Secret History of To-day: Being Revelations of a Diplomatic Spy

Perhaps the most sensational event in recent history was the publication by the young and newly crowned Tsar of All the Russias of a rescript calling upon the great military Powers of the world to disband their armies and dismantle their fleets, and inaugurate an era of universal peace.

This extraordinary invitation produced a flutter in all the diplomatic dovecotes, for European statesmen have learned by this time that Russia does nothing in vain. Everywhere the same question was asked: ‘What is behind this rescript?’

It is scarcely necessary to add that, with the exception of a few sentimental fanatics in England and the United States, no one was inclined to put faith in a demonstration which was actually the prelude to a raid on the ancient liberties of Finland, in order to swell the armies of the Imperial peacemaker, and to a combined attack by all the great Christian Powers upon the only unarmed Empire in the world.

Nobody was deceived, but every one was disconcerted for the moment, and I was disconcerted like the rest. I was more. I was irresistibly drawn on to attempt the solution of a mystery which fascinated me like a difficult chess problem set before an expert in the game.

I could not afford, of course, to set about such an investigation merely for my own amusement. After waiting a decent time on the chance that I might be sent for by one of the Governments most interested in unravelling the schemes of the great Eurasian Power, I took the unusual step of going unasked to proffer my assistance to the Ambassador of a Power to which I have rendered important services.

To my surprise and chagrin I found myself repelled on the threshold, the Ambassador in question, a diplomatist of great experience, declaring that there was nothing to discover.

‘I share your disbelief in the peaceful intentions of the Russian Council of State,’ his Excellency was good enough to say to me. ‘But this is a matter with which they have really had nothing to do. This rescript is the outcome of the Tsar’s own individuality. He is a philanthropic young man, carried away by the enthusiasm natural to his age, and his advisers have had to give way to him. That is all; and it only remains to see whether his idea is practicable.’

The explanation was a plausible one, and all the more so because by this time the character of the new ruler of Russia was fairly well known to those whose business it is to reckon up the personalities of sovereigns and statesmen. Still I was not convinced.

‘That is exactly the explanation which I should offer to the Foreign Offices of Europe, if I were M. Witte,’ I ventured to observe.

The Ambassador smiled with good humour.

‘The explanation does not rest on the word of M. Witte, I assure you,’ he answered. ‘Every one who knows anything about Nicholas II. knows that he is a simple-minded, honest young man, quite incapable of playing a part in a comedy. As a matter of fact there is nothing in this rescript which he has not been saying in private conversation with his family and friends any time this last two or three years. The German Emperor heard all about it long ago. Now at last he has put his views formally before the world in a state paper. These proposals may not be practicable, but there can be no doubt that they are perfectly sincere.’

‘I do not doubt the Tsar’s sincerity,’ I returned. ‘But knowing what I know of Russia, I want to understand why the Council of State have allowed the Tsar to have his own way.’

This time the Ambassador’s smile was less indulgent.

‘Really, M. V——, I think you are pushing your suspicions too far. Your profession has biassed your mind, and caused you to see mystery where it does not exist. You remind me of those politicians whom Bismarck used to say that he could always deceive by being perfectly frank.’

I smiled in my turn, a little grimly, as I responded—

‘It appears to me, your Excellency, that the counsellors of the Tsar have just taken a leaf out of Bismarck’s book.’

Baffled in this direction, I was casting about me for another client, when my secretary came in to me one morning with a despatch marked urgent, calling me to proceed immediately to Constantinople, where my services were required by Muzaffir Effendi, the eunuch highest in the confidence of Abdul Hamid.

I snatched at the opening with the assurance of triumph. Of all states Turkey was the one most deeply concerned in the foreign policy of Russia. Of all possible clients the most desirable was the ruler whose secret hoards had dazzled the imagination of every secret service agent in the world for a quarter of a century.

What the business might be on which Muzaffir wanted me I neither knew nor greatly cared. I took my seat in the train that was to bear me towards the Balkan Peninsula, firmly resolved that his business should give way to mine.

On my way across Central Europe I found the papers already full of the touching story of the benevolent young despot and his triumph over the worldly wisdom of his counsellors. I could not blame the journalists for being taken in by a story which had imposed on one of the most hard-headed diplomatists in Paris; I could only marvel at the astuteness and daring of the Muscovite statesmen who had contrived to turn the personal idiosyncrasies of their sovereign to use in their Machiavellian politics.

