FullReads

“Only by marriage. Her husband was my second cousin. He belonged to the branch of the family that owns the hyphen and most of the money. He died six or seven years ago. He was not the most perfect creature in the world, but Claire, his wife–his widow, I mean–is a trump. She’s one of the finest women and one of the sanest in New York.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Because before we’re through with this job–you see I’m assuming in advance that you are going to be willing to help me on it–I say, before we get through it, providing of course we do get through it, it may be necessary to take her into our confidence. That is, if you are sure we can trust absolutely to her discretion.”

“We can. But please remember that I don’t know what the business is all about.”

“I’m coming to that. Oh, by the way, there is one question more: To-morrow night your cousin is giving a costume party or a fancy-dress party of some sort or other, isn’t she?”

“Yes; an All Fools’ Day party; not a very large one though.”

“And you will be going to it, won’t you?”

“Yes, indeed! I’m doing the decorating and acting as sort of assistant director of the affair. But what can my cousin and her April Fools’ Day party and all that have to do with the matter that brings you here?”

“A good deal, I hope. But I expect I had better go back to the beginning and tell you the tale in some sort of orderly way. Of course I am telling it to you as one responsible representative of our Government to another.”

“I understand. But go ahead, won’t you? My curiosity is increasing by the moment.”

“Well then, here it is: Six days ago there arrived from the conference at Versailles a high army officer, acting for this occasion as a confidential messenger of the Administration. He brought with him a certain communication–a single small sheet or strip of parchment paper containing about twelve or fifteen typewritten lines. But those few lines were about as important and, under certain circumstances, as dangerous a collection of typewritten lines as it is possible to conceive of.”

“Weren’t they in code?”

“Naturally. But the signature was not. The signature was in the handwriting of the man–let us say the personage–who dictated the wording of the dispatch. You would know that handwriting if you saw it. Nearly every man, woman and child in this country who can read would know it and would recognise it at a glance. Even between us, I take it that there is no need of mentioning the name.”

“No. Please go on. The thing has a thrilling sound already.”

“That communication dealt directly with perhaps the most important single issue now in controversy at the Peace Conference–a phase of the Asiatic muddle. In fact, it was an outline of the private agreement that has been reached as between our envoys and the envoys representing sundry friendly powers in regard to this particular question. If it should fall into the hands of a certain other power–and be translated–the entire negotiation would be jeopardised. Almost inevitably at least one Oriental nation would withdraw from the conference. The future of the great thing for which our own statesmen and the statesmen of some of the countries provisionally leagued together with us are working–well, that result, to put the thing mildly, would be jeopardised. The very least that could happen would be that four governments would be tremendously embarrassed.

“Indeed it is hard offhand to calculate the possibilities of disaster, but this much is quite sure: Our enemy–and Germany is as much our enemy now as she was during active hostilities–would almost inevitably succeed in the very thing she has been plotting to bring about, which is the sowing of discord among the Allies, not to mention the increase of a racial distrust and a racial antagonism which exist in certain quarters, and, on top of all that, the widening and deepening of a problem which already has been sufficiently difficult and delicate.”