“Imperialism,” he declared, “has never been in the foreground of my programme, but I call myself an Imperialist. I have done what I could for the colonies. I have even abandoned on their behalf some of my pet principles of absolute freedom in trade.”
“You certainly have not been prejudiced,” she admitted. “Whether your politics have been those of an Imperialist from the broadest point of view—well, we won’t discuss that question just now. We might, perhaps, differ. But there is just one more point. Zealously and during the whole of your career, you have set your face steadfastly against any increase of our military power. They say that it is chiefly due to you and Mr. Busby that our army to-day is weaker in numbers than it has been for years. You have set your face steadily against all schemes for national service. You have taken up the stand that England can afford to remain neutral, whatever combination of Powers on the Continent may fight. Now tell me, do you see any possibility of failure, from the standpoint of a great politician, in your attitude?”
“I do not,” he answered. “On the contrary, I am proud of all that I have done in that direction. For the reduction of our armaments I accept the full responsibility. It is true that I have opposed national service. I want to see the people develop commercially. The withdrawing of a million of young men, even for a month every year, from their regular tasks, would not only mean a serious loss to the manufacturing community, but it would be apt to unsettle and unsteady them. Further, it would kindle in this country the one thing I am anxious to avoid—the military spirit. We do not need it, Duchess. We are a peace-loving nation, civilised out of the crude lust for conquest founded upon bloodshed. I do believe that geographically and from every other point of view, England, with her navy, can afford to fold her arms, and if other nations should at any time be foolish enough to imperil their very existence by fighting for conquest or revenge, then we, who are strong enough to remain aloof, can only grow richer and stronger by the disasters which happen to them.”
There was a momentary silence. The Duchess leaned back in her chair, and Mr. Hebblethwaite, always the courteous host, talked for a while to the woman on his left. The Duchess, however, reopened the subject a few minutes later.
“I come, you must remember, Mr. Hebblethwaite,” she observed, “from long generations of soldiers, and you, as you have reminded me, from a long race of yeomen and tradespeople. Therefore, without a doubt, our point of view must be different. That, perhaps, is what makes conversation between us so interesting. To me, a conflict in Europe, sooner or later, appears inevitable. With England preserving a haughty and insular neutrality, which, from her present military condition, would be almost compulsory, the struggle would be between Russia, France, Italy, Germany, and Austria. Russia is an unknown force, but in my mind I see Austria and Italy, with perhaps one German army, holding her back for many months, perhaps indefinitely. On the other hand, I see France overrun by the Germans very much as she was in 1870. I adore the French, and I have little sympathy with the Germans, but as a fighting race I very reluctantly feel that I must admit the superiority of the Germans. Very well, then. With Ostend, Calais, Boulogne, and Havre seized by Germany, as they certainly would be, and turned into naval bases, do you still believe that England’s security would be wholly provided for by her fleet?”
Mr. Hebblethwaite smiled.
“Duchess,” he said, “sooner or later I felt quite sure that our conversation would draw near to the German bogey. The picture you draw is menacing enough. I look upon its probability as exactly on the same par as the overrunning of Europe by the yellow races.”
“You believe in the sincerity of Germany?” she asked.
“I do,” he admitted firmly. “There is a military element in Germany which is to be regretted, but the Germans themselves are a splendid, cultured, and peace-loving people, who are seeking their future not at the point of the sword but in the counting-houses of the world. If I fear the Germans, it is commercially, and from no other point of view.”
“I wish I could feel your confidence,” the Duchess sighed.
“I have myself recently returned from Berlin,” Mr. Hebblethwaite continued. “Busby, as you know, has been many times an honoured guest there at their universities and in their great cities. He has had every opportunity of probing the tendencies of the people. His mind is absolutely and finally made up. Not in all history has there ever existed a race freer from the lust of bloodthirsty conquest than the German people of to-day.”
Mr. Hebblethwaite concluded his sentence with some emphasis. He felt that his words were carrying conviction. Some of the conversation at their end of the table had been broken off to listen to his pronouncements. At that moment his butler touched him upon the elbow.
