The Telegram Which Began The Boer War - A Secret History by Allen Upward 1903

The initials under which I write these confessions are not those of my real name, which I could not disclose without exposing myself to the revenge of formidable enemies. As it is, I run a very great risk in making revelations which affect some of the most powerful personages now living; and it is only by the exercise of the utmost discretion that I can hope to avoid giving offence in quarters in which the slightest disrespect is apt to have serious consequences.

If I should be found to err on the side of frankness, I can only plead in excuse that I have never yet betrayed the confidence placed in me by the various Governments and illustrious families which have employed me from time to time. The late Prince Bismarck once honoured me by saying: "To tell secrets Monsieur V--------- is like putting them into a strong box, with the certainty that they will not come out again until one wants them to."

In these reminiscences it is my object to recount some of the services I have rendered to civilisation in the course of my career, while abstaining as far as possible from compromising exalted individuals or embittering international relations.

That I am not a man who opens his mouth rashly may be gathered from the fact that, although at any time during the long struggle between Briton and Boer for the mastery of South Africa, I might have completely changed the situation with a word, that word was not uttered while a single Boer remained under arms.

In order to explain how I came to be concerned in this affair, I had better begin by giving a few particulars about myself, and the almost unique position which I hold among the secret service bureaus of Europe and America.

By birth I am a citizen of the United States of America, being the son of a Polish father, exiled on account of his political opinions, and a French mother. From childhood I showed an extraordinary aptitude for languages, so that there is now scarcely a civilised country outside Portugal and Scandinavia in which I am not able to converse with the natives in their own tongue.

At the same time, I was possessed, ever since I can remember, with a passion for intrigue and mystery. The romances of Gaboriau were the favourite reading of my boyhood, and it was my ambition to become a famous detective, the Vidocq of America.

Fired by these visions, I ran away from the insurance office in which my parents had placed me, when I was little more than sixteen, and applied for admission to the ranks of the famous Pinkerton Police. Although my youth was against me, my phenomenal command of languages turned the scale in my favour, and I was given a trial.

Very soon I had opportunities of distinguishing myself in more than one mission to Europe, on the track of absconding criminals; and in this way I earned the favourable notice of the heads of the detective police in London, Paris, Berlin and other capitals.

At length, finding that I possessed unique qualifications for the work of an international secret agent, I decided to quit the Pinkerton service, and set up for myself, making my headquarters in Paris. From that day to this I have had no cause to repent of my audacity. I have been employed at one time or another by nearly every Government in the world, and my clients have included nearly every crowned head, from the late Queen Victoria to the Dowager Empress of China. I have been sent for on the same day by the Ambassadors of two hostile powers, each of which desired to employ me against the other.

On one occasion I acted on behalf of a famous German Chancellor against his then master, and another on behalf of the Emperor against his Chancellor; and neither had cause to complain of my fidelity. I have been instrumental in freeing a Queen renowned for her beauty from the persecution of a blackmailer set on by a foreign court; and I have more than once detected and defeated the plots of anarchists for the assassination of their rulers.

In this way it has come about that I enjoy the friendship and confidence of many illustrious personages, whose names would excite envy were I at liberty to mention them in these pages; and that few events of any magnitude happen in any part of the globe without my being in some measure concerned in them.

Often, when some great affair has been proceeding, I have felt myself as occupying the position of the stage manager, who looks on from the wings, directing the entrances and exits of the gorgeously dressed performers who engross the attention and applause of the ignorant spectators on the other side of the footlights.

The true story of the famous telegram which may be said to have rendered the South African War inevitable is one which strikingly illustrates the extent to which the public may be deceived about the most important transactions of contemporary history.

Everyone is familiar with the situation created by that celebrated dispatch. For some time previously all England, and, in fact, all Europe, had been agitated by the intelligence that Johannesburg was on the eve of insurrection, that the Boers were drawing their forces together about the doomed city, that Dr Jameson had dashed across the frontier with five hundred followers in a mad attempt to come to the aid of the threatened outlanders, and that his action had been formally disavowed by the British Government.

Close on the heels of these tidings came the memorable day on which London was cast into gloom by the long streams of placards issuing from the newspaper offices bearing the dismal legend, "Jameson Beaten and a Prisoner!"

While the populace were yet reeling under the blow, divided between distress and humiliation for the British flag, and indignation at the criminal recklessness which had staked the country's honour on a gambler's throw, there came the portentous news that the head of the great German Empire, the grandson of Queen Victoria, had sent a public message of congratulation to the Boer President, rejoicing with him in the face of the world over an event which every Englishman felt as a national disaster.

That hour registered the doom of the Pretorian Government. Jameson was scornfully forgotten. The British people, as proud as it is generous, made up its mind that the forbearance so long extended to a vassal of its own, could no longer be shown with honour to the protege of a mighty European Power.

On the very day on which this celebrated despatch appeared as the chief item of news in all the newspapers of the world, I received an urgent cipher message from the Director of the Imperial Secret Service, Herr Finkelstein, demanding my presence in Berlin.

My headquarters, as I have said, are in Paris, and fortunately I was disengaged when the summons arrived. I had merely to dictate a few dozen wires to my staff, while my valet was strapping up the portmanteau which always stands ready packed in my dressing room, and to look out my German passport - for I have a separate one for every important nationality - and in an hour or two I was seated in the Berlin express, speeding towards the frontier.

From the bunch of papers which my attentive secretary had thrust into the carriage, I learned something of the effect which the German Emperor's interference in the affairs of South Africa had produced on the public mind in England. It was evident that the islanders were strongly roused, and were preparing to pick up the gage of battle which had been thrown down. No sooner had I reached German territory than I found evidences of an even greater excitement.

The whole nation seemed to have rallied round the Kaiser, and to be ready to back up his words with martial deeds. By this time I had little doubt that I had been sent for in connection with the outbreak of hostile feeling between the two powers. But it was impossible for me to anticipate the actual nature of the task which awaited me.

On reaching Berlin I was met by a private emissary of Finkelstein's, who hurried me off to the Director's private house. The first words with which he greeted me convinced me that the business I had come about was of no ordinary kind.

"Do not sit down," he said to me, as I was about to drop into a chair, after shaking hands with him. "I must ask you to come into my dressing room at once, where you will transform yourself as quickly as possible into an officer of the Berlin Police. The moment that is done, I am to conduct you to the Palace, where his Majesty will see you alone."

As I followed the Director into the dressing room, where I found a uniform laid out ready for my wearing, I naturally asked: "Can you tell me what this is about?"

Finkelstein shook his head with a mysterious air. "The Kaiser has told me nothing. But he warned me very strictly not to let a single creature in Berlin know of your arrival, and from that fact I have naturally drawn certain conclusions."

I gazed at Finkelstein with some suspicion. We were good friends, having worked together on more than one occasion, and I knew he would have no wish to keep me in the dark. On the other hand, if he had been instructed to do so, I knew he would not hesitate to lie to me. The secret service has its code of honour, like other professions, and fidelity to one's employer comes before friendship.

