ch I had
expected. I read what was written, and I have not suffered greater
pain--no, not upon that day when I fled from Portsmouth without a
word of good-bye to the woman who possessed my heart. For I learned
then that my country, the proud, clean-fighting Austria, had given up
its soul into the keeping of the filthy Prussian assassins. I was
directed to damage or delay every warship upon which I worked, to
employ any means, to blow up unsuspecting English seamen--not in the
hot blood of battle, but secretly as an assassin. A step in rank was
promised for every battleship destroyed. Had these foul Orders
admitted of no loophole through which my honour might with difficulty
wriggle, I should have taken the only course possible to me. I should
have instantly resigned my commission in the Austrian Navy, and taken
my own life. But it happened that I had an alternative. I was ordered
to damage or delay warships. I would not treacherously slay the
English sailors among whom I worked, but I would, if I could, delay
the ships. My experience taught me that the simplest and most
effective way was to cut the electric wires, and I decided to do it
whenever opportunity offered. I could not do this for long. I was
certain to be discovered. You are not a man who fails before a
definite problem in detection. But before I was discovered I could do
something to carry out my Orders.

I cut the gun-wires of the _Antinous_. It was easy. I was the last to
leave of the shore party. Then you sent me on board the _Antigone_.
She was closely watched, the task was very difficult, and dangerous; I
was within the fraction of a second of discovery, but I took one chop
of my big shears. The job was ill done, but I could do no better.

You warned me fairly, that if injury came to the _Malplaquet_, while
under my charge, that I should be dismissed. She was my last chance as
she was your own. But what to me were risks? I had lost my love, and
my country had dishonoured herself in my eyes. I was nameless,
loveless, countryless. All had gone, and life might go too.

* * * * *

I am completing this letter before going on board the _Malplaquet_ and
placing it where you will readily find it. I know you, my friend, more
intimately than you know yourself. I am certain that even now you are
in the ship, that you are preparing snares into which I shall in all
probability fall. Your snares are well set. If I fail, it will be
t