“Mr. Bedells has just come up from the War Office, sir,” he announced. “He is waiting outside. In the meantime, he desired me to give you this.”
The butler, who had served an archbishop, and resented often his own presence in the establishment of a Radical Cabinet Minister, presented a small silver salver on which reposed a hastily twisted up piece of paper. Mr. Hebblethwaite, with a little nod, unrolled it and glanced towards the Duchess, who bowed complacently. With the smile still upon his lips, a confident light in his eyes, Mr. Hebblethwaite held out the crumpled piece of paper before him and read the hurriedly scrawled pencil lines:
“Germany has declared war against Russia and presented an ultimatum to France. I have other messages.”
Mr. Hebblethwaite was a strong man. He was a man of immense self-control. Yet in that moment the arteries of life seemed as though they had ceased to flow. He sat at the head of his table, and his eyes never left those pencilled words. His mind fought with them, discarded them, only to find them still there hammering at his brain, traced in letters of scarlet upon the distant walls. War! The great, unbelievable tragedy, the one thousand-to-one chance in life which he had ever taken! His hand almost fell to his side. There was a queer little silence. No one liked to ask him a question; no one liked to speak. It was the Duchess at last who murmured a few words, when the silence had become intolerable.
“It is bad news?” she whispered.
“It is very bad news indeed,” Mr. Hebblethwaite answered, raising his voice a little, so that every one at the table might hear him. “I have just heard from the War Office that Germany has declared war against Russia. You will perhaps, under the circumstances, excuse me.”
He rose to his feet. There was a queer singing in his ears. The feast seemed to have turned to a sickly debauch. All that pinnacle of success seemed to have fallen away. The faces of his guests, even, as they looked at him, seemed to his conscience to be expressing one thing, and one thing only—that same horrible conviction which was deadening his own senses. He and the others—could it be true?—had they taken up lightly the charge and care of a mighty empire and dared to gamble upon, instead of providing for, its security? He thrust the thought away; and the natural strength of the man began to reassert itself. If they had done ill, they had done it for the people’s sake. The people must rally to them now. He held his head high as he left the room.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Table of Contents
Norgate found himself in an atmosphere of strange excitement during his two hours’ waiting at the House of Commons on the following day. He was ushered at last into Mr. Hebblethwaite’s private room. Hebblethwaite had just come in from the House and was leaning a little back in his chair, in an attitude of repose. He glanced at Norgate with a faint smile.
“Well, young fellow,” he remarked, “come to do the usual ‘I told you so’ business, I suppose?”
“Don’t be an ass!” Norgate most irreverently replied. “There are one or two things I must tell you and tell you at once. I may have hinted at them before, but you weren’t taking things seriously then. First of all, is Mr. Bullen in the House?”
“Of course!”
“Could you send for him here just for a minute?” Norgate pleaded. “
I am sure it would make what I am going to say sound more convincing to you.”
Hebblethwaite struck a bell by his side and despatched a messenger.
“How are things going?” Norgate asked.
“France is mobilising as fast as she can,” Hebblethwaite announced. “We have reports coming in that Germany has been at it for at least a week, secretly. They say that Austrian troops have crossed into Poland. There isn’t anything definite yet, but it’s war, without a doubt, war just as we’d struck the right note for peace. Russia was firm but splendid. Austria was wavering. Just at the critical moment, like a thunderbolt, came Germany’s declaration of war. Here’s Mr. Bullen. Now go ahead, Norgate.”
Mr. Bullen came into the room, recognised Norgate, and stopped short.
“So you’re here again, young man, are you?” he exclaimed. “I don’t know why you’ve sent for me, Hebblethwaite, but if you take my advice, you won’t let that young fellow go until you’ve asked him a few questions.”
“Mr. Norgate is a friend of mine,” Hebblethwaite said. “I think you will find—”
“Friend or no friend,” the Irishman interrupted, “he is a traitor, and I tell you so to his face.”