On reaching the shores of the Bosphorus I found, as I had anticipated, that I was wanted to disentangle a miserable intrigue of the harem, the kind of work more suited to a private detective than to a man in my unique position. Under any other circumstances I should have declined the task without more ado; as it was, I turned Muzaffir’s difficulty into my opportunity.

‘Listen to me,’ I said to the trembling eunuch, as soon as he had finished confiding his tale to me, ‘I can save you, and I will save you, but only on one condition. And that is, that you procure me a private and confidential audience of the Sultan, and that you use your influence with him to make him grant the request I have to make.’

Muzaffir, who, like all his tribe, was a miser, seemed overjoyed at this cheap method of rewarding me. Of course, he wished to know the object I had in view.

‘I am going to ask the Sultan to employ me on a secret political mission outside the Turkish Empire, a mission from which you have nothing to fear. Your business is to persuade the Sultan to trust me—let that be enough.’

Twist and wriggle as he would, the eunuch found he could get nothing more out of me. He gave in, and his influence over the mind of Abdul Hamid being unbounded, I quickly found myself face to face with the lean, dark, gaunt-eyed Asiatic who styles himself Commander of the Faithful and Shadow of God on earth.

Abdul Hamid proved to be in a more suspicious mood than my friend in Paris. As soon as I mentioned the Peace Rescript he interrupted me.

‘I am not going to disarm. I know what the Christian Powers are by this time. They always begin to talk about peace when they are secretly preparing to attack somebody.’

‘I am afraid your Majesty is right. The question is, what is the real design underlying this particular piece of hypocrisy?’

‘I know that, too,’ was the unexpected reply. ‘The Russians have decided to turn their attention to China. There they can do all that they want with a hundred thousand men. So it is to their interest to get rid of the burden of a great army which will not be wanted for a generation.’

This was an ingenious idea, but it did not satisfy me, any more than the semi-official one had done. I ventured to object—

‘If that were all, sire, there would be no occasion for this melodramatic appeal to the other Powers. There is nothing to hinder Russia from reducing her armaments by one-half to-morrow. No one dreams of attacking her. Her army is kept up for offence, not for defence. She is the one Power that could afford to set the example of disbanding, and such an example would carry more weight than any number of professions on paper, however well meant.’

The Sultan appeared struck by this reasoning.

‘Then what do you say is the object behind this rescript?’ he demanded.

‘I do not know. But I undertake to find out if your Majesty will furnish me with the necessary means.’

Abdul Hamid gave me a distrustful glance.

‘It is an expensive thing to buy information from the Council of State,’ he grumbled.

‘You are right, sire. And the higher one goes, the more expensive it becomes. It is clear that this move has been engineered by persons who are able to manage the Tsar himself, and such persons are not likely to sell their own game for much less than a million roubles.’

Abdul Hamid quivered at the mention of this sum as though I had demanded one of the eyes out of his head.

‘Why should I go to this expense?’ he objected. ‘I have already told you that I am not going to disarm.’

‘The question is whether you are willing to see Germany and Austria disarm, leaving you to face Russia single-handed. Surely it is worth a hundred thousand pounds to Turkey to prevent her allies from falling into such a trap.’

The Sultan still hesitated.

‘How do I know that I shall get anything in return, if I trust you with this money?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Your Majesty must judge me by what I have done already. Two days ago you had never heard my name. Now I am here alone with you, with a loaded revolver in my pocket’—the Sultan started violently—‘discussing the secrets of your foreign policy. Does that look as though I were a fool?’

The Commander of the Faithful sat silent, attentively regarding me for some minutes. Finally he dismissed me, promising to consider my proposal.

I withdrew, confident that Abdul would consult his all-powerful favourite, and that Muzaffir would see that I got my way.

A week later I was back in Paris, with an autograph letter from the Sultan to his Ambassador in Russia, and a draft on the Ottoman Bank which I took the precaution to exchange for a letter of credit from a private Parisian banking firm to the Ephrussis of Petersburg.

