Sir Matthew Bale, baronet and Member of Parliament, appears to be, at first sight, a distinguished person. When you know him better, you ask yourself what misled you, and you reconsider his personality. Careful scrutiny reveals that he is a skilful imitation. On the other hand, he is not just a faÇade, for there is will behind the mask. His imitation is, in fact, the result of an endeavour to be, not merely to appear, distinguished, and he fails because, while the manner is there, the moral qualities which should support it are not. Though he does not know it, this failure to realize his own ideal of himself is the fly in the amber. Sir Matthew was an ambitious man, and believed that all that was necessary in order to “arrive” was to will it sufficiently. Up to a point his career supports his theory, but not altogether; for while, considering where he began, he has climbed to a considerable height, Sir Matthew is very far from satisfied with his position.

Sir Matthew is wily, but he is not able, and he is exceedingly ignorant; this ignorance even extends to matters in which he is directly and personally interested. In most men this defect would have proved an insuperable obstacle to success, but it has not been so with Sir Matthew because he is aware of his own shortcomings, and when he can’t do a thing himself he is exceedingly good at getting some one to do it for him.

Nobody knows anything about his origin, but he began to make his living at an early age, and while still in the twenties he was doing well as a bookmaker.

Reggy Dumbarton owed him a good deal more money than he could ever have paid, so, on reflection, Bale turned his back on bookmaking and started finance with large plate-glass windows in Threadneedle Street, and Lord Reginald Dumbarton as junior (very junior) partner.

The Dumbarton connection made the new office a rendezvous for young bloods whose profession in life it is to induce their friends to cultivate a taste for speculative investment. The growth of the business demanding a wider financial knowledge than Bale’s bookmaking experience could supply, his discriminating eye discovered a promising additional partner in the person of Maurice Blum, who had survived two startling bankruptcies and an action against him for fraud. Bale, Dumbarton, and Blum now did so thriving a business that Bale started an elegantly appointed flat in Mayfair, drove a phaeton and pair (it was before the days of motors), and was much about town with gentlemen of family to whom his partnership with Dumbarton afforded a useful and easy introduction. An indication that at this time he was among the minor celebrities may be found in the fact that a flattering caricature of him appeared in Vanity Fair.

When his engagement was announced to Dumbarton’s cousin, Lady Ermyntrude Stanley-Dalrymple, elder daughter of Lord Belfast, a social personage and a power in the inner councils of the Conservative Party, it was suggested that there might be some connection between this rather unexpected event and Lord Belfast’s heavy losses on the Stock Exchange and subsequent directorships and holdings of shares in his future son-in-law’s companies. Whether this supposition was well founded or not, it can be said with certainty that Bale had secured at one stroke a footing in society and in politics, for shortly after his marriage to Lady Ermyntrude his father-in-law found him a safe seat in Parliament.

Meanwhile Mr. Maurice Blum, who in the absence of his chief partner had been looking after himself as well as the business, presented an ultimatum. If Mr. Bale wanted to be a politician, Blum had no objection, but that meant, at all events at first, spending money instead of making it, and under the circumstances the terms of the partnership must be modified.

This was the nastiest blow Bale had yet received. He had regarded Blum as his creature, and his resentment at what he considered his partner’s treachery was deep. But his prudence and astuteness did not fail him; he knew Blum’s value, and he was aware that even if he were himself able to spare the time from his political activities, his knowledge was not sufficient to enable him to manage the growing business of the firm.

In Bale’s view wealth is a necessary accompaniment of distinction. He longed to be aristocratically indifferent to money, and it humiliated him that not only was he not rich, but that to keep up the style of living his position demanded involved no inconsiderable strain. And, as a matter of fact, his financial position was precarious and depended entirely upon the fluctuating and speculative income he derived from the business of Blum & Co. Obviously, therefore, Mr. Maurice Blum was not a person with whom Bale could afford to quarrel. Wherefore he mastered his resentment and accepted the change of the name of the firm to Blum & Co., and the incidental reduction of his income that change implied with a smile on his face in spite of the bitterness in his heart.