“That is exactly what I wished you to tell Mr. Hebblethwaite,” Norgate remarked, nodding pleasantly. “I just want you to recall the circumstances of my first visit here.”
“You came and offered me a bribe of a million pounds,” Mr. Bullen declared, “if I would provoke a civil war in Ireland in the event of England getting into trouble. I wasn’t sure whom you were acting for then, but I am jolly certain now. That young fellow is a German spy, Hebblethwaite.”
“Mr. Hebblethwaite knew that quite well,” admitted Norgate coolly. “I came and told him so several times. I think that he even encouraged me to do my worst.”
“Look here, Norgate,” Hebblethwaite intervened, “I’m certain you are driving at something serious. Let’s have it.”
“Quite right, I am,” Norgate assented. “I just wanted to testify to you that Mr. Bullen’s reply to my offer was the patriotic reply of a loyal Irishman. I did offer him that million pounds on behalf of Germany, and he did indignantly refuse it, but the point of the whole thing is—my report to Germany.”
“And that?” Mr. Hebblethwaite asked eagerly.
“I reported Mr. Bullen’s acceptance of the sum,” Norgate told them. “I reported that civil war in Ireland was imminent and inevitable and would come only the sooner for any continental trouble in which England might become engaged.”
Mr. Hebblethwaite’s face cleared.
“I begin to understand now, Norgate,” he muttered. “Good fellow!”
Mr. Bullen was summoned in hot haste by one of his supporters and hurried out. Norgate drew his chair a little closer to his friend’s.
“Look here, Hebblethwaite,” he said, “you wouldn’t listen to me, you know—I don’t blame you—but I knew the truth of what I was saying. I knew what was coming. The only thing I could do to help was to play the double traitor. I did it. My chief, who reported to Berlin that this civil war was inevitable, will get it in the neck, but there’s more to follow. The Baroness von Haase and I were associated in an absolutely confidential mission to ascertain the likely position of Italy in the event of this conflict. I know for a fact that Italy will not come in with her allies.”
“Do you mean that?” Mr. Hebblethwaite asked eagerly.
“Absolutely certain,” Norgate assured him.
Hebblethwaite half rose from his place with excitement.
“I ought to telephone to the War Office,” he declared. “It will alter the whole mobilisation of the French troops.”
“France knows,” Norgate told him quietly. “My wife has seen to that. She passed the information on to them just in time to contract the whole line of mobilisation.”
“You’ve been doing big things, young fellow!” Mr. Hebblethwaite exclaimed excitedly. “Go on. Tell me at once, what was your report to Germany?”
“I reported that Italy would certainly fulfil the terms of her alliance and fight,” Norgate replied. “Furthermore, I have convinced my chief over here that under no possible circumstances would the present Cabinet sanction any war whatsoever. I have given him plainly to understand that you especially are determined to leave France to her fate if war should come, and to preserve our absolute neutrality at all costs.”
“Go on,” Hebblethwaite murmured. “Finish it, anyhow.”
“There is very little more,” Norgate concluded. “I have a list here of properties in the outskirts of London, all bought by Germans, and all having secret preparations for the mounting of big guns. You might just pass that on to the War Office, and they can destroy the places at their leisure. There isn’t anything else, Hebblethwaite. As I told you, I’ve played the double traitor. It was the only way I could help. Now, if I were you, I would arrest the master-spy for whom I have been working. Most of the information he has picked up lately has been pretty bad, and I fancy he’ll get a warm reception if he does get back to Berlin, but if ever there was a foreigner who abused the hospitality of this country, Selingman’s the man.”
“We’ll see about that presently,” Mr. Hebblethwaite declared, leaning back. “Let me think over what you have told me. It comes to this, Norgate. You’ve practically encouraged Germany to risk affronting us.”
