Frenzied Fiction | Page 3

the Chancellor as I laid aside the Russian disguise in
which I had travelled. "A Rapprochement!" I said. He groaned. "They
seem to get all the best words," he said.

I shall always feel, to my regret; that I am personally responsible for
the outbreak of the present war. It may have had ulterior causes. But
there is no doubt that it was precipitated by the fact that, for the first
time in seventeen years, I took a six weeks' vacation in June and July of
1914. The consequences of this careless step I ought to have foreseen.
Yet I took such precautions as I could. "Do you think," I asked, "that
you can preserve the status quo for six weeks, merely six weeks, if I
stop spying and take a rest?" "We'll try," they answered. "Remember," I
said, as I packed my things, "keep the Dardanelles closed; have the
Sandjak of Novi Bazaar properly patrolled, and let the Dobrudja remain
under a modus vivendi till I come back."
Two months later, while sitting sipping my coffee at a Kurhof in the
Schwarzwald, I read in the newspapers that a German army had
invaded France and was fighting the French, and that the English
expeditionary force had crossed the Channel. "This," I said to myself,
"means war." As usual, I was right.
It is needless for me to recount here the life of busy activity that falls to
a Spy in wartime. It was necessary for me to be here, there and
everywhere, visiting all the best hotels, watering-places, summer
resorts, theatres, and places of amusement. It was necessary, moreover,
to act with the utmost caution and to assume an air of careless
indolence in order to lull suspicion asleep. With this end in view I made
a practice of never rising till ten in the morning. I breakfasted with
great leisure, and contented myself with passing the morning in a quiet
stroll, taking care, however, to keep my ears open. After lunch I
generally feigned a light sleep, keeping my ears shut. A table d'hote
dinner, followed by a visit to the theatre, brought the strenuous day to a
close. Few Spies, I venture to say, worked harder than I did.
It was during the third year of the war that I received a peremptory
summons from the head of the Imperial Secret Service at Berlin, Baron
Fisch von Gestern. "I want to see you," it read. Nothing more. In the
life of a Spy one learns to think quickly, and to think is to act. I
gathered as soon as I received the despatch that for some reason or
other Fisch von Gestern was anxious to see me, having, as I instantly

inferred, something to say to me. This conjecture proved correct.
The Baron rose at my entrance with military correctness and shook
hands.
"Are you willing," he inquired, "to undertake a mission to America?"
"I am," I answered.
"Very good. How soon can you start?"
"As soon as I have paid the few bills that I owe in Berlin," I replied.
"We can hardly wait for that," said my chief, "and in case it might
excite comment. You must start to-night!"
"Very good," I said.
"Such," said the Baron, "are the Kaiser's orders. Here is an American
passport and a photograph that will answer the purpose. The likeness is
not great, but it is sufficient."
"But," I objected, abashed for a moment, "this photograph is of a man
with whiskers and I am, unfortunately, clean-shaven."
"The orders are imperative," said Gestern, with official hauteur. "You
must start to-night. You can grow whiskers this afternoon."
"Very good," I replied.
"And now to the business of your mission," continued the Baron. "The
United States, as you have perhaps heard, is making war against
Germany."
"I have heard so," I replied.
"Yes," continued Gestern. "The fact has leaked out--how, we do not
know--and is being widely reported. His Imperial Majesty has decided
to stop the war with the United States."

I bowed.
"He intends to send over a secret treaty of the same nature as the one
recently made with his recent Highness the recent Czar of Russia.
Under this treaty Germany proposes to give to the United States the
whole of equatorial Africa and in return the United States is to give to
Germany the whole of China. There are other provisions, but I need not
trouble you with them. Your mission relates, not to the actual treaty,
but to the preparation of the ground."
I bowed again.
"You are aware, I presume," continued the Baron, "that in all high
international dealings, at least in Europe, the ground has to be prepared.
A hundred threads must be unravelled. This the Imperial Government
itself cannot stoop to do. The work must be done