To a man less adroit than he, the change in the partnership might well have constituted a serious check in his upward career, but once more Bale’s native resourcefulness asserted itself. This crisis in his private affairs took place when the country was torn by dissensions over Tariff Reform. He had early learnt to fish in troubled waters, and the political upheaval gave him his opportunity; he promptly crossed the floor of the House and obtained, without paying for it, a baronetcy as his reward.

Sir Matthew Bale is tall and slender; his head is well placed on his shoulders, he has clear-cut features, a firm mouth with excellent teeth, and is clean-shaven. Although he is over fifty, he has plenty of hair, originally sandy, but now tinged with grey, which he parts at the side and brushes straight back from the forehead. He dresses with a certain quiet elegance, and he has a way of drawing down his cuffs as he talks to you, and of placing the tips of his fingers together so that you notice his nicely kept nails. He speaks in a low tone, which he only raises when he forgets himself, and relies for emphasis on little restrained gestures adopted by him, together with other tricks of speech and manner, from his wife’s male relations. In this he is unconscious of imitation, for he is by nature adaptable and his desire to be identified with the aristocracy is instinctive.

He has now associated himself with the extreme Radical and Labour wing, where it flatters his vanity to think he is regarded as an elegant exotic. A constant saying of his is “Keep your eye on labour,” but, though they don’t say so, the Labour Members keep their eye on him and regard his advances with distrust.

He has been active on departmental committees, and has on occasion served as chairman. It did not need a long experience to teach him that whatever the ostensible object of these convenient arrangements may be, their usual purpose is to throw dust in the eyes of the public, to burke discussion, and to save the face of embarrassed ministers. Therefore, whenever he was appointed, his first step was invariably to make certain what the wish of the minister was who nominated him.

Possessing such qualities it was no surprise to those who knew the considerations involved when he was made chairman of the Government Committee “to consider and report on the measures to be adopted during the war with reference to the commercial, industrial, and financial interests of British subjects in neutral countries.”

This was by far the most important committee over which Sir Matthew had ever presided, and he cherished the hope that by means of it he might secure the immediate desire of his heart, a Privy Councillorship; once a “Right Honourable” he could aspire to anything—a seat in the Cabinet, or, if Blum & Co. prospered, a peerage even. Sir Matthew’s heart leaped at the thought of a coronet.

About this time Oswald Tarleton was sent for by his chief, and informed that he had been selected for the secretaryship of Sir Matthew Bale’s committee.

“This is a very weighty committee, Mr. Tarleton,” said the permanent secretary of the department. “The Government’s policy in regard to enemy trading and proceedings under the Defence of the Realm Act will largely depend upon the result of its deliberations. In Sir Matthew Bale I have every reason for believing that you will find a most able, and at the same time a most agreeable, chairman.”

Oswald Tarleton went off delighted. Although he had been for twenty years a highly conscientious departmental official, and had received nothing but praise for his services, he was too much a gentleman to push himself, and this modesty had resulted in his never being given an opportunity of showing how competent a public servant he really was.

Now, Tarleton is an honest man and something of an idealist. His first interview with Sir Matthew Bale made him open his eyes wider than ever in his life before.

The chairman settled himself in his chair opposite his secretary, pulled down his cuffs, put the tips of his fingers together, and held forth.

“Mr. Tarleton, we have got to make a success of this committee. I need hardly tell you how important it is and that upon it depend vital questions of Government policy. I am not going too far in saying that the future of the Government itself depends to a large extent upon the guidance which we shall be able to afford them as the result of our labours.”

Sir Matthew, as a rule, expressed himself badly, but he had been at pains to prepare a little set speech with which to impress his secretary, who now sat looking at him, silently meditating over the pompous utterance, and wondering what was coming next.

“I understand, Mr. Tarleton,” the chairman continued, “that you have not hitherto had any experience as secretary of committees?”

“Oh yes, Sir Matthew, excuse me—”

“I mean,” interrupted the chairman, “of Government committees. Now, this one has been appointed by the Prime Minister himself, and I think I may say, without indiscretion that he has largely consulted me as to its composition. The—er—terms of reference will indicate to you that the subject of our deliberations is a delicate one, and that it will be necessary for us to remember that a grave responsibility rests upon us in the selection of our witnesses. In other words, Mr. Tarleton”—the chairman leaned back in his seat and scrutinized his secretary—“we must, in the true interest of the nation—for of course that is the paramount consideration—be careful to avoid anything in the nature of disclosures which at this critical juncture might—er—undermine the—er—confidence which rightly is reposed in the Government. D’you follow me, Mr. Tarleton?”

