Her Royal Highness: A Romance of the Chancelleries of Europe

And yet the situation seemed so utterly hopeless. His love was, after all, but a hollow mockery, and could only lead to grief and black despair, while his utter failure to trace the hand which had stolen the plans was, he knew, causing His Majesty to lose all faith in him. He had been in Brussels upon a mysterious errand instead of carrying out His Majesty’s desire.

Italy was at that moment menaced on every side. Complications had arisen with Turkey during the past week or two, while her relations with France were not of the best regarding certain Customs tariffs which France had suddenly risen in order to further strangle Italian trade.

Yes, indeed, the time was now absolutely ripe for Austria to strike her long-premeditated blow. And if she did, then Italy, in her state of unpreparedness, and her serious quarrel with Turkey regarding Tripoli, must, alas! succumb.

Next morning, when Peters brought Hubert the Tribuna in bed as usual, he saw an announcement that His Excellency General Cataldi, Minister of War, was leaving that evening for Lyons, to visit his brother, who was lying dangerously ill there.

Why that sudden journey? he thought. The news had no doubt been communicated to the Press by His Excellency himself.

During the day he reflected upon the matter many times, until at six o’clock that evening, dressed in an old tweed suit, and presenting the appearance of a ten-day-ten-guinea tourist, he entered a second-class compartment of the Paris rapide– having first watched the General into the sleeping-car.

That evening he dined upon a roll and a piece of uncooked ham which he bought at the station, and that night he spent crossing the wild, dreary Maremme marshes in sleepless discomfort, for the Italian railway administrative are not over-generous towards the second-class traveller.

By Pisa, with a glimpse of its white Leaning Tower, Carrara with its dazzling white marble quarries, Genoa, Turin, and the glorious scenery of the Mont Cenis, they at last gained France, until at last, late on the following day, they arrived at the long, inartistic station of Culoz, and there, watching intently, he saw the General in his fur-lined overcoat and felt hat descend, and change into the train for Lyons, an action which he himself followed.

On gaining Lyons, however, His Excellency, who was alone and quite unconscious that he was being followed, entered the big buffet of the terminus, and having waited there an hour, purchased a ticket for Tours.

The story of the invalid brother was at once exploded! He had left Italy with some other object in view.

Travelling by a slow train across the mountains, they did not arrive in the pretty capital of Touraine until early next morning, and then the General, entering the omnibus of the Hôtel de l’Univers, drove down the wide Boulevard Heurteloup, while Hubert went to a rival house, the Metropol, in the Place du Palais-de-Justice.

An hour later, however, he called at the Univers, and by means of a judicious tip to the under-concierge – the concierge being absent – discovered that the Italian gentleman who had arrived had given the name of Conio – Emilio Conio, of Milan, he had written in the register.

The Englishman now saw that the object of the Minister’s journey was, no doubt, to keep some secret appointment. Therefore he decided to risk detection and transfer his quarters to the Univers, which he promptly did.

Through all the day he watched the General very closely. During the morning, overcome by his journey, His Excellency slept, and not until four o’clock did he come down to idle in the lounge. Then after half an hour he crossed the Place and entered one of the cafés there for a vermouth.

His attitude was as though he expected someone who had not arrived.

Hubert smiled within himself when he reflected how he had followed this man who had bribed assassins to take his life, and how utterly unconscious he now was of being watched.

“The Italian gentleman is expecting a certain Herr Steinberg, of Berlin, to-night,” the assistant concierge whispered to Hubert when he entered the hotel just before dinner. “He is to arrive at ten o’clock to-night.”

And then, as his hands closed over the louis which the Englishman produced, he added:

“I will let you know, by a note to your room, m’sieur.”

Hubert, fearing to meet His Excellency in the salle à manger, went out and dined at the Curassier, a noted restaurant in the Rue Nationale, and did not return before half-past ten.

In his room he found a scribbled line as arranged.

Then, descending by the lift, he sought the assistant concierge, and from him discovered that the pair were in consultation in room Number 164.

“Yes, I believe there is a door between that and the next room, m’sieur,” the man replied.

