The Marquess, on receiving the despatch from our Embassy, was at first disinclined to believe that such a thing could be possible, but I myself next day carried the copy of the spy’s telegram to London and placed it in his hands. It was in mid-February, and the Channel passage had been about as bad as it possibly could be. He read the telegram with its decipher, and stood utterly bewildered.
“Absolutely nothing seems safe from the scoundrels!” he cried angrily. “How they have obtained this is a complete mystery. No one was present, for I myself took every precaution. While this goes on we are powerless—utterly powerless. In order to render our diplomacy abortive the French are spreading the secret of our policy broadcast in every capital. The thing is monstrous, and can only be done with the object of creating war.”
“Every negotiation which England has had with the Transvaal since the commencement of the war is known at the Quai d’Orsay, as you will have noticed from the reports we have sent from the Embassy,” I said. “Indeed, the news of the declaration of war by President Kruger was known to the French Government within half an hour of its receipt by our Colonial Office.”
“It may have been sent to Paris direct from Pretoria,” answered the great statesman, frowning in his perplexity.
“But our reply was known in Paris hours before it was officially issued. The decision of our Cabinet was known at the Quai d’Orsay before the meeting actually broke up,” I remarked.
“I know, Ingram—I know,” answered the Marquess. “Unfortunately for us, this was indeed the case. The mystery of how they obtain their intelligence is absolutely inscrutable.”
We sat together for a long time in deep discussion. From his agitated manner and the unusual greyness of his fine, intelligent face, I knew that this man, upon whose shoulders rested the responsibility for England’s security at the most critical moment when the greater part of her Army was in South Africa, was in fear of some terrible disaster. That England, with her land forces in the Transvaal, was vulnerable was known not only to every diplomatist, but also to the man in the street in every foreign capital. Now that Lord Barmouth had discovered the existence of the great plot against us, of which the defiant attitude of the Transvaal was part, active inquiries had been made all over the Continent to discover its character, and it had been ascertained that it was the intention of certain Powers to intervene in favour of the Boers, and thus cause a general rupture with Great Britain.
The plans had been carefully laid. The Boers, backed by France, Austria, and Germany, had fought well, but British pertinacity and pluck, under Lord Roberts, had won their way to the relief of Ladysmith and the occupation of Bloemfontein. With Joubert dead, with Cronje captured at Paardeberg, the Majuba stigma had been wiped out. Besides, Pretoria had been occupied. Now the Continental Powers, having planned to league themselves against us, were awaiting their opportunity to intervene, cause a rupture, and declare war against us on the slightest pretext.
It was this matter that we were discussing.
“The plan has been fostered for two years past,” the Marquess declared. “The hostility of the French Press was part of the programme; the disgusting caricatures in the Rire inflamed the Anglophobes against us, and this—” and he took up a copy of the Monde Illustré, consisting wholly of a lurid forecast of the “Downfall of England” profusely illustrated,—“this, coming at such a moment, is more than mischievous. It will fan the too vigorous flames of French detestation of England, and increase the craving in France for war. I have read it, and it is apparently written to show how vulnerable our country is at this moment. I am not one who fears the downfall of our country; but should a war unhappily result, it would be a great calamity for Europe, and for France and the Republic most of all.”