"It is my duty," I responded.
My diplomatic friend sucked at his cigar, and laughed.
"As a literary man you, of course, write to interest the public. But you would interest your public just as easily by writing in favour of Germany—and, I tell you that we should quickly recognise the favour you do us—and recompense you for it."
I rose from my chair.
I confess that I grew angry, and I told him what was in my mind.
I gave him a message to his own Secret Service, in Berlin, which was very terse and to the point, and then I left the room.
But that was not all. I instituted inquiries regarding the official at the War Office who had been the means of introducing us, and within a fortnight that official—whose dealings with the enemy were proved to be suspicious—was relieved of his post.
I give this as one single instance of the cunning manner in which the German Secret Service have endeavoured to nobble and bribe me, so as to close my mouth and thus combat my activity.
Another instance was when the Norddeutscher Lloyd Line, of Bremen, kindly invited me to take a voyage round the world, free of expense, so that I might visit the various German colonies and write some descriptions of them. And, on a third occasion, German diplomats were amazingly kind to me, both in Constantinople and in Belgrade, and again broadly hinted at their readiness to win me over to their side.