here, we can't go on like this. We must hide the fellow somewhere. He'll come to presently."

"But what are we to do?" asked "the Lynx."

"Where can we hide him?"

"Shall we get him to some wood?" I said.

"But it's precious cold, and we ought to stick to him for some hours yet; in fact, he ought not to be allowed to get free till well on in the morning. Now let's think. Hullo! I've got a plan. What's that building in front of us?"

"Looks like a church," I said.

"Exactly so; it is a church—I know the country now. It's Little Prebbleton Church, and there isn't a house to speak of within a quarter of a mile of it. It's the last place anyone would dream of entering this time of night, for it's nearly nine o'clock; so let's make for it. We shall be safe inside, and I've got a little dark lantern with me that will help us look over things a bit."

So saying, he led the way to the church, and we were soon picking our way over the churchyard, among the tombs, which stood out in ghastly dimness. Koravitch made for one of the windows, and after some little trouble, managed to force it open. He got in first, and then we lifted Sklavotski through the window and followed ourselves. It was a grim, uncanny feeling that possessed us as we stood in the church. After fumbling about for a few moments we found our way to the vestry, a snug little carpeted nook divided from one of the side aisles by a heavy curtain. Then Koravitch lit his lantern, carefully turning it away from the one window which the vestry possessed.

"Are you going to stay here all night?" I asked.

"Well, perhaps it might be as well," he answered, "unless we tie him up, and leave him here. To-morrow's Saturday, and I should think someone would find him then—they're pretty well sure to come in and get the place ready for Sunday. If not, he won't die if he isn't found till Sunday morning, for we could give him a feed before we go. But the first thing to do is to search him, and to see if we can find anything of importance."

So saying, Koravitch went carefully through the ambassador's pockets. He found some money of various nations, and at length brought out a pocket-book.

"Here it is," he exclaimed, and we gathered round him eagerly as he opened it. But disappointment awaited us; beyond a few receipted hotel bills and unimportant papers, the pocket-book was empty.

"Where can it be?" said Koravitch.

"In London with Monsieur Sklavotski!" said a voice, which made us start and look round. The ambassador had risen upon his feet, and was smiling at us.

"What?" we exclaimed. "How—"

"Pardon, gentlemen," said the other, "I have awakened before you were quite ready for me. No, you needn't attempt to attack me, for I am not going to run away. There is no need. You were asking, I think, for the whereabouts of a certain little paper you thought I had in my possession. I replied that it is now probably in London, and in the safe keeping of Monsieur Sklavotski, whose person it has not left since he started from St. Petersburg. I see I astonish you. Gentlemen, you have been labouring under a slight misapprehension, and I will now make things clear to you. Allow me to introduce myself as Monsieur Klaboulf, a servant of the Ambassador."

And so saying he tore off his moustache and imperial, wiped the scar from his forehead with a handkerchief, and bowed to us with a smile. We were too much astonished to utter a word, and he went on:

"You see, gentlemen, it was only to be expected that Monsieur Sklavotski would find his journey dangerous and inconvenient, and so he hit upon a simple little plan. He shaved himself, and managed to paint out the scar, so that no one could possibly recognise him. And then he paid me to take the danger and inconvenience upon myself. Ah, it has been a very troublesome journey, I assure you. I only just escaped six inches of cold steel besides other disagreeable adventures. And when I came on shore to-night I was tired out. But I had my work still. I knew someone was watching me, so, in order to draw attention from Monsieur Sklavotski himself, who was travelling with me. I went ostentatiously to the last carriage."

"And where was the Ambassador?" hissed Koravitch.

"Don't worry, my friend. Didn't you see an old clergyman get off the boat? Ah, you didn't think to notice him, did you? Never mind. Well, as soon as the train started I fell asleep, and was only awakened by the somewhat violent intrusion. Then they kindly sent me to sleep again, and the first thing I remember was being lifted in at the window just now—and that's my story."

Koravitch bit his lip with anger.

"Then it's all up?" he said.

"Exactly so, gentlemen. Monsieur Sklavotski intended going straight to the Foreign Office, where he was expected, on reaching town. Your scheme was a bold and clever one, though how I got here I don't know. And now that you have failed what do you intend to do with me? I presume you bear me no ill-will; and, as we've both played our little part, there's an end of it."

"Curse you," said Koravitch.

"Oh, of course, if you like. Well, gentlemen, I'm in your hands. What are you going to do with me?"

"You take it pretty coolly," said Koravitch.

"Why, yes; I've been accustomed to dangerous predicaments."

"I like your courage."

The man bowed.

"Are you willing to solemnly swear that you will take no steps against us till the morning?"

"My friends, we had better let the matter end here. I don't want to take any steps against you. Why should I?—the game's ours. If you let me go now, I promise to find my way to the nearest inn, and to say nothing whatever about you. Are you satisfied?"

Well, the end of it was that we agreed to let him go, for we didn't want murder on our hands, and we were rather struck with his coolness. So once more we found ourselves outside the churchyard gate.

"Good night, gentlemen," he said. "You will take more care the next time you try to trick Monsieur Sklavotski. I assure you he's not an easy man to be caught napping—but there, you know it."

He walked off in one direction, and we in another. In a couple of hours we found ourselves in the neighbourhood of C—, and arranged to get a lodging for the night.

We heard afterwards that a signalman saw the escaped carriage running back past his box and gave the alarm. The passengers remaining in the detached coach were "intelligent foreigners," so they were politely told that "they had got into a 'slip coach' that did not work to London. Before starting they should have enquired of the guard, who would have put them in the front part of the train for London." Much excitement was caused when it was found that some of the passengers were missing, but the real state of the case was never known. The result is now a matter of history, though few knew at the time how nearly the settlement of peace came to be frustrated.