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pubOne.info present you this new edition. My going to Valencia was entirely an accident. But the more often I stated that fact, the more satisfied was everyone at the capital that I had come on some secret mission. Even the venerable politician who acted as our minister, the night of my arrival, after dinner, said confidentially, "Now, Mr. Crosby, between ourselves, what's the game?

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819934851
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE SPY
By Richard Harding Davis
My going to Valencia was entirely an accident. Butthe more often I stated that fact, the more satisfied was everyoneat the capital that I had come on some secret mission. Even thevenerable politician who acted as our minister, the night of myarrival, after dinner, said confidentially, “Now, Mr. Crosby,between ourselves, what's the game? ”
“What's what game? ” I asked.
“You know what I mean, ” he returned. “What are youhere for? ”
But when, for the tenth time, I repeated how I cameto be marooned in Valencia he showed that his feelings were hurt,and said stiffly: “As you please. Suppose we join the ladies. ”
And the next day his wife reproached me with: “Ishould think you could trust your own minister. My husband NEVERtalks— not even to me. ”
“So I see, ” I said.
And then her feelings were hurt also, and she wentabout telling people I was an agent of the Walker-Keefe crowd.
My only reason for repeating here that my going toValencia was an accident is that it was because Schnitzeldisbelieved that fact, and to drag the hideous facts from mefollowed me back to New York. Through that circumstance I came toknow him, and am able to tell his story.
The simple truth was that I had been sent by theState Department to Panama to “go, look, see, ” and straighten outa certain conflict of authority among the officials of the canalzone. While I was there the yellow-fever broke out, and everyself-respecting power clapped a quarantine on the Isthmus, with theresult that when I tried to return to New York no steamer wouldtake me to any place to which any white man would care to go. But Iknew that at Valencia there was a direct line to New York, so Itook a tramp steamer down the coast to Valencia. I went to Valenciaonly because to me every other port in the world was closed. Myposition was that of the man who explained to his wife that he camehome because the other places were shut.
But, because, formerly in Valencia I had held aminor post in our legation, and because the State Department soconstantly consults our firm on questions of international law, itwas believed I revisited Valencia on some mysterious and secretmission.
As a matter of fact, had I gone there to sellphonographs or to start a steam laundry, I should have been asgreatly suspected. For in Valencia even every commercial salesman,from the moment he gives up his passport on the steamer until thepolice permit him to depart, is suspected, shadowed, and begirtwith spies.
I believe that during my brief visit I enjoyed thedistinction of occupying the undivided attention of three: a commonor garden Government spy, from whom no guilty man escapes, aWalker-Keefe spy, and the spy of the Nitrate Company. The spy ofthe Nitrate Company is generally a man you meet at the legationsand clubs. He plays bridge and is dignified with the title of“agent. ” The Walker-Keefe spy is ostensibly a travelling salesmanor hotel runner. The Government spy is just a spy— a scowling,important little beast in a white duck suit and a diamond ring. Thelimit of his intelligence is to follow you into a cigar store andnote what cigar you buy, and in what kind of money you pay forit.
The reason for it all was the three-cornered fightwhich then was being waged by the Government, the Nitrate Trust,and the Walker-Keefe crowd for the possession of the nitrate beds.Valencia is so near to the equator, and so far from New York, thatthere are few who studied the intricate story of that disgracefulstruggle, which, I hasten to add, with the fear of libel before myeyes, I do not intend to tell now.
Briefly, it was a triangular fight between opponentseach of whom was in the wrong, and each of whom, to gain his end,bribed, blackmailed, and robbed, not only his adversaries, butthose of his own side, the end in view being the possession ofthose great deposits that lie in the rocks of Valencia, baked fromabove by the tropic sun and from below by volcanic fires. As one oftheir engineers, one night in the Plaza, said to me: “Those mineswere conceived in hell, and stink to heaven, and the reputation ofevery man of us that has touched them smells like the mines. ”
At the time I was there the situation was “acute. ”In Valencia the situation always is acute, but this time it lookedas though something might happen. On the day before I departed theNitrate Trust had cabled vehemently for war-ships, the Minister ofForeign Affairs had refused to receive our minister, and at PortoBanos a mob had made the tin sign of the United States consulatelook like a sieve. Our minister urged me to remain. To be bombardedby one's own war-ships, he assured me, would be a thrillingexperience.
But I repeated that my business was with Panama, notValencia, and that if in this matter of his row I had any weight atWashington, as between preserving the nitrate beds for the trust,and preserving for his country and various sweethearts onebrown-throated, clean-limbed bluejacket, I was for thebluejacket.
Accordingly, when I sailed from Valencia the ageddiplomat would have described our relations as strained.
Our ship was a slow ship, listed to touch at manyports, and as early as noon on the following day we stopped forcargo at Trujillo. It was there I met Schnitzel.
In Panama I had bought a macaw for a little niece ofmine, and while we were taking on cargo I went ashore to get a tincage in which to put it, and, for direction, called upon ourconsul. From an inner room he entered excitedly, smiling at mycard, and asked how he might serve me.

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