Keeping my eye fixed on him, I observed carelessly ----

"You will tell me just as much or as little as you think fit, my dear Finkelstein. On my part I shall, of course, exercise a similar discretion after his Imperial Majesty has given me my instructions."

As I expected the bait took. Curiosity is the besetting weakness of a secret service officer, and the Berlin Director was no exception to the rule. Putting on his most confidential manner, he at once replied ---

"My dear V ------, if you and I do not trust each other, whom can we trust? Rest assured that my confidence in you has no reserves. I have spoken the bare truth in saying that the Kaiser has given me no indication of his object in sending for you. But the fact that he has ordered me to take these precautions to conceal the fact of your arrival in Berlin tells me plainly that there is a person whom he wishes to keep in ignorance; and that person can only be ------"

"The Chancellor?" I threw in, as my companion hesitated.

Finkelstein nodded.

"You consider, perhaps, that it is against the Chancellor that I am to be employed?" I went on.

 "It looks like it," was the cautious answer.

"And the reason why this task is not placed in your hands?"

"Is because I am a native of Hanover, and the Kaiser regards me rather as a public official than as a personal servant of his own dynasty," said Finkelstein.

"In other words, he regards you as a creature of the Chancellor's." I continued bluntly.

The Director made a pleasing and ingenious attempt to blush. "I can only affirm to you, on my sacred word of honour, that his Majesty has no cause to trust me any less than if I were a Prussian," he declared. "And I shall take it as a personal kindness if you will endeavour to convince the Kaiser of my loyalty."

"I will take care that he knows your sentiments," I answered, with an ambiguity which Finkelstein fortunately did not remark.

By this time I had completed my transformation. A glance at the cheval glass showed me a stiff, well set up Prussian official, exhaling the very atmosphere of Junkerdom and sauerkraut. I gave the signal to depart, and we were quickly driving up the Unter Den Linden on our way to the Imperial Palace.

"Announce to his Majesty - the Herr Director Finkelstein and the Herr Inspector Vehm," my companion said to the doorkeeper.

A servant, who had evidently received special instructions, stepped forward. "The Herr Inspector is to be taken to his Majesty at once," he said firmly.

Finkelstein bit his lip as he unwillingly turned to re-enter his carriage. I followed the lackey into the private cabinet of the monarch who had just found himself the centre of an international cyclone.

Wilhelm II. received me cordially. It was not the first time we had met. About the time of his ascending the throne I had been the means of inflicting on him a defeat which a smaller man would have found it hard to forgive.

Fortunately, the German Kaiser was of metal sterling enough to recognise merit even in an enemy, and to realise that my fidelity to my then employer was the best guarantee that I should be equally faithful to himself, if it fell to my lot to serve him.

"What has Finkelstein told you?" was the Emperor's first question, after he had graciously invited me to sit down.

"Only that he was able to tell me nothing, sire."

The Emperor gave me a suspicious glance.

"He appeared to regret that your Majesty had not given him your confidence," I added, choosing my words warily. "He assured me that you might rely on his entire devotion, as much so as if he were a native of your hereditary states."

"And what do you say to that?" demanded the Kaiser, with a piercing look.

"I think that your Majesty cannot be too careful whom you trust."

Wilhelm II. allowed himself to smile gravely. "I see, Monsieur V -------, that you are a prudent man. If Herr Finkelstein wishes to convince me of his loyalty to the Hohenzollerns, he cannot begin better than by renouncing the pension which he continues to draw secretly from the Duke of --------." His Majesty pronounced the name by which a well known dispossessed sovereign goes in his exile.

Familiar as I long have been with instances of perfidy in others, I could not restrain an exclamation of astonishment at this revelation of Finkelstein's double dealing. The Kaiser continued ---- "After that you will not be surprised if I caution you particularly against letting Herr Finkelstein know anything of the object of the inquiry I wish you to undertake."

I bowed respectfully, and waited with some impatience to learn the true nature of my mission. "I could not receive you here without taking someone into the secret of your employment," the Kaiser went on to explain; "and I chose Finkelstein in order to give the affair as much as possible the aspect of a private and domestic matter. In reality the task I have to set you is one of the most grave in which you have ever been engaged."

The Kaiser took one of the Berlin papers of the day before, which was lying on the desk in front of him, and pointed to a column in which was set out in conspicuous type the telegram which had convulsed Europe and Africa, and had already caused Lord Salisbury to issue orders for the mobilisation of his Flying Squadron.

"I have sent for you, in two words, to find out for me the authorship of this telegram," the Kaiser said.

Notwithstanding my long training in the most tortuous paths of secret intrigue, I was fairly taken aback by this announcement.

"That telegram!" I could only exclaim. "The one which your Majesty addressed to President Kruger!"

"I never sent it," Wilhelm II. declared gravely. "It is a forgery pure and simple."

For a moment I sat still in my chair, almost unable to think. "But what -----? But, who ------?" I articulated, struggling with my bewilderment.

"That is what you have got to find out for me," was the answer. "Let me tell you all I know. The first intimation I had of the existence of such a thing was the sight of it in the press. I sent instantly for the Chancellor, who came here wearing a reproachful expression, and evidently prepared to complain bitterly of my having taken such a step without previously informing him. When I told him that the whole thing was an impudent fabrication, he could scarcely believe his ears. In fact, for some time I believe he was inclined to consider my repudiation of it a mere official denial."

I ventured to raise my eyes to his Majesty's as I observed ----

"Your Majesty has taken no steps to make your repudiation public?"

The Kaiser gave an angry frown. "That is the serious part of the affair," he answered.

"Kruger, in his eagerness to proclaim to the world that I was on his side, had sent copies of this infamous production to every newspaper in the two hemispheres before it reached my eyes. At the moment I first saw it, it had already been read and commented upon all round the globe. The British newspapers were already threatening war, and my own people had been excited to a pitch of enthusiasm such as no other act of mine has ever called forth.

If I were now to disavow this forgery, my disavowal would be received everywhere with the same scepticism as was felt even by my own Chancellor. The British would triumph over me for what they would regard as a surrender to British threats."

I sat silent. I realised the full difficulty of the Kaiser's position. He was committed in spite of himself to the act of some imposter, whose real motives were yet to be discovered, but who had already succeeded in bringing the two greatest powers in Europe to the verge of war.

"Before I can undo the mischief which has been done," the Emperor proceeded, "I must first of all ascertain from what quarter this forgery emanated. When I have obtained that information, backed by clear and convincing proofs, it may be possible for me to satisfy the British Government that they and I have been the victims of a conspiracy. If you can succeed in furnishing me with these proofs, it shall be the best day's work you ever did in your life."

I listened carefully to these words, scrutinising them for any trace of a double meaning. It was impossible for me to dismiss entirely from my mind that suspicion which the story told by Wilhelm II. was naturally calculated to excite. I asked myself whether the Kaiser was really in earnest, or whether he was not inviting me, in a delicate fashion, to extricate him from the consequences of his own rashness, by putting together some fictitious account of the origin of the telegram, which might impose on Lord Salisbury.