My intention was to go to Russia in the character of a French financial agent, the representative of a syndicate of Paris bankers, on the look-out for profitable concessions from the Government of the Tsar. In this way I hoped to be able to approach influential persons without exciting suspicion, and to ascertain their corruptibility before exposing my secret object.

In order to play this part it was not necessary for me to indulge in any actual deceit. As a matter of fact the demand for foreign capital to develop Russian properties is a steadily increasing one, and I had no difficulty in meeting with financiers willing to constitute me their agent, to inquire into the character of some of the undertakings submitted to them.

The only person I proposed to take into my confidence was the Turkish Ambassador in Petersburg, on whom I relied for information as to the personal influences at work in the Russian Court.

It was to the Ambassador, therefore, that I paid my first visit on arriving in the northern capital. His Excellency received me at first with some reserve, which was quickly dissipated by a perusal of the Sultan’s missive.

‘You have come to learn the truth about this rescript,’ he remarked. ‘It is certainly a new departure. You disbelieve in the sincerity of the Tsar, I suppose?’

‘Not in the sincerity of the Tsar, but in the sincerity of those who make his benevolent sentiments the cloak of their own secret policy,’ I corrected.

The Ambassador nodded approvingly.

‘You have put your finger on the weak spot,’ he responded. ‘The danger in dealing with this rescript is that the other Powers may take it seriously owing to their trust in the personal character of Nicholas. In reality Nicholas is merely an instrument in the hands of three persons, without whose advice he does nothing, and two of those three are themselves creatures of the Council of State.’

‘And the three persons are?’

‘They are his mother, the Dowager Empress Dagmar; Pobiedonostzeff, the Procurator of the Holy Synod; and the Grand Duke ——, the Tsar’s constant companion and bosom friend.’

At the sound of such names as these I was almost appalled at the outset. The character of the Dowager Empress, as much as her rank, rendered her unapproachable. M. Pobiedonostzeff, although a bigot, was not likely to be a traitor. The Grand Duke was an unknown quantity, as far as I was concerned, but it did not seem very probable that a personage in his position would prove accessible to a bribe.

It never does to despair too soon. I put the question which long experience of the dark side of human nature has rendered habitual with me—

‘Has the Grand Duke any vices?’

‘He gambles a good deal in the Yacht Club.’

I drew a breath of satisfaction. Of all men the gambler is the easiest to corrupt, because to him alone money is everything, and because there comes a time to every gambler when money is not to be had.

‘Who are his gambling companions?’ was my next question.

The Ambassador named several Russian nobles of high rank, among whom the leading spirit seemed to be a Prince Boris Mendelieff. I was going on with my inquiries when his Excellency checked me.

‘I have told you enough, it seems to me, to enable you to go on by yourself. In the meantime I am the Ambassador of the Sultan, not his secret service agent, and I wish to know nothing that might compromise me.’

I respected his scruples, though they were such as some Russian diplomatists would scarcely have understood, and proceeded to form my own plans for making the acquaintance of Prince Mendelieff.

Fortunately the Russians are as unsuspicious in private life as they are suspicious in politics. My skill as a bridge-player, a game in which I have no living superior, proved a ready passport into the gaming circles of Petersburg, and it was not long before I found myself sitting at the same card-table with the intimate of the Grand Duke.

I was lucky enough to lose a considerable sum to him, which I paid with a good grace, and he could not do less than invite me to his house. I accepted the invitation with an eagerness which must have struck him as rather ill-bred, and we drove there together. Over a bottle of champagne I became confidential. I avowed myself to be a money-lender, as well as a concession-hunter, and hinted that I should be prepared to pay handsomely for introductions to clients of high station.

Mendelieff took the bait like a hungry pike. He was the first to mention the name of the Grand Duke, doubtless knowing that his Imperial Highness would be only too pleased to meet such an accommodating person as I appeared to be. A bargain was struck, and Mendelieff promised to let me know as soon as he had arranged for my reception by his august patron.

The meeting took place in the Prince’s own house. Cards were produced, the stakes were exceedingly high, and rather against my wish I won steadily, while the losses of the Grand Duke were severe enough to disturb his good humour. Mendelieff artfully seized the right moment to present me as a friend in need, and to take off the rest of the party, leaving us together.

The Grand Duke lost no time in putting me to the proof.