The secretary hesitated for a moment.

“Do you mean, Sir Matthew, that we are not to accept evidence—”

“I mean, Mr. Tarleton, that we must discriminate in the selection of our witnesses before we decide to call them. You are aware, perhaps, that I am in the confidence of the Labour Party, and you will notice that Amongst the members of the committee there are three prominent Labour Members. Now you will understand that—er—er—while I have the greatest—er—respect for the views of these—er—er—gentlemen, there are limits to the influence I possess with them, and it is in the highest degree desirable that no witness should come before them who would be likely to prejudice in their eyes those who—er—indirectly perhaps have—er—associations or connections—er—political or otherwise, in the highest quarters.”

“But excuse me, Sir Matthew, I thought—”

“No ‘buts,’ Mr. Tarleton; no thoughts except on the lines indicated by me.”

Oswald Tarleton withdrew from this preliminary interview with mingled feelings, but uppermost there was already vaguely forming itself in his mind a profound distrust, and still more a cordial dislike, of Sir Matthew Bale.

A recent and somewhat acrimonious debate in the House of Commons had Precipitated the formation of this committee, and had unduly hastened the selection of its members. Sir Matthew had been called in at short notice as being, in the opinion of the minister who had been under criticism, the most pliant chairman available.

The proceedings of the Committee were to be hurried on as much as possible. This much Tarleton had gathered from his departmental chief, and there was no doubt that he would have his hands full. He had had opportunity of gauging the political qualities of Sir Matthew Bale; at his next interview he was enabled to form an opinion of his administrative methods. He was again seated opposite the chairman, who leaned back in his chair with an air of indolent ease. Tarleton was pointing out to him the considerable difficulty there would be in staffing the committee owing to the demands upon the department through the War. There was also, he explained, the troublesome question of securing accommodation, for which there was no room at the Government Office. Sir Matthew loftily waved aside these difficulties.

“As to accommodation, Mr. Tarleton,” he said, “just tell the Office of Works that it is the Prime Minister’s wish that I should have every facility, and as to staff, look at these.” As he spoke he touched a bundle of papers which lay on the table. “You have choice enough there, Mr. Tarleton.”

Tarleton had seen the papers; in fact, he had placed them on the table Himself after carefully going through them. They were applications from all sorts of individuals offering their voluntary services. There were letters from retired officers, judges, tea-planters, cowboys, fellows of the Universities—in fact, the usual heterogeneous collection with which those who have Government work to do are familiar since the War.

“It is very doubtful, Sir Matthew, whether any of these gentlemen would be suitable for this sort of work. You will, I am sure, understand that a certain training—”

“Oh, never mind the training, Mr. Tarleton. I’ll soon select somebody for you—let me have a look through them. Now, here’s one—this is the sort of man that I like; he telegraphs—he doesn’t write. A man with individuality—an original mind. Try him.”

“Excuse me, Sir Matthew, have you noticed the name?”

Sir Matthew put on his eyeglass and examined the telegram.

“Louis Klein,” he read, “and a very good name too—what’s the matter with it?”

“D’you think it advisable, Sir Matthew, in the present state of public opinion—”

“Public opinion, Mr. Tarleton, means the Press, and that doesn’t concern us. The true interests of the nation are our concern, and in this case I see no reason whatever why, because this man’s name is Klein—As a matter of fact, when I was dining with a member of the Cabinet a few evenings ago, I met a most charming person called Schmerz, and, I have reason for knowing, a most loyal subject. Indeed, I understand that my friend the minister finds his advice most useful in certain cases. No, no, by all means send for this Mr. Klein—let’s have a look at him.”

Mr. Klein arrived, and Oswald Tarleton was not favourably impressed by him. He had thick features and a generally unattractive appearance; he spoke, too, with an accent which Tarleton distrusted, although Klein assured him that he was a French Alsatian, and as proof thereof showed the secretary a letter from the French Embassy which vouched for his being a devoted citizen of the Republic. Sir Matthew entirely approved of him.