It was clearly necessary, however, for me to appear to be convinced. "May I ask if your Majesty's suspicions point in any particular direction?" I asked, trying to feel my way cautiously. "The President of the Boers is perhaps ------."

The Kaiser interrupted me. "I do not think Kruger would dare to provoke me by such a trick. He would know that he would be the first to suffer when it was found out. No, I am convinced that we must look nearer home for the traitor."

Something in the Emperor's tone struck me as significant. "If you could give me any indication of the person -------" I ventured to throw out.

His Majesty looked at me fixedly as he answered ----- "Does it not occur to you, Monsieur V -----, that there is in my Empire a powerful family, the heads of which seem at one time to have cherished the notion that the Hohenzollerns could not reign without them, a family which aspired to play the  same part in modern Germany which was played by the Mayors of the Palace in the Empire of the Merovingians?"

"You allude, sire, without doubt, to the Bismarcks?"

"My grandfather was forced into war with the French by a forged telegram. There would be nothing surprising in an attempt from the same quarter to force me into a war with England."

I had no answer to make to such reasoning. Daring as such a manoeuvre might appear, it was absurd, in the face of historical facts, to pronounce it improbable. After a minute spent in considering the situation, I turned to the question of how the fraud might have been carried out.

It was quite clear to me that such a message could not have gone over the ordinary wires. The despatches of Emperors are not, as a rule, handed in over the counter of a post office, like a telegram from a husband announcing that he is prevented from dining at home. I asked the Kaiser to explain to me the system pursued with regard to Imperial messages.

"That is a matter about which you will be able to learn more from the Chancellor than from me," was the answer. "Foreign despatches go through the Chancellery, and there is a staff of telegraphists there to deal with them. The wires go direct to the Central Telegraph Office, I believe, from which it would, of course, find its way to the Cable Company."

"Then this fabrication must have been sent from the Chancellery in the first instance?" I inquired. "It could not have been received at the Central Office from an outside source?"

"Impossible. They would not dare to transmit a message in my name which had not reached them through one of the authorised channels."

This was the rely I had expected. But I did not fail to mark the admission that there was more than one channel through which the forgery might have come. I was quick to ask ---- "Is there not some other source from which this telegram may have reached them besides the Chancellery? Your Majesty, no doubt, has a private wire from the Palace." 

The Kaiser looked a little put out. "That is so, of course," he conceded. "But that wire is used only for my personal messages, and those of the Imperial family."

"Still, a message received over this wire, and couched in your name, would be accepted at the Central Office, would it not?" I persisted.

"Undoubtedly. But the Palace operator, a man who works under the eye of my secretary, would not dare to play me such a trick, which, he would be aware, must be detected immediately. Take my advice, Monsieur V -------, waste no time over side paths, but go direct to the Chancellor, and commence your perquisitions among his staff."

I bowed respectfully, as though accepting his plan of campaign. But, as I withdrew from the Emperor's cabinet, the doubt pressed more strongly than ever upon my mind whether I was not being asked to play a part. I half expected everything prepared for me at the Chancellery, Prearranged clues leading to the detection of a culprit who would recite a confession which had been put into his mouth beforehand.

I was perfectly willing to perform my part in the comedy in a manner satisfactory to my employer, but all the same I meant to keep my eyes open, and not to let myself be the victim of a deception intended for English consumption.

In this mood I presented myself before the Chancellor. As soon as the Imperial autograph introducing me met his eye, his Excellency threw aside, or pretended to throw aside, all reserve.

"I am delighted to find the Emperor has placed this business in your hands, Monsieur V -----," he said obligingly. "Your reputation is well known to me, and I am convinced that you will be perfectly discreet. The Emperor is, of course, thoroughly taken aback by the results of his unfortunate impulse, and wishes to relieve himself of the responsibility he has incurred. In that I am quite willing to help him, but not at my own expense, you understand."

I murmured something about the Bismarcks. His Excellency gave a smile of contempt. "All that is absurd," he rapped out. "The Emperor is quite foolish about that family, which possesses no more influence today than any Pomeranian squire. No, if his Majesty wants a victim he ought to be content with one of his own staff. I refuse to allow the Imperial Chancellery to be discredited in the eyes of Europe."

This reception, so unlike what I had anticipated, made me begin to think that my inquiry would have to be serious. After a little further conversation with the Chancellor I decided to go to work regularly beginning by tracing the Imperial telegram back from the Central Office.

The Chancellor readily furnished me with the necessary authority to produce to the Director of the Telegraph Service, to whom I had merely to explain that I had been instructed to verify the exact wording of the now famous despatch.

It is unnecessary for me to detail my interview with this functionary, whose share in the business was purely formal. Suffice it that within a quarter of an hour after entering his office, I came out with the all important information that the congratulation to Mr Kruger had come direct from the Imperial Palace, over the Kaiser's own private wire.

By this time it was clear to me that either Wilhelm II. was playing a very complicated game indeed with me, or he really was the victim of one of the most audacious coups in history. My interest in the investigation was strongly roused, as I made my way to the Palace for a second time that day, bent upon meeting with the telegraphist by whose agency, it now appeared, the war making despatch had come over the wires.

My recent audience in the Imperial cabinet had invested me with authority in the eyes of the household, and I had no difficulty in getting a footman to conduct me to the operator's room, which was situated at the far end of the corridor which I had previously passed through on my way to the Kaiser.

The room being empty on my arrival, I dismissed the footman in search of the operator, who, he informed me, would most probably be found with the private secretary to the Emperor. The moment I found myself alone I stepped up to the apparatus. I am an expert telegraphist, and the machine speedily clicked off the following dispatch --

"To the German Ambassador, London, --- See Lord Salisbury privately, at once, and inform him British Government entirely deceived as to my sentiments. Proofs will be sent to you shortly. --- WILHELM, Kaiser."

I had hardly taken my fingers off the instrument when the door opened and the operator walked in. Herr Zeiss -- I heard his name at the Central Office -- appeared to me to be a simple minded man, more likely to be the victim of a conspiracy than himself a conspirator. I thought it my best plan to assume an air of omniscience at the outset.

"How is this sir!" I demanded with some sternness. "Do your instructions permit you to leave this instrument unguarded for any person who pleases to send his own message over the Emperor's private wire?"

The telegraphist stared at me with a mixture of surprise and alarm. "I don't know who has authorised you, Herr Inspector ------" he began, when I cut him short.

"Am I to go to his Majesty, and ask him if you have permission to leave this room when you please, without taking any precautions against unauthorised use of the wire?"

Herr Zeiss quickly changed his tone. "That is not a thing of which I am ever guilty," he protested.

"You have been guilty of it right now," I retorted.

"I have not been away two minutes. No one could have taken advantage of my absence."

"Nevertheless, advantage has been taken of your absence."

"I don't believe it!"

