The Governments of the Continent, ever distrustful, and prone to credit others with their own Machiavellian statecraft, eagerly asked themselves if the official explanation of this event was genuine, or whether it did not conceal some subtle political purpose.
As a result, I found myself commissioned by a certain great Power to go over to London, and ascertain the true state of affairs.
Needless to say, my inquiries enabled me in a very short time to report to my employers that their suspicions were groundless.
In the course of the brief investigation I was brought into personal touch with a man of high rank, occupying a confidential position in the Royal Household—the Marquis of Bedale. The manner in which I carried out my delicate mission caused Lord Bedale to compliment me highly upon my courage and discretion, and I have every reason to think that his lordship spoke in favourable terms of me to his exalted master.
Before I left England I was surprised and gratified to receive a request from Lord Bedale to wait upon him in his private apartment in Buckingham Palace, on confidential business.[1]
His lordship received me in the friendliest fashion, and talked to me quite freely.
‘Let me begin,’ he said, ‘by asking you for your frank opinion on our Secret Service.’
‘The Secret Service of Great Britain is the most scrupulously conducted in the world,’ I replied discreetly.
Lord Bedale gave me a queer smile.
‘That means, I suppose, that it is the most inefficient?’ he suggested.