“Good. Then get me the key for an hour or so, and I will make it all right with you.”

The profession of concierge is synonymous of bribery. No concierge in Europe lives upon his stipend. Hence within ten minutes Hubert was crouched against the door of the adjoining room, listening to the conversation of the Italian Minister of War and the stranger from Berlin – a conversation which certainly proved highly instructive.

Chapter Twenty Five.

Government Secrets

Like most doors separating rooms in Continental hotels those of the Univers at Tours were no exception. They were thin, and Hubert, kneeling with his ear to the crack, could distinctly hear the conversation between the Cabinet Minister who was passing under the unassuming name of Emilio Conio.

Apparently His Excellency had only a very limited knowledge of German, and the pair were therefore speaking in very indifferent French. The Italian can seldom speak French well.

Very soon Waldron ascertained that the secret meeting had been arranged in order to discuss a forthcoming army contract for one hundred and eighty thousand pairs of boots, lucrative, no doubt. Contracts in these days are always lucrative. There is commission somewhere.

“We have had many tenders,” His Excellency said. “Firms in England, France, and Italy have sent in quotations and samples, in addition to four German firms, including your own.”

“But they are all strangers, Your Excellency, no doubt,” replied the gentleman from Berlin very suavely. “We are not strangers, and the terms we offer must, I think, commend themselves to you. Our last deal turned out satisfactory for both sides, did it not?”

“Except that my secretary became suddenly most avaricious.”

“By some indiscretion on Your Excellency’s part, no doubt. Secretaries are only hirelings.”

“Probably I was foolish,” the General laughed. “But as I wrote you, I think that if I pass an order of this magnitude your firm ought to – well, they ought to increase its generosity.”

“Ah! Excellency, things are cut so terribly fine. You do not know. In order to compete with those Northampton and Leicester firms we have to be content with the very slightest margin of profit, and after our secret commission to you there is really nothing left. We have to live and pay our people. Besides you tie us down so rigidly to dates of delivery.”

“Unfortunately I am compelled. I cannot show any favour to you, or our association would at once be detected.”

And so, for half an hour, the two men haggled and bargained, until the General who, from the conversation, had, it seemed, got six thousand pounds out of a recent contract from army food, grew impatient and said:

“Well, it seems that we cannot do business. I am really sorry. But I have Menier, of Marseilles, coming to see me here at noon to-morrow. He will be a little more generous than yourself. I happen to know the large commissions which you recently paid in Turkey to secure the contract. So why strangle me – eh?”

“Exactly, m’sieur. But to supply army boots to Turkey and to Italy are quite different matters. To Turkey one can send any rubbish that will hang together – soles of millboard, if necessary – for with a little baksheesh anything will be passed. But in Rome you have your commission, remember, and those officers of yours cannot be bribed.”

“Perhaps it is as well,” laughed the General. “What I fear is that if I sign your contract my secretary will at once suspect commission, and make a demand upon me – as he did before – the worm!”

“Well, permit me to remark that the sum is a really respectable one, and if we pay it on receipt of the contract into an English bank to the account of the Countess Cioni, as before, it cannot be traced to you.”

“Ah yes. But my secretary is a very shrewd person. I would have to give him something – however small.”

Again the two men haggled, while Waldron knelt, holding his breath and listening to the corrupt bargain whereby the Italian Army were to be supplied with inferior German boots in order that His Excellency, the Minister of War, should profit. But in most European countries the same thing is done and winked at.

“If you are to have the contract, Herr Steinberg,” the General said decisively at last, “you must give me an extra half per cent. I will not sign it without.”

“Upon the whole amount?”

“Yes, on the whole amount.”

“But the total contract amounts to nearly a million francs.”

“Exactly. I gave you the tinned-food contract. It is large, therefore I require a larger sum for my signature.”

There was silence for a few moments.

To Waldron it seemed by the rustle of paper that the German contractor must be scribbling a rapid sum to see exactly what the commission amounted to.

“I shall, of course, want the usual sum, twenty-five thousand francs down and the balance placed to the credit of the Countess in London seven days after the signed contract is delivered to you in Berlin,” His Excellency said.