"Ask the Central Office to repeat the message you have just sent them, then."

Casting a frightened look at me, the man complied. I have seldom seen an expression of deeper astonishment and terror on a man's face than that which marked the unfortunate operator's as my despatch came back to him, word after word, ending with the Imperial signature.

"My God!" he cried out, "Who has done this? I shall be ruined!"

"Whether you are ruined or not depends entirely on yourself," I said sharply. "It is in my power to save you, but only upon one condition."

Herr Zeiss turned on me a gaze of mute appeal.

"You must tell me the exact truth," I proceed, "and you must tell me everything. How often have you left this room without taking precautions against the misuse of the wire in your absence during the last two days?"

Zeiss considered for a moment. Then his face brightened up. "Not once, I can assure you positively of that, Herr Inspector."

This answer, given so confidently, came as a severe check to me. I looked at the man sternly, as I responded, with assumed confidence --- "And I am positive that you are mistaken. An unauthorised use has been made of this wire, and I am determined to know by whom."

The operator's face fell once more. He appeared to me to be honestly at a loss. "Come, think again. Begin by recalling any occasions on which you have been called away hurriedly, and have perhaps omitted to lock the door."

"But there has been no such occasion. I swear to you that I have not once left this room without taking ample precautions."

I fancied I discerned a touch of hesitation, rather in the operator's tone than in his actual words. "Speak more plainly," I said. "What do you mean by precautions?"

"Either the door was locked, or else -----" This time the hesitation was palpable.

"Or else what?"

"It was left in charge of a trustworthy person."

"And that trustworthy person, who was he?" I found it hard to suppress all signs of excitement as I put this question.

"The gentleman who will shortly be my brother in law."

"Ah! Perhaps this gentleman is an employee in the same department as yourself?"

"Not at all," Zeiss protested earnestly. "He is a teacher in the Military College. He knows nothing of telegraphy; in fact, he has sometimes asked me questions on the subject which have convinced me that he is quite a fool where electricity is concerned."

"Indeed! And the name of this foolish person, if you please?"

"Herr Severinski."

"A Pole!" I exclaimed.

"No, a Russian. He was exiled to Siberia on account of his political opinions, but escaped. He teaches Russian in the college."

"How did he come to be left in charge of this room?"

"He called here the day before yesterday, in the evening, to speak to me about the marriage with my sister. They have been engaged for some time, you must know. While he was here I received a note from my sister herself, pressing me to come and speak to her at once outside the Palace. I went, leaving my brother in law to wait here during my absence. My sister, I found, merely wished to urge me not to object to any proposal made by her betrothed. On my return I found Severinski yawning and apparently bored to death in my absence. I asked him, and he assured me no one had come near the room while I was away."

I could scarcely resist smiling as the whole intrigue, so simple, and yet so consummately successful, lay bared to my perception. My whole anxiety was now to keep the worthy but stupid Zeiss ignorant of the transaction in which he had been an unwitting accomplice.

I brought him away from the Palace with me, so as to leave him no opportunity of warning Severinski, and we proceeded together to the Russian's quarters. I flatter myself that the professor of the Military College was not a little disconcerted when he saw his dupe followed into the room by an Inspector of the Berlin Police.

I explained my position in such a manner as to let Severinski see that I knew everything, without enlightening the other man.

"The day before yesterday Herr Zeiss left you alone in his room in the Palace. You took the opportunity to send a telegram, the terms of which are known to me, over the Emperor's private wire. For this offence you and he are liable to severe punishment. What I now have to propose to you is to make a confession which will have the effect of exonerating everyone except yourself. If you do this, I think I can promise you that you shall suffer no penalty beyond, of course, the loss of your post in the Military College."

Severinski gave me a glance of intelligence. "You do not require me to denounce anybody else?" he inquired significantly.

"I do not require you to confess what is obvious to everyone," I returned with equal significance.

Poor Zeiss followed this exchange with an air of bewilderment. It was evident that the discovery of the other's guilt had caused a shock to his confiding nature, and he was still trying to reconcile the Russian's prompt surrender to me with his previous stupidity on questions of electrical science, when I summarily dismissed him from further share in the interview.

As soon as we were by ourselves Severinski spoke out boldly enough. "I am willing to give you a statement that I sent the telegram. But I am not going to tell you anything more. You must know that I am an Anarchist."

I waved my hand scornfully. "If I consent to your suppressing the truth, Professor Severinski, it does not follow that I am willing to listen to absurd fictions. Be good enough to write out and sign a circumstantial account of your own part in this clumsy plot, and I will undertake that you shall not pass tonight in prison.

The Russian had the sense to do what he was told without further parley. I got from him more than I expected. He consented to put in writing that it was after his betrothal to Fraulein Zeiss that he had been solicited to make use of his connection with the Kaiser's private telegraphist, and he stated the amount of the bribe, a very heavy one, paid him for his services in sending the Imperial congratulations to the President of the Transvaal.

We became so friendly over the discussion that Severinski, who was bursting with vanity over his success, wanted me at last to let him tell me so much. I was obliged to order him to be silent.

"If you tell me that you are an agent of a certain great power, I must repeat what you say to the Kaiser. Then one of two things will happen. Either your Government will avow your action, in which case you will be hanged as a spy, or it will disavow you, in which case you will pass the rest of your life in prison as a criminal lunatic."

This menace had all the effect which I could have desired, and I was satisfied that the Russian would now hold his tongue. Bidding him a cordial farewell - for I confess the fellow's audacity had inspired me with some admiration - I hastened back to the Palace, to lay the results of my investigations before Wilhelm II.

"Your Majesty has been victimised by a secret agent whose employers are interested in bringing about a feeling of ill will, if not an actual war, between Germany and Great Britain. The day before yesterday this agent, whose name is Severinski, and who is employed to teach Russian"  - Wilhelm II. started - "in the Berlin Military College, visited your private telegraphist in the room at the end of this corridor. He had previously contrived that the telegraphist should be called away during his visit, and he took advantage of his absence to send the message which has caused so much trouble."

The Kaiser made no reply until he had finished reading the proofs I laid before him. "And you did not ask this Severinski by whom he was set on?" demanded his Majesty, giving me a keen glance.

"I did not know whether you would wish me to do so," I answered respectfully.

"You are right, a thousand times right," exclaimed the Emperor. "As long as they are in doubt whether I know it is they who have played me this trick, I have the advantage of them, and they will keep silence for their sakes." He paused in deep consideration for a minute, then he looked up quickly. "All this time I must not forget the English. Tell me Monsieur V ------, are you personally known to Lord Salisbury?"

"I have that honour, sire. On one occasion ------"

"Enough! There's not a moment to lose. You will leave Berlin by the first train, and proceed straight to the Ambassador's house in London. He will take you round to the Prime Minister, and you will offer him the proofs which you have just offered me, explaining at the same time that the excited state of public feeling in both countries makes it impossible for me to take any open action in the matter."

I bowed and moved towards the door.

"I will wire to the Ambassador to expect you," called out the Kaiser.

