I hope to keep on divulging at intervals for years. But
I am compelled to be cautious. My relations with the
Wilhelmstrasse, with Downing Street and the Quai d'Orsay,
are so intimate, and my footing with the Yildiz Kiosk
and the Waldorf-Astoria and Childs' Restaurants are so
delicate, that a single _faux pas_ might prove to be a
false step.

It is now seventeen years since I entered the Secret
Service of the G. empire. During this time my activities
have taken me into every quarter of the globe, at times
even into every eighth or sixteenth of it.

It was I who first brought back word to the Imperial
Chancellor of the existence of an Entente between England
and France. "Is there an Entente?" he asked me, trembling
with excitement, on my arrival at the Wilhelmstrasse.
"Your Excellency," I said, "there is." He groaned. "Can
you stop it?" he asked. "Don't ask me," I said sadly.
"Where must we strike?" demanded the Chancellor. "Fetch
me a map," I said. They did so. I placed my finger on
the map. "Quick, quick," said the Chancellor, "look where
his finger is." They lifted it up. "Morocco!" they cried.
I had meant it for Abyssinia but it was too late to
change. That night the warship Panther sailed under sealed
orders. The rest is history, or at least history and
geography.

In the same way it was I who brought word to the
Wilhelmstrasse of the _rapprochement_ between England