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.”