"Pardon me, your Majesty has done so already."

"How?"

"I also passed five minutes alone in the room of Herr Zeiss," I explained.

In the years which have elapsed since this celebrated episode, Willhelm II. has left no means untried to convince the British people of his friendly sentiments towards them. It is a service to his Imperial Majesty, though without authority from him, that I now venture to lift the veil from the most astounding transaction in the annals of even Muscovite diplomacy.

Sir Bertrand's Adventures In A Ruinous Castle by Mrs Barbauld - Gothic Stories 1800.

 

Sir Bertrand turned his steed towards the wolds, hoping to cross those dreary moors before the curfew tolled. But ere he had proceeded half his journey, he was bewildered by the different tracts; and not being able, as far as the eye could reach, to espy any object but the brown heath surrounding him, he was at length quite uncertain which way he should direct his course.

Night overtook him in this situation. It was one of those nights when the moon gives a faint glimmering of light through the thick black clouds of a louring sky. Now and then she suddenly emerged in full splendor from her veil; and then instantly retired behind it, having just served to give the forlorn Sir Bertrand a wide extended prospect over the desolate waste.

Hope and native courage a while urged him to push forwards; but at length, the increasing darkness, and fatigue of body and mind, overcame him; he dreaded moving from the ground he stood on, for fear of unknown pits and bogs; and, alighting from his horse in despair, he threw himself on the ground. He had not long continued in that posture, when the sullen toll of a distant bell struck his ears -- he started up; and, turning toward the sound, discerned a dim twinkling light.

Instantly he seized his horse's bridle, and with cautious steps advanced towards it. After a painful march, he was stopped by a moated ditch surrounding the place from whence the light proceeded; and, by a momentary glimpse of moonlight, he had a full view of a large antique mansion, with turrets and corners, and an ample porch in the centre. The injuries of time were strongly marked on every thing about it.

The roof in various places was fallen in, the battlements were half demolished, and the windows broken and dismantled. A drawbridge, with a ruinous gateway at each end, led to the court before the building. He entered; and instantly the light, which proceeded from a window in one of the turrets, glided along, and vanished; at the same moment the moon sunk beneath a black cloud, and the night was darker than ever. All was silent. Sir Bertrand fastened his steed under a shed; and, approaching the house, traversed its whole front with light and slow footsteps. All was still as death!

He looked at the lower windows, but could not distinguish a single object through the impenetrable gloom. After a short parley with himself, he entered the porch; and, seizing a massy iron knocker at the gate, lifting it up, and, hesitating, at length struck a loud stroke. The noise resounded through the whole mansion with hollow echoes. All was still again!

He repeated the strokes more boldly, and louder. Another interval of silence ensued! A third time he knocked; and a third time all was still! He then fell back some distance, that he might discern whether any light could be seen in the whole front. It again appeared in the same place, and quickly glided away as before! At the same instant, a deep, sullen toll sounded from the turret. Sir Bertrand's heart made a fearful stop!

He was a while motionless; then terror impelled him to make some hasty steps towards his steed -- but shame stopped his flight; and, urged by honour, and a resistless desire of finishing the adventure, he returned to the porch; and working up his soul to a full steadfastness of resolution, he drew forth his sword with one hand, and with the other lifted up the latch of the gate. The heavy door, creaking upon its hinges, reluctantly yielded to his hand; he applied his shoulder to it, and forced it open.

He quitted it, and stept forward -- the door instantly shut with a thundering clap. Sir Bertrand's blood was chilled! He turned back to find the door, and it was long ere his trembling hands could seize it -- but his utmost strength could not open it again. After several ineffectual attempts, he looked behind him, and beheld, across a hall, upon a large staircase, a pale bluish flame, which cast a dismal gleam of light around.

He again summoned forth his courage, and advanced towards it -- it retired. He came to the foot of the stairs; and, after a moments deliberation, ascended. He went slowly up, the flame retiring before him, till he came to a wide gallery. The flame proceeded along it, and he followed in silent horror, treading lightly, for the echoes of his footsteps startled him. It led him to the foot of another staircase, and then vanished!

At the same instant another toll sounded from the turret. Sir Bertrand felt it strike upon his heart. He was now in total darkness; and, with his arms extended, began to ascend the second staircase. A dead cold hand met his left hand, and firmly grasped it, drawing him, forcibly forward -- he endeavoured to disengage himself, but could not -- he made a furious blow with his sword, and instantly a loud shriek pierced his ears, and the dead hand was left powerless in his -- he dropped it, and rushed forward with a desperate valour.

The stairs were narrow and winding, and interrupted by frequent breaches, and loose fragments of stones. The staircase declined narrower and narrower, and at length terminated in a low iron gate. Sir Bertrand pushed it open -- it led to an intricate winding passage, just large enough to admit a person upon his hands and knees. A faint glimmering of light served to show the nature of the place. Sir Bertrand entered -- a deep hollow groan resounded from a distance through the vault -- he went forward; and, proceeding beyond the first turning, discerned the same blue flame which had before conducted him -- he followed it.

The vault, at length, suddenly opened into a lofty gallery, in the midst of which a figure appeared, completely armed, thrusting forward the bloody stump of an arm, with a terrible frown, and menacing gesture, brandishing a sword in his hand. Sir Bertrand undauntedly sprang forward; and, aiming a fierce blow at the figure, it instantly vanished, letting fall a massy iron key. The flame now rested upon a pair of ample folding doors at the end of the gallery.

Sir Bertrand went to it, and applied the key to a brazen lock -- with difficulty he turned the bolt -- instantly the doors flew open, and discovered a large apartment, at the end of which was a coffin rested upon a bier, with a taper burning on each side of it. Along the room on both sides were gigantic statues of black marble, attired in Moorish habit, and holding enormous sabres in their hands. Each of them reared its arm, and advanced one leg forward, as the knight entered; at the same moment the lid of the coffin flew open, and the bell tolled.

The flame still glided forward; and Sir Bertrand resolutely followed, till he arrived within six paces of the coffin. Suddenly a lady in a shroud and black veil rose up in it, and stretched out her arms towards him -- at the smae time the statues clashed their sabres, and advanced.

Sir Bertrand flew to the lady, and clasped her in his arms -- she threw up her veil, and kissed his lips; when instantly the whole building shook as with an earthquake, and fell asunder with a horrible crash. Sir Bertrand was thrown into a sudden trance; and, on recovering, found himself on a velvet sofa, in the most magnificent room he had ever seen, lighted with innumerable tapers, in lustres of pure crystal. A sumptuous banquet was set in the middle.

The doors opened to soft music, a lady of incomparable beauty, attired with amazing splendour, entered, surrounded by a troop of gay nymphs more fair than the graces. She advanced to the knight; and, falling on her knees, thanked him as her deliverer. The nymphs put a garland of laurel upon his head; and the lady led him by the hand to the banquet, and sat beside him. The nymphs placed themselves at the table; and a numerous train of servants entering, served up the feast, delicious music playing all the time.