“Just the man we want, Mr. Tarleton. Make him assistant secretary. That’ll flatter him—then ask anything you like of him and he’ll do it. That’s my way.”

Presently Klein was installed and Tarleton soon found him a most assiduous and useful assistant. Without the loss of a moment he got into touch with various chiefs of subsidiary departments and obtained stenographers and typewriters, clerks and porters. Urged by Sir Matthew, he harried the Office of Works till they provided ample accommodation in a fine building in a central position; from H.M. Stationery Office he promptly ordered all sorts of indispensable supplies, and within an incredibly short time Sir Matthew found himself installed in sumptuous offices with a fine committee-room and everything in as perfect order as even he could desire. Tarleton was compelled to admit that Klein had proved to be an acquisition.

“What did I tell you?” cried Sir Matthew triumphantly. “Trust me to find the right man, Mr. Tarleton, trust me. I always believe in demanding the impossible and I generally get it. If you’re modest, you get left.”

Tarleton could vouch for the truth of this observation, and he disliked the chairman more than ever.

In due course the committee held its first sitting. On Sir Matthew’s right sat Lord Milford, a wealthy peer of independent political opinions and great obtuseness, by whose social prestige Sir Matthew was greatly impressed; on his left Mr. Doubleday, the leader of the Labour Party in the House of Commons. Ranged on either side, according to their importance, sat the various other members of the committee.

Sir Matthew’s opening address, written for him by Tarleton, met with an Excellent reception, and the proceedings developed smoothly.

As the weeks passed the work of the committee increased, especially that part of it which fell to the staff. Tarleton was worked off his legs. In committee Sir Matthew was indisputably an adroit chairman. He knew how to assert himself on occasion and play off the members against each other, and he showed the dexterity of a conjurer in manipulating evidence. But outside the committee-room, entirely absorbed by the decorative side of his position, he talked and talked from morning till evening. Beyond receiving important persons, he did nothing. He was as incapable of composing a letter as of making a speech, and Tarleton had to write both for him. He would arrive in the morning when Tarleton was trying to get on with urgent correspondence or to frame questions to be asked of witnesses, and so take up his unfortunate secretary’s time that it was almost impossible for him to get his work finished for the next meeting. He made the most exacting demands upon his overworked staff, showing as little consideration for them as he did grasp of the mass of detail they had to get through between committee meetings. Indeed, had it not been for the industrious energy of Klein, who had relieved him of practically all the routine work, ordinary correspondence and office supervision, Tarleton had to admit to himself that it would have been beyond his power to carry on.

As the proceedings of the committee advanced, Sir Matthew’s opinion of his own importance increased, and Tarleton’s dislike of him grew into hatred. Gentle, unassuming, and sensitive, he had never so far encountered an individual like Sir Matthew Bale, who outraged all his finer feelings and susceptibilities a dozen times a day. And the secretary swore between his teeth that if he ever got the chance of tripping him up, once the committee was done with, he would take good care not to miss it.

Klein, on the other hand, grew in Tarleton’s esteem, and he felt he had done him an injustice, for which he was determined to atone if occasion offered.

The industry of the Alsatian was equalled by his perspicacity; he soon fathomed the intentions of the chairman and understood that the chief purpose of the committee was the exact opposite of that which its flowing terms of reference were intended to convey.

In a small room, as far as possible removed from the one in which the committee had their meetings, Klein sat like a mole delving into documents and preparing the interim report for which the Government had been pressed in Parliament. Here, when the day was over and Sir Matthew had at last taken his departure, Tarleton would join him. It frequently happened that they did not finish their labours until nearly midnight. On such occasions Tarleton would go to his club to dine, whilst Klein would make his way to some neighbouring restaurant, but after a time the two men seemed to draw nearer to each other, until one day Tarleton suggested that Klein should dine with him. Over a cigar in the club smoking-room, the secretary for the first time expressed himself freely to his colleague.

“I feel I ought to tell you, Klein, that at first I was foolish enough to feel a little—”

He broke off, hesitating to use a word which might hurt the other’s feelings.

“I know exactly what you mean, Tarleton, and I do not in the least blame you. You are probably not aware that many of us Alsatians have German names, but if you knew more of my life you would know what good cause I have for hating the Germans more than any Englishman can possibly hate them. Some day, perhaps, I shall have a chance of telling you.”