“Well,” exclaimed the German in dismay at last. “That leaves us so very little that I really cannot decide it off-hand. I must telegraph at once to my partner, and will give you a decision to-morrow.”

“No, Herr Steinberg,” was the General’s answer. “I must know now – at once – yes or no. Personally it would give me greater popularity if I dealt in France, rather than in Germany. Besides, if I deal with Menier, my secretary knows nothing. So there is the position. You may leave or accept my terms – whichever you like. It is quite immaterial to me.”

Again they argued and haggled, the German pleading for time to communicate with his partner in Berlin, the General quite obdurate. The latter had much experience of contractors.

At last Herr Steinberg, shrewd business man that he was, seeing that the General’s mind was made up, said: “Very well. I accept your terms.”

“Good,” answered the General. “I shall sign the contract as soon as I return to Rome – the day after to-morrow – and send it to you in Berlin by special messenger.”

“Agreed. Perhaps you will write me a letter?”

“At once,” was the reply. Then after another brief silence, during which time both had scribbled some agreement, the German said:

“I think that will suffice.”

“And this?” asked the General.

They read each other’s letters, expressed satisfaction, and then Waldron heard a slight click, the opening and shutting of a wallet.

Some notes were counted out – to the sum of one thousand pounds. They rustled, and the listener knew that they were English notes so that they could not be traced so easily as those which the unscrupulous German contractor might withdraw from his own bank in Berlin.

His Excellency counted them, declared the sum to be correct, and then, after a further brief conversation the German left, His Excellency remaining so as not to be seen in his company.

The deal was concluded. Though interesting to Hubert, it however carried him no farther in his inquiry. It proved of course that General Cataldi, Minister of War, was corrupt and unscrupulous, yet were not the majority of the men who formed the Cabinet equally ready to accept bribes?

He stood in that artistically furnished bedroom full of chagrin. He had practically had his journey there for nothing, and had lost valuable time by his absence from Rome.

Therefore he slipped out along the corridor, and two hours later was on his way to Culoz, to catch the train-de-luxe from Paris to Rome.

During that night as the express roared through the mountains he lay in his narrow sleeping-berth watching the green-shaded lamp above, and full of conflicting thoughts.

The attempt upon his life showed plainly that the thief was aware of the strenuous efforts he was making to fathom the mystery. But who was the thief! Was it this unscrupulous, much-decorated General who took secret commission of contractors, the man who allowed the army to be fed on discarded tin food, and go shod in cheap German boots which wore in holes on the first march, in order to enrich himself?

Long and deeply he thought, and still the conviction clung to him that the person mainly responsible for the sale of the plans to Austria was His Excellency himself.

Thoughts of Her Highness rose within him. He sighed. Yes, he loved her with all his body and soul. Yet that barrier of birth could never be bridged. After all, they could be only good friends, therefore he had never dared to declare his love. She was a Princess of the blood-royal and might marry a reigning Sovereign, but he was a mere diplomat, a secretary of Embassy, a man whom the Court regarded as the necessary adjunct of a practically defunct institution, for, however much one may cling in these days to the old usages and customs, yet the glaring fact must be faced that kings themselves are the ambassadors, and royal visits from one Court to another tend to cement more international friendships than ten years of that narrow little squabbling and intriguing world which exists in every capital under the name of the corps diplomatique.

The public have been long enough gulled by the false tinsel and glamour of the diplomatic world, and in these ultra-modern days they see the inutility of it all. Often an obscure Vice-Consul in an obscure port is of greater use to the nation than the whole of the red-taped, ceremonious Embassy, with its splendid house, its dinners and dances, its flunkeys and furbelows, and its flabby, do-nothing policy directed from Downing Street.

Hubert Waldron, born and bred in the diplomatic atmosphere and nurtured upon the squabbles and petty jealousies of international politics, could not close his eyes to the fact that the public of Europe were being gulled daily by the Press, and that at an hour when all would seem quietest and most peaceful, the great and terrible European war would suddenly break out.

