WILLIAM LE QUEUX: 15 Dystopian Novels & Espionage Thrillers (Illustrated Edition). William Le Queux
has had audience at Winter Palace, and telegraphed to Paris for instruction. Shall wire hourly.”
One by one he took up the telegraphic dispatches which, during the night, had been re-transmitted from the Foreign Office over the private wire to the instrument that stood upon a small table opposite us. As I read each of them eagerly, I saw plainly that Russia and France were in complete accord, and that we were on the verge of a national disaster, sudden and terrible. With such secrecy and rapidity were negotiations being carried on between Paris and St Petersburg, that in Berlin, a city always well-informed in all matters of diplomacy, nothing unusual was suspected.
A further telegram from our secret agent in the Russian Foreign Office, received an hour before my arrival at Warnham, read: —
“The secret is gradually leaking out. The Novosti has just issued a special edition hinting at the possibility of war with England, and this has caused the most intense excitement everywhere. The journal, evidently inspired, gives no authority for its statement, nor does it give any reason for the startling rumour.”
I laid down the dispatch in silence, and as I raised my head the Minister’s keen, penetrating eyes met mine.
“Well,” he exclaimed, in a dry, harsh tone. “What is is your explanation, sir?”
“My explanation?” I cried, in amazement, noticing his determined demeanour. “I know nothing of the affair except the telegrams you have shown me.”
“Upon you alone the responsibility of this catastrophe rests,” he said angrily. “It is useless to deny all knowledge of it and only aggravates your offence. Because you come of a diplomatic family I have trusted you implicitly, but it is evident that my confidence has been utterly misplaced.”
“I deny that I have ever, for a single instant, betrayed the trust you have placed in me,” I replied hotly. “I know nothing of the means by which the Tzar’s army of spies have obtained knowledge of our secret.”
He snapped his bony fingers impatiently, saying, —
“It is not to be expected that you will acknowledge yourself a traitor to your country, sir; therefore we must prove your guilt.”
“You are at liberty, of course, to act in what manner you please,” I answered. “I tell you frankly, however, that this terrible charge you bring against me is as startling as the information I have just read. I can only say I am entirely innocent.”
“Bah!” he cried, turning on his heel with a gesture of disgust. Then, facing me again, his eyes flashing with anger, he added, “If you are innocent, tell me why you were so long absent yesterday when registering the dispatch; tell me why, when such an important document was in your possession, you did not remain in the office instead of being absent over an hour?”
“I went out to lunch,” I said.
“With the document in your pocket?”
“Yes. But surely you do not suspect me of being a spy?” I cried.
“I do not suspect you, sir. I have positive proof of it.”
“Proof!” I gasped. “Show it to me.”
“It is here,” he answered, his thin, nervous hands turning over the mass of papers littering his writing-table, and taking from among them an official envelope. In an instant I recognised it as the one containing the treaty.
“This remains exactly as I took it from the safe with my own hands and cut it open.”
With trembling fingers I drew the document from its envelope and opened it.
The paper was blank!
I glanced at him in abject dismay, unable to utter a word.
“That is what you handed me on my return from the Cabinet Council,” he said, with knit brows. “Now, what explanation have you to offer?”
“What can I offer?” I cried. “The envelope I gave you was the same that you handed to me. I could swear to it.”
“No, it was not,” he replied quickly. “Glance at the seal.”
Taking it to the light I examined the seal carefully, but failed to detect anything unusual. It bore in black wax the Warnham coat of arms impressed by the large, beautifully-cut amethyst which the Earl wore attached to the piece of rusty silk ribbon that served him as watch chain.
“I can see nothing wrong with this,” I said, glancing up at him.
“I admit that the imitation is so carefully executed that it is calculated to deceive any eye except my own.” Then, putting on his pince-nez, he made an impression in wax with his own seal and pointed out a slight flaw which, in the impression upon the envelope, did not exist.
“And your endorsement. Is it not in your own hand?” he inquired.
I turned over the envelope and looked. It bore the designation “B27,893,” just as I had written it, and the writing was either my own or such a marvellously accurate imitation that I was compelled to confess my inability to point out any discrepancy.
“Then the writing is yours, eh?” the Earl asked abruptly. “If it is, you must be aware who forged the seal.”
“The writing certainly contains all the characteristics of mine, but I am not absolutely sure it is not a forgery. In any case, I am confident that the document you gave me I handed back to you.” Then I explained carefully, and in detail, the events which occurred from the time he gave the treaty into my possession, up to the moment I handed it back to him.
“But how can you account for giving back to me a blank sheet of paper in an envelope secured by a forged seal?” he asked, regarding me with undisguised suspicion. “You do not admit even taking it from your pocket, neither have you any suspicion of the friend with whom you lunched. I should like to hear his independent version.”
“That is impossible,” I answered.
“Why?” he asked, pricking up his ears and scenting a mystery.
“Because he is dead.”
At that moment our conversation was interrupted by the sharp ringing of the bell of the telegraph instrument near us, and an instant later the telegraphist in charge entered, and seated himself at the table.
Click, click, click — click — click began the needle, and next moment the clerk, turning to the Earl, exclaimed, —
“An important message from St Petersburg, your Lordship.”
“Read it as it comes through,” the Earl replied breathlessly, walking towards the instrument and bending eagerly over it.
Then, as the rapid metallic click again broke the silence, the clerk, in monotonous tones, exclaimed, —
“From Lobetski, St Petersburg, via Hamburg. To Earl of Warnham. — A proclamation signed by the Tzar declaring war against England has just been received at the Foreign Office, but it is as yet kept secret. It will probably be posted in the streets this evening. Greatest activity prevails at the War Office and Admiralty. Regiments in the military districts of Charkoff, Odessa, Warsaw and Kieff have received orders to complete their cadres of officers to war strength, recalling to the colours all officers on the retired list and on leave. This is a preliminary step to the complete mobilisation of the Russian forces. All cipher messages now refused.”
The Earl, with frantic effort, grasped at the edge of the table, then staggered unevenly, and sank back into a chair, rigid and speechless.
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