“I can’t help that,” Norgate admitted. “Germany has gone into this war, firmly believing that Italy will be on her side, and that we shall have our hands occupied in civil war, and in any case that we should remain neutral. I am not asking you questions, Hebblethwaite. I don’t know what the position of the Government will be if Germany attacks France in the ordinary way. But one thing I do believe, and that is that if Germany breaks Belgian neutrality and invades Belgium, there isn’t any English Government which has ever been responsible for the destinies of this country, likely to take it lying down. We are shockingly unprepared, or else, of course, there’d have been no war at all. We shall lose hundreds of thousands of our young men, because they’ll have to fight before they are properly trained, but we must fight or perish. And we shall fight—I am sure of that, Hebblethwaite.”
“We are all Englishmen,” Hebblethwaite answered simply.
The door was suddenly opened. Spencer Wyatt pushed his way past a protesting doorkeeper. Hebblethwaite rose to his feet; he seemed to forget Norgate’s presence.
“You’ve been down to the Admiralty?” he asked quickly. “Do you know?”
Spencer Wyatt pointed to Norgate. His voice shook with emotion.
“I know, Hebblethwaite,” he replied, “but there’s something that you don’t know. We were told to mobilise the fleet an hour ago. My God, what chance should we have had! Germany means scrapping, and look where our ships are, or ought to be.”
“I know it,” Hebblethwaite groaned.
“Well, they aren’t there!” Spencer Wyatt announced triumphantly. “A week ago that young fellow came to me. He told me what was impending. I half believed it before he began. When he told me his story, I gambled upon it. I mistook the date for the Grand Review. I signed the order for mobilisation at the Admiralty, seven days ago. We are safe, Hebblethwaite! I’ve been getting wireless messages all day yesterday and to-day. We are at Cromarty and Rosyth. Our torpedo squadron is in position, our submarines are off the German coast. It was just the toss of a coin—papers and a country life for me, or our fleet safe and a great start in the war. This is the man who has done it.”
“It’s the best news I’ve heard this week,” Hebblethwaite declared, with glowing face. “If our fleet is safe, the country is safe for a time. If this thing comes, we’ve a chance. I’ll go through the country. I’ll start the day war’s declared. I’ll talk to the people I’ve slaved for. They shall come to our help. We’ll have the greatest citizen army who ever fought for their native land. I’ve disbelieved in fighting all my life. If we are driven to it, we’ll show the world what peace-loving p
eople can do, if the weapon is forced into their hands. Norgate, the country owes you a great debt. Another time, Wyatt, I’ll tell you more than you know now. What can we do for you, young fellow?”
Norgate rose to his feet.
“My work is already chosen, thanks,” he said, as he shook hands. “I have been preparing for some time.”
CHAPTER XXXIX
Table of Contents
The card-rooms at the St. James’s Club were crowded, but very few people seemed inclined to play. They were standing or sitting about in little groups. A great many of them were gathered around the corner where Selingman was seated. He was looking somewhat graver than usual, but there was still a confident smile upon his lips.
“My little friend,” he said, patting the hand of the fair lady by his side, “reassure yourself. Your husband and your husband’s friends are quite safe. For England there will come no fighting. Believe me, that is a true word.”
“But the impossible is happening all the time,” Mrs. Barlow protested. “Who would have believed that without a single word of warning Germany would have declared war against Russia?”
Mr. Selingman raised his voice a little.
“Let me make the situation clear,” he begged. “Listen to me, if you will, because I am a patriotic German but also a lover of England, a sojourner here, and one of her greatest friends. Germany has gone to war against Russia. Why? You will say upon a trifling pretext. My answer to you is this. There is between the Teuton and the Slav an enmity more mighty than anything you can conceive of. It has been at the root of all the unrest in the Balkans. Many a time Germany has kept the peace at the imminent loss of her own position and prestige. But one knows now that the struggle must come. The Russians are piling up a great army with only one intention. They mean to wrest from her keeping certain provinces of Austria, to reduce Germany’s one ally to the condition of a vassal state, to establish the Slav people there and throughout the Balkan States, at the expense of the Teuton. Germany must protect her own. It is a struggle, mind you, which concerns them alone. If only there were common sense in the world, every one else would stand by and let Germany and Austria fight with Russia on the one great issue—Slav or Teuton.”
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