Sir Bertrand could not speak for astonishment -- he could only return their honours by courteous looks and gestures. After the banquet was finished, all retired but the lady; who, leading back the knight to the sofa, addressed him in these words:-

"Sir Knight, The grateful remembrance of my delivery from the iron hand of the Moorish tyrant, who in dying bequeathed his soul to the prince of the air for the horrid purpose of confining me in this my patrimonial castle, shall never be erased from my memory. And is to you I own his power over me, it was but transient and of short duration. 

With horror I view the remains of his now extinguished fascination; and though years have rolled after years, and involved in their course the fate of my venerable ancestors, yet I have at last the consolation to find myself by your valour free from the machinations of Almanzor (for that was the name of the Moorish prince, whom our valiant king Edward brought over with him on his return from the crusades). My father approved of my union with him, but alas! I never beheld him without the utmost horror.

His dark insidious looks, compared to the open and undisguised mein of him I had lately lost in the troubles of the times, made me shudder. In an unlucky moment I was induced to sign, in obedience to my father's will, a covenant with Almanzor, which he pretended would place me next heir to the Moorish throne. Each signature was made with our blood, and a requiem was afterward sung for the success of the union.

But alas! minds are not easily transferred; my soul owned allegiance to Sir Walter, a generous knight of this country, and whom this horrid eastern tyrant had destroyed in conflict; and because I peremptorily refused to drink his blood, this monster swore he would invoke every power to confine me until some more valorous knight should arrive to release me from his hands.

How long have I been enchanted? I do not know; but this I can declare, that from that time to the present I have not been free from horrid dreams like those which are said to infest the wicked in their graves."

So saying she rose up, and taking Sir Bertrand by the hand, led him to the couch, where he took his repose for a few hours. Early in the morning he took his departure, promising to return soon. He was as good as his word; and in a few days, the priest united them forever. The marriage was attended with great pomp, both of ecclesiastic and military men, who all bestowed the most liberal benedictions upon this happy pair.

The Valley of Spiders by H.G. Wells - Pearson's Magazine March 1903.

Towards mid-day the three pursuers came abruptly round a bend in the torrent bed upon the sight of a very broad and spacious valley. The difficult and winding trench of pebbles along which they had tracked the fugitives for so long, expanded to a broad talus slope, and with a common impulse the three men left the trail, and rode to a little eminence set with olive dun trees, and there halted, the two others, as became them, a little behind the man with the silver studded bridle. 

For a space they scanned the great expanse below them with eager eyes. It spread remoter and remoter, with only a few clusters of sere thorn bushes here and there, and the dim suggestions of some now waterless ravine to break its desolation of yellow grass. Its purple distances melted at last into the bluish slopes of the further hills - hills it might be of a greener kind - and above them invisibly supported, and seeming indeed to hang in the blue, were the snowclad summits of mountains - that grew larger and bolder to the north-westward as the sides of the valley drew together. And westward the valley opened until a distant darkness under the sky told where the forests began. But the three men looked neither east nor west, but only steadfastly across the valley. 

The gaunt man with the scarred lip was the first to speak. “Nowhere,” he said, with a sigh of disappointment in his voice. “But after all, they had a full day’s start.” 

“They don’t know we are after them,” said the little man on the white horse. 

“She would know,” said the leader bitterly, as if speaking to himself. “Even then they can’t go fast. They’ve got no beast but the mule, and all to-day the girl’s foot has been bleeding --”

The man with the silver bridle flashed a quick intensity of rage on him. “Do you think I haven’t seen that?” he snarled. 

“It helps, anyhow,” whispered the little man to himself. 

The gaunt man with the scarred lip stared impassively. “They can’t be over the valley,” he said. “If we ride hard ---” 

He glanced at the white horse and paused. “Curse all white horses!” said the man with the silver bridle, and turned to scan the beast his curse included. 

The little man looked down between the melancholy ears of his steed. 

“I did my best,” he said. The two others stared again across the valley for a space. The gaunt man passed the back of his hand across the scarred lip. 

“Come up!” said the man who owned the silver bridle suddenly. The little man started and jerked his rein, and the horse hoofs of the three made a multitudinous faint pattering upon the withered grass as they turned back towards the trail..... 

They rode cautiously down the long slope before them, and so came through a waste of prickly twisted bushes and strange dry shapes of horny branches that grew amongst the rocks, into the levels below. And there the trail grew faint, for the soil was scanty, and the only herbage was this scorched dead straw that lay upon the ground. Still, by hard scanning, by leaning beside the horse's necks and pausing ever and again, even these white men could contrive to follow after their prey. 

There were trodden places, bent and broken blades of the coarse grass, and ever and again the sufficient intimation of a footmark. And once the leader saw a brown smear of blood where the half-caste girl may have trod. And at that under his breath he cursed her for a fool.

The gaunt man checked his leader’s tracking, and the little man on the white horse rode behind, a man lost in a dream. They rode one after another, the man with the silver bridle led the way, and they spoke never a word. After a time it came to the little man on the white horse that the world was very still. He started out of his dream. Besides the little noises of their horses and equipment, the whole great valley kept the brooding quiet of a painted scene.

Before him went his master and his fellow, each intently leaning forward to the left, each impassively moving with the paces of his horse; their shadows went before them, still, noiseless, tapering attendants, and nearer a crouched cool shape was his own. He looked about him. What was it had gone? Then he remembered the reverberation from the banks of the gorge and the perpetual accompaniment of shifting, jostling pebbles. And, moreover --? There was no breeze. That was it! What a vast, still place it was, a monotonous afternoon slumber. And the sky open and blank, except for a sombre veil of haze that had gathered in the upper valley.

He straightened his back, fretted with his bridle, puckered his lips to whistle, and simply sighed. He turned in his saddle for a time, and stared at the throat of the mountain gorge out of which they had come. Blank! Blank slopes on either side, with never a sign of a decent beast or tree - much less a man. What a land it was! What a wilderness! He dropped again into his former pose. 

It filled him with a momentary pleasure to see a wry stick of purple black flash out into the form of a snake, and vanish amidst the brown. After all, the infernal valley was alive. And then, to rejoice him still more, came a little breath across his face, a whisper that came and went, the faintest inclination of a stiff black-antlered bush upon a little crest, the first intimations of a possible breeze. Idly he wetted his finger, and held it up. 

He pulled up sharply to avoid a collision with the gaunt man, who had stopped at fault upon the trail. Just at that guilty moment he caught his master’s eye looking towards him. 

For a time he forced an interest in the tracking. Then, as they rode on again, he studied his master’s shadow and hat and shoulder, appearing and disappearing behind the gaunt man’s nearer contours. They had ridden four days out of the very limits of the world into this desolate place, short of water, with nothing but a strip of dried meat under their saddles, over rocks and mountains, where surely none but these fugitives had ever been before -- for that!