‘You are a banker, are you not, M. de Sarthe?’—De Sarthe was the name under which I had crossed the frontier.

‘At least, I represent some important financial houses,’ I replied.

‘Oh, spare me that kind of thing,’ his Imperial Highness returned impatiently, ‘let us take the usual comedy for granted, and tell me frankly how much you are prepared to lend me.’

‘I do not know how much you want, sir, but I have any sum up to a million roubles at your service.’

The Grand Duke’s eyes sparkled.

‘M. de Sarthe, you are a friend indeed!’ he exclaimed. ‘But what are your terms for this advance?’

‘As far as your pocket is concerned, nothing. I do not even ask that this loan shall ever be repaid.’

He stared at me for a moment in astonishment. Then all at once his expression changed, and his voice dropped to a whisper.

‘Ah! I understand. This is some affair of the secret service. You are offering me a bribe, I suppose.’

‘I do not come from the Third Section, if that is what your Highness means. I am, as I have said, a financier, and my only object is to make money.’

‘I see. You wish me to influence the Government on your behalf?’

‘Not exactly that, sir. I am in search of information—information which will enable me to operate successfully on the Paris Bourse.’

The Grand Duke looked rather relieved. It was evident that he did not consider this very serious.

‘And what is the information you want?’ he asked.

‘It is very simple. I want to know the real bearing of the recent Peace Rescript of the Tsar. Let me explain,’ I went on quickly, raising my hand as I saw he was about to speak. ‘I know the surface explanation of the matter, but I do not believe it. I do not believe that this rescript would ever have seen the light unless the Council of State had some purpose of their own to serve by it, and I want to know what that purpose is. It is not to lessen the burden of their own armaments; they could do that, if they chose, to-morrow. This is an appeal to the other Powers to disarm, and I want to know why it has been made.’

The Grand Duke listened to this speech in silence, biting his lips with an air of indecision from which I augured a good result.

‘You seem to know a good deal, M. de Sarthe,’ he said sullenly. ‘Surely you must know that I am not in the secrets of our Foreign Office.’

‘I believe that, of course, if you say so, sir. But I believe as well that the Tsar did not draw up this document without your encouragement, and that in encouraging the Tsar, you acted as the instrument of the Council of State. I am entitled to suppose that you were not a blind instrument, but that you knew pretty well why the Council were so ready to fall in with the enthusiastic impulses of Nicholas II.’

It was a bold thrust, but it went home. The Grand Duke gave me a startled look, and relapsed into a long spell of silent pondering. Finally he said—

‘And supposing I were to tell you something that you considered it worth a million roubles to hear, what guarantee have I that you would not betray my secret? What proof have I even now that you are not a spy set on by my enemies in the Council of State?’

‘I will give your Highness that proof on condition that, if it is satisfactory, you will accept my proposal.’

‘I consent.’

‘Then all I need do is to invite you to make your communication, not to me but to the Ambassador of the Sublime Porte, whom you will hardly suspect of being in the confidence of M. Pobiedonostzeff.’

With these words I rose to my feet. Stupefied for a moment, the Grand Duke recovered himself in time to make a detaining gesture.

‘Do not go, monsieur. What you have said completely satisfies me. It appears that I am required to betray my country.’

‘That depends,’ I returned smoothly. ‘If the Council of State is plotting to betray the Tsar, as I understand it is, I should have thought it consistent with the honour of a Russian prince of the blood to take part in defeating their unworthy schemes.’

This was evidently a new view to his Imperial Highness, and I could see by the expression of his face that it was telling powerfully.

‘Well,’ he said at length, ‘it seems to me that you have my word. When do you propose to pay me this money?’

‘Now, this moment, if your Highness pleases.’

‘Count it out, then,’ was the brief injunction.

I obeyed. It was a singular scene as I stood there laying down pile after pile of greasy ten thousand rouble notes on a richly inlaid table, while one of the highest personages in the proudest Court of Europe or Asia stood beside me, his tall figure glistening with gold ornaments and jewelled decorations, and his dark Slavonian features flushed with excitement and greed. As the last note left my fingers, he bent down and breathed in my ear—

‘Take the Siberian railway, and use your eyes.’

