I went to Paris in just that way and put up at the Grand Hotel. So far as I knew I was on genuine leave of absence from all duties and I proceeded to amuse myself. Though under no obligations to report to anyone, I did occasionally drop around to the Quai d'Orsay where most of the embassies and consulates are to chat with men I knew. One day it was suggested to me at the German Embassy that I should lunch alone the next day at a certain table in the Cafe Americaine.
"I would suggest," said one of the secretaries, "that you should wear the black derby you have on. It is quite becoming" this with an expressionless face. "I would suggest also that you should hang it on the wall behind your table, not checking it. Take note of the precise hook upon which you hang it. It may be that there will be a man at the next table who also will be wearing a black derby hat, which he will hang on the hook next to yours. When you go out be careful to take down his hat instead of your own."
I asked no questions. I knew better. Old and well known as it is, the "hat trick "is perennially useful. Its very simplicity makes it difficult of detection. It is still the best means of publicly exchanging documents between persons who must not be seen to have any connection with each other.
I went to the Cafe Americaine, that cosmopolitan place on the Boulevard des Italiens near the Opera. My man had not yet come, I noticed, and I took my time about ordering luncheon, drank a "bock" and watched the crowd. Near by was a party of Roumanians, offensively boisterous, I thought. An American was lunching with a dancer then prominent at the Folies. Two Englishmen obviously officers on leavechatted at another table, and in a corner, a group of French merchants heatedly discussed some business deal. The usual scene almost commonplace in its variety.
Slowly I finished luncheon, and when I turned to get my hat, I saw, as I expected, that there was another black derby beside it. I took the stranger's derby, and when I reached my room in the Grand Hotel I lifted up the sweat band. There on thin paper were instructions that took my breath away. For the time being I was to be in charge of the "Independent Service" of the German Government in Paris that is, the Strong Arm Squad.
This so-called "Independent Service" is an interesting organisation of cut-throats and thieves whose connection with diplomatic undertakings is of a distinctly left-handed sort, and is, incidentally, totally unsuspected by the members of the organisation themselves. Composed of the riff-raff of Europe of men and women who will do anything for a consideration and ask no questions it is frequently useful when subtler methods have failed and when by violence only can some particular thing be accomplished. As an organisation the "Independent Service" does not actually exist: the name is merely a generic one applied for convenience to the large number of people in all great cities who are available for such work, and who, if they fail and are arrested or killed, can be spared without risk or sorrow.
Naturally in illegal operations the trail must not lead to the Embassy; and for that reason all transactions with members of the "Service" are carried on through a person who has no known connection with the Government. To his accomplices the Government agent is merely a man who has come to them with a profitable suggestion. They do not question his motives if his cash be good.
My connection with this delightful organisation necessitated a change of personality. I went round to the Quai d'Orsay and paid a few farewell calls to my friends there. I was going home, I said; and that afternoon the Grand Hotel lost one guest and "Le Lapin Agile" on the hill of Montmartre gained a new one. Acting under instructions I had become a social outcast myself.
The place where I had been told to stay had been a tavern for centuries. Once it was called the "Cabaret of the Assassins," then the "Cabaret of the Traitor," then "My Country Place," and now, after fifty years, it was "The Sprightly Rabbit." Andre Gill had painted the sign of the tavern, a rabbit, which hung in the street above the entrance. After I had taken my room--being careful to haggle long about the price, and finally securing a reduction of fifty centimes, for one does well to appear poor at "Le Lapin Agile"--I came down into the cabaret. It was crowded and the air was thick and warm with tobacco smoke. Disreputable couples were sitting around little wooden tables, drinking wretched wine from unlabelled bottles; an occasional shout arose for "tomatoes," a speciality of Frederic, the proprietor, which was, in reality, a vile brew of absinthe and raspberry syrup. There was much shouting, and once or twice one of the company burst into song.
"Tomatoes," I told the waiter who came for my order. As he went I slipped a franc into his hand. "I want to see the Salmon. Is he in?"
He nodded.
A moment later a man stood before me. I saw a short, rather thick-set fellow, awkward but wiry, whose face bore somewhere the mark of a forgotten Irish ancestor. He was red-haired. I did not need his words to tell me who he was.
"I am the Salmon," he said. "What do you want?"
I studied him carefully before replying, appraising him as if he were a horse I contemplated buying. It was not tactful or altogether safe, as the Salmon's expression plainly showed; but I wished to be sure of my man. After a moment:
"Sit down, my friend. I have a business proposition to make. M. Morel sent me to you."
He smiled at the name. The fictitious M. Morel had put him in the way of several excellent "business propositions."
"It is a pleasure," responded the Salmon. "What does Monsieur wish?"
I told him.
In order to make you understand my business it is necessary that I should pause here, abandoning the Salmon for the moment, and recall to your memory a few facts about the political situation as it existed in this month of February, 1911. Europe at the time was lulled to outward seeming. As everybody knows now, the forces that later brought about the War were then merrily at work, as indeed they had been for many years. But outwardly, save for the ever-impending certainty of trouble in the Balkans, the world of Europe was at peace.
But in America a storm was brewing. Mexico, which for so many years had been held at peace under the iron dictatorship of Diaz, was beginning to develop symptoms of organised discontent. Madero had taken the field, and although no one at the time believed in the ultimate success of the rebellion, it was evident that many changes might take place in the country, which would seriously affect the interests of thousands of European investors in Mexican enterprises. Consequently Europe was interested.
I do not purpose here to go into the events of those last days of Diaz's rule. That story has already been told many times and from various angles. I am merely interested in the European aspects of the matter, and particularly in the attitude of Germany.
Europe was interested, as I have said. Diaz was growing old and could certainly not last much longer. Then change must come. Was the Golden Age of the foreign investor, which had so long continued in Mexico, to continue still longer? Or would it end with the death of the Dictator?
To these questions, wilich were having their due share of attention in the chancelleries as well as in the commercial houses of Europe, came another, less apparent but more troublesome and more insistent than any of these. Japan, it was rumoured, although very faintly, was seeking to add to its considerable interest in Mexico by securing a strip of territory on the western coast of that country an attempt which, if successful, would almost certainly bring about intervention by the United States.
My Government was especially interested in this movement on the part of Japan. It knew considerably more about the plan than any save the principals, for, as I happened to learn later, it had carefully encouraged the whole idea for its own purposes. And it knew that at that very time the Financial Minister of Mexico, Jose Yves Limantour, was conducting preliminary negotiations in Paris with representatives of Japan, regarding the terms of a possible treaty. It knew that even then a protocol of this treaty was being drawn up.