The Secret War (7 page)

The short, dark Frenchman leant back and spread out his hands. “It is simple—no? Is it agreeable to you that we should speak in French which is easier for me?”

A succession of nods greeting his suggestion, he went on quickly: “Many who contribute in a small way to the making of wars are unconscious agents, guilty of no more than lack of thought for the general good in the means they employ to earn their daily bread. With them we do not interfere. It is those few, wealthy, intelligent, unscrupulous, who deliberately aggravate national grievances in the hope that wars may result from which they will profit, upon whom we pass sentence.”

“I give you an example,
hein
? Certain of our members keep constant watch upon the International Press. Day after day they find paragraphs in the Italian papers which say:

“‘Britain is secretly backing Abyssinia.'

“‘British rifles have been found in the hands of captured Abyssinians.'

“‘Britain has put an embargo on the sale of camels in her African territories; in consequence Italian soldiers are suffering the torture of thirst, because not enough camels can now be purchased to ensure regular water transport.'

“‘Britain is turning innocent Italian business men out of Malta and Egypt on false charges of espionage, so that British merchants can secure their trade.'

“And so on, and so on. Meanwhile, in the British papers it appears:

“‘Italy's real objective in this war is not the barren mountains of Abyssinia, but to turn the British out of fruitful Egypt. Abyssinia is only the first step.'

“‘An Italian was arrested in the dockyard at Malta with a bomb in his pocket when attempting to get on board a British warship.'

“‘An automobile bearing a G.B. touring plate was overturned in Milan and its English occupants chased by an angry mob.'

“‘The Italians are a lot of cowards; remember how they ran away at Caporetto!'

“And so on, and so on.”

Lovelace nodded. “Yes, I thought digging up that last business was absolutely uncalled for; a gratuitous insult to a friendly power. But I suppose their Press said the same about our troops having been nearly chivvied out of South Africa by a lot of farmers in the first year of the Boer War.”

“Exactly.” Barrotet leant forward earnestly. “Now these things are pinpricks only, but constantly irritating pinpricks, goading each of these naturally friendly people to distrust, fear, and hate each other. No ordinary journalist in either country is so stupid, or wantonly malicious, as to wish to influence his people to a degree of bitterness where they might force their leaders into war. Ninety percent of these paragraphs were inspired.”

Christopher's black, unruly hair was damp about the temples, and he listened with eager, fascinated attention as the Frenchman went on softly:

“The
Millers of God
traced those paragraphs to their source. In the Bureau, from which they emanated, a certain man was receiving secret payment on a very high scale to distort facts and utilise every possible episode to aggravate bad feeling between Italy and Britain. The
Millers of God
decided to ‘eliminate' that man. He is now dead.”

A little shudder shook Valerie's shoulders. On her record-making flights she had had to face the fact that, if anything went wrong, she might be forced down over land or ocean and, when her frozen fingers could no longer cling to the slowly sinking plane, drown; or crash to earth where she would be consumed in a blinding sheet of flame. Yet there was something infinitely more horrible in the Frenchman's quiet statement that this man had been “eliminated.” It conjured up thoughts of darkness and stealth; the unsuspecting victim taken unawares; his stark terror when he found himself cornered and cowed before the pistol barrel, knowing there was no escape.

“That's right! That's right!” Christopher whispered, and Valerie turned to look at him. His dark eyes shone with a sombre fire, two pools of blackness in the matt pallor of his handsome face. He was trembling slightly and seemed almost carried out of himself by his fanatical zeal for this secret war that was to end all wars. For the hundredth time since she had left her home on Long Island, she told herself: “It is a Crusade … a Crusade … and he needs my help. I mustn't let him down.”

Her glance shifted to Lovelace. The older man was quietly puffing at his pipe. His was a stronger face, tanned to a permanent brown by years of travel in hot countries, and lined a little at the corners of the mouth and eyes. His lids were lowered and he appeared quite impassive. She would have given a lot to know what thoughts were passing behind that unrevealing mask. He had said that if, by giving his life, he could prevent another war he would endeavour to screw up his courage to it, and she had little doubt about his courage; but she did not believe that he gave his full approval to the methods of the
Millers of God
. Suddenly he spoke:

“Did you give this fellow any warning?”

Barrotet nodded. “Yes … and he refused to take it.”

“Well, that was fair enough, I suppose. He certainly deserved death according to your standards.”

“None who is sentenced by the
Millers of God
does not.”

“Go ahead then. What is Penn's particular job to be?”

The Frenchman sat silent for a moment. “Do you know why this war was started?” he asked.

“I know the usual reason given. The Italian need for expansion.”

“That is what the Italians believe themselves, but only because they have been made to do so by intensive propaganda. The truth is very different and known only to those behind the scenes. Abyssinia is practically the only black man's country which has so far remained closed to the white man's exploitation. It is rich in minerals and there is good reason to suppose that great quantities of oil could be obtained from a certain district of the country. For years whites of many nationalities have been pestering the Emperor to grant concessions. He has refused to do so because he considers it better that his people should remain semi-barbarous and free from work in mine gangs than flaunt the tawdry trappings of western civilisation.

“Having failed to secure concessions by arguments or temptations, those interests, which we do not need to specify, decided to force the Emperor's hand. His country is not rich by our standards. If it were compelled to sustain a war the necessary money to purchase armaments would become a vital necessity. What has Abyssinia to sell? Nothing except concessions. You follow me?”

“The devils!” Christopher snapped. “So they worked on the minds of the Italian people until they lost all sense of reason and began to clamour for a war which would revenge the defeat at Adowa. Just think
of it! That happened in the time of the grandfathers of those poor wretches who're dying out there to-day. Hardly one of them could have given it a thought until they were stirred up by this vile propaganda.”