I am ready to admit that my first feeling, after hearing those few words which had cost me a hundred thousand roubles each, was one of sickening disappointment. But a very little consideration served to show me that the Grand Duke had told me enough to place success within my reach, and that the information which he thus put it in my power to acquire by my own observation was calculated to be of greater value than any mere statement made at second-hand.

Somewhere along the vast, just completed track which connects the Baltic with the Pacific lay the key to the true purpose of that famous rescript which had imposed on all the statesmen of the world, and only vigilance and circumspection were required to find it.

Never was there a journey more fraught with peril than that which I now undertook. I had to disappear from civilisation for an unknown length of time, and plunge into a region shrouded in mysterious dread, the land of prison and exile; the gloomy realm which forms the background to the showy life of the capital beside the Neva, like a dark subterranean dungeon hidden beneath a glittering palace.

From Siberia few enemies of the Russian Government ever return. My safety depended on my keeping up the character of a financial agent, on the look-out for sources of wealth requiring French capital for their development. In that character I was sure of a cordial reception, and it served as a convenient cloak for some curiosity about the country I was passing through.

Not daring to intrust my secret to a companion, I was obliged to go without sleep from the moment of leaving the Ural mountains behind. The utmost indulgence I could allow myself was such a light doze as left the attention ready to leap into activity at the least provocation. At every stopping place I got out and made a careful examination of the neighbourhood. The one thing I had to fear was the night. In the Cimmerian darkness of a northern winter I might have been carried past an army without perceiving it.

The train by which I travelled was a long one, and it was increased before we entered Asia by the addition of an open car like a cattle-truck, containing peasants whom I took to be prisoners. I had to be careful not to show myself too inquisitive, but I noticed at the various stations along the track that they were all young men of about the same age, and that they got in and out in obedience to orders given by officials who were armed, and whom I imagined to be warders or police.

I did not consider it safe to hold much conversation with my fellow passengers. It was probable that more than one spy was among them. I had an uneasy sensation of being watched by invisible eyes, and I knew that if I once aroused real suspicion by my behaviour, my doom was sealed.

So the days and nights passed, and the train crept on its way across the silence of the frozen continent. I strained my eyes in vain across the blinding waste, and strained my ears through the night. No sight or sound rewarded me, save the solitary huts of the railway-men and the monotonous tinkle of sleigh-bells.

According to my reckoning we had got nearly half way from the Ural to the Amur when the longest stage of all was reached. We ran from the sunset of one day to nearly noon of the next, only halting to take in water and fuel. Then at last the train entered a town of considerable importance, apparently a sort of depôt of the line, there being many side-rails on which trucks were standing as though waiting till they should be required.

As soon as the train stopped, I got out as usual with the other passengers, to stretch my legs and look about me. The long journey and the lack of proper rest had so exhausted me that it was some time before I realised that there was an unusual lack of bustle about this particular halt.

When at last the fact of this strange stillness was borne in upon my consciousness, I roused myself to observation. At once I perceived that the alighting passengers were fewer in number than before. It was the troop I had mistaken for prisoners who were missing. I looked at the end of the train for their car. It was no longer there.

We had silently slipped the wagon in the course of the night!

This discovery acted on my tired brain like magic. In an instant I was again the alert, cautious investigator whose decisions were as swift as his intuitions were unerring. Without hesitating I returned to my carriage, removed my luggage with the aid of a porter, and ordered a sleigh to drive me to the hotel.

The guard of the train came up to me, as I was making these preparations, and asked me if I were not going on.

‘Not by your train,’ I replied blandly. ‘I shall break my journey here, and look about me. By what I can see this place seems likely to be an important commercial centre, such as I have come in search of.’

‘Your Excellency is mistaken,’ the man answered roughly. ‘This place is nothing at all—only a dumping place for spare wagons. To-morrow we shall come to a really important town, where much business is done.’

I gave the fellow my most supercilious stare. Then, pulling out a note for fifty roubles, I handed it to him, saying haughtily—

‘I am obliged to you for your trouble. Good day.’

He drew back astonished and abashed, and I made my way out of the station, without once turning to see if I were followed.

Directly I reached the hotel I threw myself on a bed, and slept soundly for twenty-four hours.

