"His word notwithstanding, there was a possibility, of course, that the plans of the great war machine might be concealed somewhere about Lord Dundonald’s town residence in Portman Square, or in the archives of Gwyrch Castle, his seat in Wales, and Wedell has spent ten thousands upon ten thousands, bribing confidential servants, librarians and secretaries and what not? I had half made up my mind to approach the present Earl, when Metternich, by the merest accident, came upon some of the information sought after.
"Bertha," continued Wilhelm, "though we don’t know its exact nature yet, the last doubt as to its limitless efficacy as a destroyer is removed—hence, the famous secret of the London War Office constitutes a peril to the German Empire that only war preparations on the largest possible scale can hope to check."
He dropped into melodramatic style, _tutoyering_ Bertha: "Dost understand now, child, why I contemplated taking over the Krupp works for the State in case you failed your Uncle Majesty? Such would have been my duty, my sacred duty."
"I understand now, understand fully, and I humbly beg Your Majesty’s pardon."
"It is granted," said the War Lord, with the air of a tyrant annulling a death sentence. "And now you want to know about the menace Dundonald’s plan holds out to Essen, of course. But for your fuller understanding we must first go into the history of the case."
The War Lord lit a cigarette and settled comfortably into his throne chair. "Some two years before the battle of Leipzig," he began, "Lord Dundonald first startled the British War Office by a device for annihilating all fortified places and armies of Europe, should Bonaparte succeed in uniting them against England. However, his plan was so terrible, the Secretary for War refused to take the responsibility of either rejecting or accepting it, and persuaded the Regent to appoint a committee for its investigation _en camera_. The Duke of York, Lord Keith, Lord Exmouth and the two Congreves were chosen, and their verdict was: ’Infallible, irresistible, but too inhuman for consideration.’ And at that time, Bertha, Englishmen and Englishwomen were hanged for stealing a sheep or an ell of cotton. So you may be sure that Lord Dundonald’s war machine is no more burdened with sentimentality than ’old Fritz’ yonder.