Though at the Embassies you will be told that the peace of Europe is quite assured nowadays, and though your penny papers with their “advertised actual sales” will print reassuring leaders for the sake of the particular party who supports them, yet there is not a diplomat in all Europe who does not, in his own heart, fear a violent and bloody explosion and that brought about by the Dual Monarchy.

Though this view may appear pessimistic, it is nevertheless a hard fact that the Powers of the Triple Alliance have not signed any agreements relating to the Mediterranean, and more than one European throne is to-day tottering to its fall, nay, more than one nation may, at any moment, be erased from the map.

But the whole object of diplomacy is to reassure, not to alarm. The days when the greatest international tension exists are those when the outlook seems the most serene and unruffled.

In our present century war breaks out; it is not declared. And war in Europe may break out at any moment, even though much is said of the solidity of the Triple Alliance.

On arrival at the great echoing station at Rome, Hubert descended, tired and fagged, and took a taxi home.

It was then nine o’clock in the morning, and Peters, surprised to see him, handed him a letter which had been left on the previous night. On opening it he found it was from Ghelardi, dated from the Bureau of Secret Police, and asking when he could see him.

At this request he was somewhat surprised in view of what had already passed between them, nevertheless he spoke to the functionary on the telephone at his private house and at eleven o’clock entered his private room at the Ministry.

Their greeting was the reverse of cordial. Indeed Hubert had at first hesitated to meet him at all, yet he thought that the object of the interview might concern the unfortunate incident in the Palace; hence he went, determined to still show a bold front.

“I regret, Signor Waldron, to have disturbed you,” the crafty old man said when his visitor was seated. “But it has been reported to me that the other night you were attacked by two individuals, and that you narrowly escaped with your life – that you shot and wounded both your assailants.”

The policeman had, notwithstanding the bribe, evidently made a report in order to show his watchfulness to his superior. Hubert frowned in annoyance.

“Oh, it was nothing at all,” he declared, laughing. “I had quite forgotten all about it. They were merely footpads, I suppose. No further notice need be taken of them.”

“Ah! but they are very dangerous characters, and well-known in Rome,” he said. Then, looking straight at him the old man with the bristly hair said in a curious, half-suspicious voice: “You appear, Signor Waldron, to have some rather bitter enemies in Rome – eh?”

“I was not aware of it,” answered the diplomat. “If I have it does not trouble me in the least. I am perfectly able to defend myself.”

“They are secret enemies, it seems,” Ghelardi said slowly, looking at his visitor meaningly.

Hubert did not reply for a few moments. At last he said:

“And they include yourself, Signor Commendatore.”

The cunning old fellow smiled.

“Ah, you are referring, I suppose, to that incident of the other night. Well, I think we may surely let that pass. We all of us have our hours of irresponsibility,” and he slowly twisted the diamond ring around his little finger, laughing lightly.

“Thank you. I have no desire for your covert sneers, Signor Commendatore,” he said angrily, rising. “As I have told you – you are my secret enemy, and I shall treat you as such.”

“It is rather a pity that you do so.”

“A pity – why?”

“For the sake of Her Royal Highness.”

“Her name need not enter into our discussion,” Hubert said hotly, his hand upon the door ready to leave. “I do not see your object in troubling me to come here, merely to tell me of the attack made upon me by two criminals which the police should already have under lock and key. It is not much to the credit of the department that the streets of Rome are unsafe at night.”

“Ah! my dear signore, you are a little too impatient, I fear,” replied the chief of spies, quite undisturbed. “I was about to prove to you my friendliness.”

“I desire none of your friendship,” declared the Englishman hotly. “And I tell you that I will not have you mention the name of the Princess Luisa in connection with my own.”

“Friendships formed by Her Royal Highness are frequently unfortunate.”

“Are they!” exclaimed Waldron, his eyes aflame. “If you were younger, Signor Commendatore, I would knock you down for your gratuitous insult. As it is, I shall not forget it. Buon giorno!”

And he left the room, slamming the door after him.

Chapter Twenty Six.

Gathering Clouds

Dust had once more been thrown into the eyes of Europe.