I awoke refreshed and vigorous, and ready to carry out my task with coolness and resolution. Knowing myself to be in a land where every second man was a spy, I thought it idle to attempt any concealment of my actions. I was there as an explorer, and I determined to explore boldly. If the agents of the Government took it on themselves to stop me, I knew well enough how to deal with them.

My first step was to ask the landlord of the hotel to recommend me a guide. The man whom he presented to me was a typical mouchard, with ‘spy’ written on every line of his countenance. This was just what I expected. I engaged him at a liberal salary, and ordered him to fit out an expedition for a journey of some days into the interior.

‘Where do you want to go?’ the man asked.

‘Where I please,’ I replied sharply. ‘Keep your curiosity to yourself, or take another master. I want a guide, not a partner.’

This rebuke had the desired effect. The police agent, for such of course he was, was obliged to come with me on my own terms. Doubtless he reported me to his bureau as a headstrong man who could not be controlled by any means save open force.

At the same time I lost no opportunity of impressing the authorities with my assumed character. The Prefect of the town called on me, and I explained to him that Siberia was regarded in Paris as one of the richest mineral regions of the earth, and that I was merely the pioneer of a swarm of prospectors who would be invading it before long. I made his mouth water as I talked of shares and syndicates, and conveyed to him that by a judicious use of his opportunities he might become one of the millionaires of the future.

To the westward of the town, in the direction from which the train had brought me, there was visible a range of low hills, a conspicuous landmark in the desolate plain. It was towards these hills that I ordered my guide to conduct me, as soon as the preparations for the march were completed.

The rascal was cunning enough to hide his reluctance, and we set out. But after we had gone a day’s journey I noticed that our march was steadily veering away from the line of the railway, and taking a northerly direction. I said nothing, determined to counteract these tactics at the right moment. At the end of the third day, after a slow progress compared with the speed of the train, we pitched our camp at the foot of the range, about forty miles, as near as I could judge, from the point where it was pierced by the railway.

The next morning the caravan wound its way to the summit of the ridge, and I looked down on a broad valley, watered by a river, and broken up by small spurs jutting out from the main watershed. As the guide was about to plunge down, so as to cross the stream, I checked him abruptly.

‘We are not going that way. I shall turn southward now, and keep along the summit of the ridge till we come to the railway.’

The man’s face turned as black as a thunder-cloud.

‘You cannot go that way,’ he snorted.

‘Why?’

He hesitated.

‘Because it is impassable. The horses will break down.’

‘We will go on till they do,’ I answered sternly. ‘And let this be your last attempt to disobey me. At the next I send you back, and go on without you.’

The man slunk forward, muttering curses, which I affected not to hear. But I had not yet frightened him sufficiently. At the next halt one of the drivers came to me and reported that a horse had gone lame.

‘Bring it here,’ I commanded.

He went away, and returned leading the animal.

‘Go,’ I said sternly. ‘Take the horse back with you, and take rations for three days. Do not let me see you again.’

The driver looked thoroughly crestfallen. He slouched back to his comrades without another word.

I waited till half an hour had passed, then I rose and walked over to the camp-fire, round which my followers were seated, the driver among them.

‘How is it that you are still here?’ I demanded.

‘The horse is all right again,’ was the surly answer.

‘So much the worse for you.’ I took out my revolver in one hand, and my watch in the other. ‘In ten minutes from now I aim this revolver at you, and fire,’ I remarked. ‘It kills at two hundred metres. I should advise you to get out of range.’

I do not think I have ever seen a man get through his preparations in less time than then. Long before the allotted time was up, he was well out of reach, galloping down the slope of the hill.

In every expedition through a wild country there comes a moment which decides who is to be master. That moment past, I had no fear of further trouble. I was now able to unbend with the guide; I informed him that I expected to find gold, and promised him a rich reward if I succeeded with his aid.

But a disappointment was in store for me. Although we marched carefully along the summit of the hills, and I scrutinised every yard of the valley below with a powerful field-glass, I detected no trace of anything calling for investigation; in fact, I discerned no signs of human life. By the time I had worked down to the railway I began to fear that I was on a false scent.

It was in the night, after we had pitched our camp close beside the line, that the true solution occurred to me. I rose and secretly crept out of my tent, eluding the solitary watchman, and made my way along the track of the rails. After groping and stumbling over the roughly laid road for three or four miles, I suddenly made a discovery. The line divided, sending off a branch rail, which curved away to the south.