And all this was for a girl, a mere wilful child! And the man had whole cityfuls of people to do his basest bidding - girls, women! Why in the name of passionate folly this one in particular? asked the little man, and scowled at the world, and licked his parched lips with a blackened tongue. It was the way of the master, and that was all he knew. Just because she sought to evade him..... 

His eye caught a whole row of high plumed canes bending in unison, and then the tails of silk that hung before his neck flapped and fell. The breeze was growing stronger. Somehow it took the stiff stillness out of things -- and that was well. 

“Hullo!” said the gaunt man. 

All three stopped abruptly. 

“What?” asked the master. “What?” 

“Over there,” said the gaunt man, pointing up the valley. 

“What?”

“Something coming towards us.” 

And as he spoke a yellow animal crested a rise and came bearing down upon them. It was a big wild dog, coming before the wind, tongue out, at a steady pace, and running with such an intensity of purpose that he did not seem to see the horsemen he approached. He ran with his nose up, following, it was plain, neither scent nor quarry. As he drew nearer the little man felt for his sword. “He’s mad,” said the gaunt rider. 

“Shout!” said the little man, and shouted. The dog came on. Then when the little man’s blade was already out, it swerved aside and went panting by them and past. The eyes of the little man followed its flight. “There was no foam,” he said. For a space the man with the silver-studded bridle stared up the valley. “Oh, come on!” he cried at last. “What does it matter?” and jerked his horse into movement again. 

The little man left the insoluble mystery of a dog that fled from nothing but the wind, and lapsed into profound musings on human character. “Come on!” he whispered to himself. “Why should it be given to one man to say ‘Come on!’ with that stupendous violence of effect. Always, all his life, the man with the silver bridle has been saying that. If I said it -- !” thought the little man. But people marvelled when the master was disobeyed even in the wildest things. This half-caste girl seemed to him, seemed to every one, mad -- blasphemous almost. The little man, by way of comparison, reflected on the gaunt rider with the scarred lip, as stalwart as his master, as brave and, indeed perhaps braver, and yet for him there was obedience, nothing but to give obedience duly and stoutly..... 

Certain sensations of the hands and knees called the little man back to more immediate things. He became aware of something. He rode up beside his gaunt fellow. “Do you notice the horses?” he said in an undertone. 

The gaunt face looked interrogation. 

“They don’t like this wind,” said the little man, and dropped behind as the man with the silver bridle turned upon him. 

“It’s all right,” said the gaunt-faced man. They rode on again for a space in silence. The foremost two rode downcast upon the trail, the hindmost man watched the haze that crept down the vastness of the valley, nearer and nearer, and noted how the wind grew in strength moment by moment. Far away on the left he saw a line of dark bulks -- wild hog perhaps, galloping down the valley, but of that he said nothing, nor did he remark again upon the uneasiness of the horses.

And then he saw first one and then a second great white ball, a great shining white ball like a gigantic head of thistledown, that drove before the wind athwart the path. These balls soared high in the air, and dropped and rose again and caught for a moment, and hurried on and passed, but at the sight of them the restlessness of the horses increased. 

Then presently he saw that more of these drifting globes -- and then soon very many more -- were hurrying towards him down the valley. 

They became aware of a squealing. Athwart the path a huge boar rushed, turning his head but for one instant to glance at them, and then hurling on down the valley again. And at that, all three stopped and sat in their saddles, staring into the thickening haze that was coming upon them. 

“If it were not for this thistledown --” began the leader. 

But now a big globe came drifting past within a score of yards of them. It was really not an even sphere at all, but a vast, soft, ragged, filmy thing, a sheet gathered by the corners, an aerial jelly-fish, as it were, but rolling over and over as it advanced, and trailing long, cobwebby threads and streamers that floated in its wake. 

“It isn’t thistledown,” said the little man. 

“I don’t like the stuff,” said the gaunt man. 

And they looked at one another. 

“Curse it!” cried the leader. “The air’s full of it up there. If it keeps on at this pace long, it will stop us altogether.” 

An instinctive feeling, such as lines out a herd of deer at the approach of some ambiguous thing, prompted them to turn their horses to the wind, ride forward for a few paces, and stare at that advancing multitude of floating masses. They came on before the wind with a sort of smooth swiftness, rising and falling noiselessly, sinking to earth, rebounding high, soaring -- all with a perfect unanimity, with a still deliberate assurance. 

Right and left of the horsemen the pioneers of this strange army passed. At one that rolled along the ground, breaking shapelessly and trailing out reluctantly into long grappling ribbons and bands, all three horses began to shy and dance. The master was seized with a sudden unreasonable impatience. He cursed the drifting globes roundly. “Get on!” he cried; “Get on! What do these things matter? How can they matter? Back to the trail!” He fell swearing at his horse and sawed the bit across its mouth.

He shouted aloud with rage. “I will follow that trail, I tell you!” he cried. “Where is the trail?” 

He gripped the bridle of his prancing horse and searched amidst the grass. A long and clinging thread fell across his face, a grey streamer dropped about his bridle arm, some big, active thing with many legs ran down the back of his head. He looked up to discover one of those grey masses anchored as it were above him by these things and flapping out ends as a sail flaps when a boat comes, about -- but noiselessly. 

He had an impression of many eyes, of a dense crew of squat bodies, of long, many jointed limbs hauling at their mooring ropes to bring the thing down upon him. For a space he stared up, reining in his prancing horse with the instinct born of years of horsemanship. Then the flat of a sword smote his back, and a blade flashed overhead and cut the drifting balloon of spider-web free, and the whole mass lifted softly and drove clear and away. 

“Spiders!” cried the voice of the gaunt man. “The things are full of big spiders! Look, my lord!”

 The man with the silver bridle still followed the mass that drove away. 

“Look, my lord!” 

The master found himself staring down at a red, smashed thing on the ground that, in spite of partial obliteration, could still wriggle unavailing legs. Then when the gaunt man pointed to another mass that bore down upon them, he drew his sword hastily. Up the valley now it was like a fog bank torn to rags. He tried to grasp the situation. 

“Ride for it!” the little man was shouting. “Ride for it down the valley.” 

What happened then was like the confusion of a battle. The man with the silver bridle saw the little man go past him slashing furiously at imaginary cobwebs, saw him cannon into the horse of the gaunt man and hurl it and its rider to earth. His own horse went a dozen paces before he could rein it in. Then he looked up to avoid imaginary dangers, and then back again to see a horse rolling on the ground, the gaunt man standing and slashing over it at a rent and fluttering mass of grey that streamed and wrapped about them both. And thick and fast as thistledown on waste land on a windy day in July, the cobweb masses were coming on. 

The little man had dismounted, but he dared not release his horse. He was endeavouring to lug the struggling brute back with the strength of one arm, while with the other he slashed aimlessly, The tentacles of a second grey mass had entangled themselves with the struggle,and this second grey mass came to its moorings, and slowly sank. 