Weeks had gone by, spring came, and the Roman season was on the wane. The month of May – the Primavera – with all its blossoms and ceremonies had opened.

As far as the world knew not a cloud obscured the political horizon. In the chancelleries of Europe there were no sinister whispers, in the Embassies they danced and dined, the Archduke Francis Ferdinand had made a placid speech from the Throne, and Count Berchtold had declared the foreign policy of Austria-Hungary unchanged, and further, that the changes in the Near East had created new interests common to the Dual Monarchy and to Italy, and that their policy was leading them together along the path of co-operation, and also that their attitude towards each other tended to preserve the peace of Europe and to assure freedom and equilibrium in the Adriatic.

It is always so. The calm is followed by the storm. At Vienna they were secretly completing their plans for a sudden coup against their neighbours, yet the true facts were known only in our own Intelligence Department in Whitehall, and the information had in turn been sent in a cipher dispatch to the Embassy in Rome.

It was this dispatch which the Ambassador, receiving it one evening from the hand of the King’s messenger, who had brought it in hot haste direct from Downing Street, passed over to Hubert to decipher.

The information was highly alarming, to say the least.

The British secret agent – a responsible Austrian official in the Ministry of War – reported that the great army massed in the Tyrol for manoeuvres was being kept there. A secret order had been issued to the Eighth, Tenth, and Thirteenth Army Corps to concentrate from the Adriatic across to the Danube, and at the same time the Ministry of Marine had issued orders to the navy recalling the Adriatic fleet which had been manoeuvring between Cattaro and Ragusa up to Trieste.

The wireless stations at Sebenico and Pola had been taken over by the navy, and operators placed there sent expressly from the Ministry of Marine in Vienna.

All tended to a secret attack – to war – a war in Europe with dreadnoughts, high explosives, aeroplanes, seaplanes, submarines, and wireless conditions never before imagined either in the wildest dreams of novelists or the ever-active brains of place-seeking party politicians.

Preparations were slowly but surely being made in Vienna, and the blow would surely soon be struck.

For an hour Waldron remained in consultation with his Chief. Then, regardless of Downing Street regulations, and only hoping to prevent the conflagration, he went back to his rooms on the ground floor of the Embassy, scribbled a hasty copy of the secret information, and with it walked direct to the Quirinale.

Events would, he saw, very soon be moving fast.

About six o’clock he entered the private room of the Minister of the Royal Household, that cosy, well-remembered apartment in which Ghelardi had discovered him on his knees beside Her Royal Highness. The Minister himself was not in, but his secretary went immediately along to the private apartments and asked His Majesty for audience on Waldron’s behalf.

The request was immediately granted, and he was at once shown up the long corridor, past the sentries guarding the door leading to the royal apartments, and on into the King’s private cabinet, where His Majesty, plainly dressed in dark blue serge – for he discarded uniform whenever he could – stood eagerly awaiting him.

“Well, Waldron?” he exclaimed, stretching out his hand warmly, “I’ve been expecting you for days. Anything to report – eh?”

For answer his visitor drew out the rough memorandum from his pocket, and after brief explanation regarding its source, proceeded to read it.

His Majesty’s handsome, clear-cut face fell. He grew pale, but remained silent till the end.

Then with his hands behind his back, he strode slowly across the soft carpet to the heavily curtained window and back again.

Twice he paced the room in silence.

“Strange, Waldron!” he said, pausing and standing before the diplomat. “Very strange that you get this information, yet Ghelardi is in ignorance of what is happening?”

“He may not deem it wise to report to Your Majesty,” Hubert suggested.

“Wise!” he echoed. “In the interests of the country’s safety it is his first duty! He reports to me sufficient regarding trivial matters – the irresponsible vagaries of my niece, Lola, and things of that sort. Yet he knows nothing of what is in progress across the frontier,” the King cried in anger. “Again, he has discovered nothing regarding the theft of those plans. If we could but find out the truth we might easily face our friends in Vienna, and prevent this attack. Diplomacy could avert the explosion even now, if we only knew the identity of the spy.”

“I have made every inquiry, Your Majesty, but I have, alas! failed.”