I knew now what had become of the missing gang of prisoners, or rather—for by this time I saw more clearly—of military recruits.

I also knew why I had missed my way. The guide had led me to the north of the line, and what I had come so far to find lay to the south.

The next day I issued orders to continue the march to the southward, crossing the railway. The face of the guide, when he received this direction, sufficiently showed that I was getting warm, as the children say, at last. He made no open remonstrance, but in the course of the day I noticed that another man and horse had disappeared.

I paid no attention to this proof of treachery. It came too late to affect me. By noon of the first day after quitting the main line for the south, I was already in possession of the carefully guarded secret of the Council of State.

There at my feet, along the widening valley, lay a double line of rails, gleaming blue in the sunlight, and all across the level space at regular intervals stretched low banks and ditches—the lines of a vast encampment, capable of accommodating half a million men. Still further on I had a glimpse of the white sparkle of tents and piles of fresh-hewn timber, and I even fancied I could catch the faint hum of voices and the thud of hammers as the hidden army toiled away at its barracks and entrenchments.

The meaning of the Peace Rescript was manifest at last, and the meaning was formidable indeed. While appearing to disarm in concert with the rest of Europe, Russia’s intention was secretly to withdraw her enormous forces to this unsuspected retreat, from whence, at the decisive moment, they would issue like a creation of magic, to overwhelm the defenceless continent.

I had made my discovery; it was still a question whether I was to return with it in safety.

Before I had made up my mind whether to push my observations further, I was alarmed to see a sotnia of Cossacks approaching, led by a Russian officer. My little camp was quickly surrounded, and the officer presented himself before me.

It required all my nerve to deal with the emergency. The first words of the officer showed me that he considered me a spy, and was prepared to hang me out of hand. I affected the utmost astonishment and indignation, and produced the papers which showed me to be a Frenchman travelling on behalf of various financial syndicates in Paris. The officer thrust them aside contemptuously.

‘All this is nothing to me,’ he declared. ‘You should not have come within reach of our camp. Even if I do not hang you, you will never be allowed to return to Europe, of that you may be assured.’

‘I will take my chance of that, captain,’ I answered coolly. ‘Living in this out-of-the-way region, you perhaps have not heard that France and Russia are in military alliance, and, besides, that the Tsar has declared his intention to disarm, so that your preparations here have ceased to be of the slightest consequence to anybody.’

The officer was fairly staggered. He had heard, of course, of the French alliance, and no doubt some rumour as to the recent rescript had penetrated to the secret camp, but without its scope being very well understood.

‘I know that it is my duty to arrest you, at the very least,’ he persisted.

‘As to that, you will do as you please. It will sound well in Paris that every prospector who ventures into Siberia with a view of developing the resources of the country exposes himself to the treatment of a spy. M. Witte will find it takes some persuasion to secure another French loan.’

It is needless to give further details of a conversation in which the ignorance of the Russian gave me a very great advantage over him. I am vain enough to plume myself on having made use of the treacherous rescript to out-manœuvre its authors. In saying that, of course, I do not refer to Nicholas II., who perhaps did not even know of the existence of the hidden camp.

In the end the Cossack officer decided to escort me back to the town where I had left the train, and hand me over to the civil authorities, a decision which was assisted by the usual methods of persuasion in the East. My friend the Prefect, already predisposed in my favour, required a somewhat heavier bribe, and finally I made assurance doubly sure by resuming my journey eastward, and leaving Russian territory by way of the Chinese frontier.

It was from the first telegraph station in the Celestial Empire that I sent the cipher despatch to Constantinople which was destined to render abortive the much-talked-of Conference at the Hague:

‘Russia preparing enormous concealed camp in Siberia, beside railway, to hide forces when nominally disbanded. I have seen it.’

Abdul Hamid was too shrewd to take any open part in opposing the Russian proposals, but when I saw the firm stand made against them by the German representatives, I knew that he had not thrown my telegram into the waste-paper basket.

It only remains to add that the Russian Government, realising that its secret had been betrayed, stealthily set to work to efface every sign of the concealed camp; and that, if my latest information be correct, the mysterious valley is again given over to silence and to solitude.