Barrotet bowed. “To come now to the present situation. War has been made but those who made it have not yet secured their concession and, although they are reaping profits, the war is small. The corpse is not big enough for the vultures. They hope to secure their concession shortly now, but war is even more profitable than concessions and, if they get it, they intend to use it to bring about another general conflagration.”

Lovelace shook his head. “They won't succeed. In spite of all the mud that's been slung Britain and Italy are still friendly at rock-bottom. Besides, Mussolini must realise that Italy would be bound to lose in a war against the British Empire, even if the other members of the League ratted on us.”

“Perhaps, although it is admitted that the hundred-and-eighty mile stretch of sea which separates Italy from North Africa is too wide for the British Fleet to close against Italian transports. Also that Italian bombing planes have sufficient range to attack Alexandria and return to their bases on the Libyan frontier. However, that is by the way. All that I say now has application not only to the tension over Abyssinia. The war there may burn itself out. If it does, other equally grave situations are certain to be fermented and made use of for the same purpose, by the enemies of peace, in the future. Let us concede that Britain could master Italy alone. Could she, at the same time, defend herself from Germany?”

“Germany!” Lovelace exclaimed. “But for years past Germany and Britain have been drawing closer together. We can't understand her ill-treatment of her Jewish citizens, but that's about the only difference of opinion between us.”

“You may think so and I, a Frenchman, agree that at heart Britain is nearer to Germany than she is to France, but there is a far more serious question between you than Germany's determination to become one hundred per cent. Aryan. Have you so soon forgotten that the whole of her Colonial Empire was taken from her after the great War, and that Britain annexed her most valued possessions?”

“Of course she'd like to have German West and Tanganyika Territory back but we're not willing to give them up—that's true.”

“It is. Germany raised the question of the return of her Colonies before she left the League, but she received no satisfaction. The soulless intelligence we have to fight misses nothing. It has worked upon the minds of the German people ever since. Never for a day are they allowed to forget what they consider to be this great injustice and insult to their pride as a nation. Why have they made their country an armed camp again? Not to crush France, although they hate us. They have been preparing for the chance which will soon be given them: the opportunity to regain their lost Empire.”

Lovelace showed a keener interest now. This was no longer a question of high moral principle alone. It touched in him a deeper and more primitive chord: the welfare of his own country. “How will they try to bring Germany in?” he asked quickly.

The plump Frenchman leaned forward and tapped the table. “We return now to their immediate intention. Their present plan; you understand me? If they secure this Abyssinian concession they will tempt Germany into purchasing it at a very reasonable price. An arrangement has already been made to that effect.”

“But surely that would set the Germans and Italians at loggerheads?”

Barrotet smiled a little pityingly. “On the contrary,
it will bring them together. The concession is a double-edged weapon in that it will provide Abyssinia with just enough money to make things difficult for the Italians. Mussolini dare not retreat and throw in his hand. If he is forced to it he will go down fighting. His people already consider Britain to be behind the Abyssinian resistance, and that she is doing her best to hamstring Italy by the application of these, only partially successful, sanctions. Yet he is no fool, and before he allows his countrymen to force him he will seek allies.”

“And then?”

“He will say to the Germans: ‘These concessions which you have purchased in Abyssinia are no good until you can operate them fully. I will offer you something better. For many months Britain has been concentrating her strength in the eastern Mediterranean, Egypt and the Sudan. At home she is almost defenceless. I will attack and hold her main forces in Africa while you devastate London and her principal centres of population from the air. Afterwards we will divide the British Empire between us.”

Lovelace looked up from his pipe. “How about France?”

“Dare France go to Britain's aid even if she wishes to do so? Mussolini's main army is still in Europe. Could France afford to risk a simultaneous attack by Italy in the south and the newly-equipped German armies in the north?”

“In such circumstances the British Army would be sent to your assistance.”

Barrotet lifted his dark eyes to heaven. “Pardon, my friend. You naturally consider the British Army an important factor, but you forget that in recent years you have allowed it to shrink to a few divisions. Your home forces to-day may be excellent, but in numbers they are less than those of the weakest Balkan state. No army which you could place in the European field could possibly turn the scale for France against the combined
might of reborn Italy and new Germany. It is for that reason France has been negotiating an alliance with Soviet Russia, and I do not say that she will not honour her obligation to the League and Great Britain. Only that, without Russia behind her, it would be suicide for her to do so. A man thinks twice before he takes his own life, however black the future may appear.”

“I see your point,” Lovelace admitted. “Britain is the great bulwark of Capitalism, and if the Bolsheviks thought there was a chance of her being smashed once and for all they might refuse to come in. Then, if France considered the odds against her too heavy, we might have to face the whole shooting-match on our own.”

“That is so. Within a month, perhaps, if the plot to utilise the Abyssinian situation cannot be stopped. Even if we succeed in that you must still regard such a combination as a menace which you may have to face in the future, and if Russia, France, and the Little Entente did come to your assistance your case would not be very much better. Japan would immediately move against Russia, and apparently, from the recent trend of events, Poland, Austria and Hungary would join Germany and Italy in their attack on France.”

Lovelace shook his head. “Either way it sounds desperately grim, but I can't think the Germans have the least wish to go to war with Britain.”

“They have not. At present there is no personal hate between the two countries at all, except amongst the British Jews who are so bitter against the Nazis. But day and night the agitators are at work poisoning the minds of the German people with the delusion that because they have lost their colonies they have lost their honour. Mussolini is a very able statesman, and he will use that feeling to bring Germany in with him against Britain rather than face the collapse of Fascism through a stalemate in Abyssinia.”