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a diplomat where foreign relations are concerned, and my motto is “There’s always a pass through the mountains”. You can always escape bloodshed and conflict if you’re clever enough. Sir Abraham Goldsmith is giving one of his receptions for the Diplomatic Corps at his house in Arlington Street this Friday evening. He’s angling for a peerage, you know, and won’t mind if you suggest another name for his guest list. Get him to invite Captain Andropov, the Russian military attaché, and have a civil word with him over a glass or two of claret. And it might be an idea to chat with someone more or less civilized from the German Embassy. They’ll be just as interested as us, you know. The balance of power must be upheld at all costs.’
    The great aristocrat lumbered to his feet. His bald head shone in the bright March light streaming through the windows from St James’s Park. He began to pull on a pair of stout leather gloves, but suddenly stopped, and looked speculatively at Napier.
    ‘Was there nothing going forward in the Baltic? This Meshed business could be a sign that Russia’s on the move in an old and unwelcome direction, but in that case, I’d expect all parts of that great body politic to move at once.’
    ‘I’ve heard nothing untoward so far, sir. Nothing in the way of troop movements, at least. But we have a man in Vilna who reported only last week that the Russian Government has been setting up some kind of secret establishment in the pine forest near the coastline of their province of Lithuania. Some kind of experimental weapons station, he says.’
    ‘Ah! Interesting. And who do you suppose would feel threatened by that, Napier?’
    ‘The German Empire, sir. The land they call Lithuania is perilously close to the East Prussian wilderness around Königsberg. All the more reason, I suppose, to hope that Goldsmith has invited some of our better class of Prussian to Arlington Street. Meanwhile, I’ll ensure that we continue tokeep a wary eye on these places.’
    ‘Do so. You’ll be accounted wise. The Caspian and the Baltic – both more or less inland seas, both firmly in the skirts of Holy Russia, which has been cautiously slithering down the Baltic coast for years – there are sinister possibilities in both areas. We live in interesting times, Napier.’
    ‘We do, sir. Thank you very much for calling on me. I’ll follow your advice, and ask Sir Abraham Goldsmith to invite Captain Andropov to that exotic house of his in Arlington Street. For a merchant banker, I believe he’s very accommodating .’
    ‘He is – so make sure that you are invited, as well! Get the Russians into a corner, where they can’t wriggle away from a bit of clever questioning. But don’t angle an invitation for me ,if you please – I’m going down to Hatfield for a week or two, and there, Napier, I intend to stay. Meanwhile, the best of luck to you!’
    When Lord Salisbury had gone, Sir Charles Napier stood at one of the windows of his spacious office, looking down on to St James’s Park. Only a few weeks had passed since a most hideous conspiracy, centred in Germany, had been exposed, and its proponents utterly crushed. Now, it would seem, it was the turn of the great Empire of Russia to muddy the waters. Any move by Russia into Afghanistan could only be aimed at violation of the Indian borders. Salisbury had counselled caution, but he knew as well as Napier that any attack on India from that quarter would lead to war.
    Those agents – ‘correspondents’, as they called themselves – were very difficult to control or contact. They were independent operators, well paid, but with a genuine regard for Britain. Both Abu Daria and Piotr Casimir had sent their reports via telegraph from Petrovosk. What about the man in Vilna, Jacob Kroll? He, too, had sent a telegraphic message. It had been relayed from Vilna via Königsberg.
    Cables…. A magical web of global communication, one of the glories of the nineteenth