The master set his teeth, gripped his bridle, lowered his head, and spurred his horse forward. The horse on the ground rolled over, there were blood and moving shapes upon the flanks, and the gaunt man, suddenly leaving it, ran forward towards his master, perhaps ten paces. His legs were swathed and encumbered with grey, he made ineffectual movements with his sword. Grey streamers waved from him; there was a thin veil of grey across his face. With his left hand he beat at something on his body, and suddenly he stumbled and fell. He struggled to rise, and fell again, and suddenly, horribly, began to howl, “Oh -- ohoo, ohooh!” 

The master could see the great spiders upon him, and others upon the ground. 

As he strove to force his horse nearer to this gesticulating, screaming grey object that struggled up and down, there came a clatter of hoofs, and the little man, in act of mounting, swordless, balanced on his belly athwart the white horse, and clutching its mane, whirled past. And again a clinging thread of grey gossamer swept across the master’s face. All about him, and over him, it seemed this drifting, noiseless cobweb circled and blew.

* * * * * * * * * *

To the day of his death he never knew just how the event of that moment happened. Did he, indeed, turn his horse, or did it really of its own accord stampede after its fellow? Suffice it that in another second he was galloping full tilt down the valley with his sword whirling furiously overhead. And all about him on the quickening breeze, the spiders’ airships, their air bundles and air sheets, seemed to him to hurry in a conscious pursuit. 

Clatter, clatter, thud, thud -- the man with the silver bridle rode, heedless of his direction, with his fearful face looking up now right, now left, and his sword arm ready to slash. And a few hundred yards ahead of him, with a tail of torn cobweb trailing behind him, rode the little man on the white horse, still but imperfectly in the saddle. The reeds bent before them, the wind blew fresh and strong, over his shoulder the master could see the webs hurrying to overtake.

* * * * * * * * * *

He was so intent to escape the spiders’ webs that only as his horse gathered together for a leap did he realise the ravine ahead. And then he realised it only to misunderstand and interfere. He was leaning forward on his horse’s neck and sat up and back all too late. 

But if in his excitement he had failed to leap, at any rate he had not forgotten how to fall. He was horseman again in mid-air. He came off clear with a mere bruise upon his shoulder, and his horse rolled, kicking spasmodic legs, and lay still. But the master’s sword drove its point into the hard soil, and snapped clean across, as though Chance refused him any longer as her Knight, and the splintered end missed his face by an inch or so.

He was on his feet in a moment, breathlessly scanning the onrushing spider webs. For a moment he was minded to run, and then thought of the ravine, and turned back. He ran aside once to dodge one drifting terror, and then he was swiftly clambering down the precipitous sides, and out of the touch of the gale. 

And there under the lee of the dry torrent’s steeper banks, he might crouch, and watch these strange, grey masses pass and pass in safety till the wind fell, and it became possible to escape. And there for a long time he crouched, watching the strange, grey, ragged masses trail their streamers across his narrowed sky. 

And once a stray spider fell into the ravine close beside him -- a full foot it measured from leg to leg, and its body was half a man’s hand -- and after he had watched its monstrous alacrity of search and escape for a little while, and tempted it to bite his broken sword, he lifted up his iron heeled boot and smashed it into a pulp. He swore as he did so, and for a time sought up and down for another. 

Then, presently, when he was surer these spider swarms could not drop into the ravine, he found a place where he could sit down, and sat and fell into deep thought and began after his manner to gnaw his knuckles and bite his nails. And from this he was moved by the coming of the man with the white horse. 

He heard him long before he saw him, as a clattering of hoofs, stumbling footsteps, and a reassuring voice. Then the little man appeared, a rueful figure, still with a tail of white cobweb trailing behind him. They approached each other without speaking, without a salutation. The little man was fatigued and shamed to the pitch of hopeless bitterness, and came to a stop at last, face to face with his seated master. The latter winced a little under his dependant’s eye. “Well?” he said at last, with no pretence of authority. 

“You left him?” 

“My horse bolted.” 

“I know. So did mine.” 

He laughed at his master mirthlessly. “I say my horse bolted,” said the man who once had a silver-studded bridle. 

“Cowards both,” said the little man. 

The other gnawed his knuckle through some meditative moments, with his eye on his inferior.

 “Don’t call me a coward,” he said at length. 

“You are a coward like myself.” 

“A coward possibly. There is a limit beyond which every man must fear. That I have learnt at last. But not like yourself. That is where the difference comes in.” 

“I never could have dreamt you would have left him. He saved your life two minutes before...Why are you our lord?” 

The master gnawed his knuckles again, and his countenance was dark. 

“No man calls me a coward,” he said. “No. A broken sword is better than none.....One spavined white horse cannot be expected to carry two men a four days’ journey. I hate white horses, but this time it cannot be helped. You begin to understand me?.......I perceive that you are minded, on the strength of what you have seen and fancy, to taint my reputation. It is men of your sort who unmake kings. Besides which -- I never liked you.” 

“My lord!” said the little man. 

“No,” said the master. “No!” 

He stood up sharply as the little man moved. For a minute perhaps they faced one another. Overhead the spiders’ balls went driving. There was a quick movement among the pebbles; a running of feet, a cry of despair, a gasp and a blow.....

Towards nightfall the wind fell. The sun set in a calm serenity, and the man who had once possessed the silver bridle came at last very cautiously and by an easy slope out of the ravine again; but now he led the white horse that once belonged to the little man. He would have gone back to his horse to get his silver-mounted bridle again, but he feared night and a quickening breeze might still find him in the valley, and besides he disliked greatly to think he might discover his horse all swathed in cobwebs and perhaps unpleasantly eaten. 

And as he thought of those cobwebs and of all the dangers he had been through, and the manner in which he had been preserved that day, his hand sought a little reliquary that hung about his neck, and he clasped it for a moment with heartfelt gratitude. As he did so his eyes went across the valley. 

“I was hot with passion,” he said, “and now she has met her reward. They also, no doubt --”

And behold! Far away out of the wooded slopes across the valley, but in the clearness of the sunset distinct and unmistakable, he saw a little spire of smoke. 

At that his expression of serene resignation changed to an amazed anger. Smoke?  He turned the head of the white horse about, and hesitated. And as he did so a little rustle of air went through the grass about him. Far away upon some reeds swayed a tattered sheet of grey. He looked at the cobwebs; he looked at the smoke. 

“Perhaps, after all, it is not them,” he said at last. 

But he knew better. 

After he had stared at the smoke for some time, he mounted the white horse. 

As he rode, he picked his way amidst stranded masses of web. For some reason there were many dead spiders on the ground, and those that lived feasted guiltily on their fellows. At the sound of his horse’s hoofs they fled. 

Their time had passed. From the ground without either a wind to carry them or a winding sheet ready, these things, for all their poison, could do him little evil. 

He flicked with his belt at those he fancied came too near. Once, where a number ran together over a bare place, he was minded to dismount and trample them with his boots, but this impulse he overcame. Ever and again he turned in his saddle, and looked back at the smoke.

“Spiders,” he muttered over and over again. “Spiders! Well, well.....The next time I will spin a web.”

Herbert George Wells.