Klein’s eyes flashed under their drooping lids. Tarleton warmed to him and began to talk about the committee and especially about the chairman.

“This has been a tremendous eye-opener to me, Klein,” he said. “I must tell you that, in my innocence, I never imagined that the proceedings of a committee could be conducted in such a fashion. I must confess I do not understand the object of it.”

Klein smiled significantly.

“I do,” he remarked.

“What do you mean, Klein?”

“It is quite simple. There are things which the Government does not desire to be known, and that is why they selected a man like Bale for chairman. You see, Tarleton, we’re accustomed to that sort of thing in France.”

“But we aren’t,” remarked Tarleton, “and I think it’s—something ought to be done,” he added.

“Something can be done,” said Klein.

“How?”

“I suppose you’ve heard of Blum & Co.?”

The secretary stared at him. “No, I’ve never heard of them.”

“Well, Blum & Co. is Sir Matthew’s firm, and Mr. Blum would be an exceedingly interesting witness.”

Tarleton almost jumped out of his chair. “Good Lord!” he said excitedly, “you don’t mean—”

“I mean just exactly that,” Klein continued in his heavy way. “Moritz Blum is Bale’s partner, and he’s one of the biggest scamps in the City. Now supposing I give the tip to a member of the committee to call him.”

Tarleton could hardly believe his ears. Here was retribution for Sir Matthew with a vengeance! But he hesitated.

“Would it be square, do you think? I mean, wouldn’t it be treacherous towards the chairman?”

“That seems to depend upon which you put first—the chairman or the country. For my part, the only thing that matters is that if we are able to expose anything that helps the enemy, we should do so, and here’s our chance.”

“D’you really mean that, Klein?”

“Mean it? Of course I mean it. Blum & Co. are amongst the largest shareholders in the Swedenborg Coal and Iron Smelting Company, in Stockholm; they have sold and are selling thousands of tons of pig-iron to the German Government. What do you say to that?”

“How on earth do you know?” ejaculated Tarleton almost breathlessly.

Klein fixed his eyes on the other significantly.

“I haven’t been in the City for twelve years for nothing,” he answered.

“It’s a difficult position for me.” Tarleton spoke reflectively. “Loyalty to one’s chairman is a tradition in the Government service. And though I despise Bale, I don’t see my way to expose him. You see, it means the ruin of all his hopes.”

“Tant pis pour lui. Doesn’t he always say himself our first duty is to consider the true interest of the nation? Now, is it in the true interest of the nation that the Germans should get this pig-iron? Tell me that, Tarleton.”

The secretary made no reply. Indeed, none was needed, for the answer was obvious.

Two days later there was an important meeting of the committee, at which a full attendance had been specially requested by the chairman. A question had been raised at the previous sitting by one of the Labour Members who had desired to hear certain evidence, but the witness had suddenly left the country. The Labour Members had withdrawn to discuss the matter privately, and on their return showed that their suspicions had been aroused. On a motion by the chairman the meeting had been adjourned for four days.

All Sir Matthew’s resourcefulness had been needed to avert for the time further discussion. Before the next meeting he and the minister involved would get together and discover a means of putting inconvenient questioners off the scent.

The committee took their seats. The chairman now spoke in his smoothest tone, his manner was genial and urbane. He smiled towards Mr. Small, the recalcitrant committee-man, as he glanced at the notes under his hand prepared by Tarleton.

“Gentlemen, at the last meeting my friend Mr. Small took exception to the fact that a certain witness had—er—left the country—er—before we had an opportunity of examining him. I have to inform you—er—er—that certain facts have come to light regarding this witness which—er—preclude our going any further into the matter. The fact is, gentlemen”—Sir Matthew; lowered his voice significantly—“he is a particular friend of the—er—er—diplomatic representative of a friendly Power, and I think you will agree with me that in the circumstances we had better drop any further discussion of this subject and direct the prÉcis-writer to expunge the report of such part of our proceedings as relate to it from our minutes.”

To Sir Matthew’s surprise no dissentient voice was raised. The resolution was agreed to unanimously, and once more he congratulated himself on the skill with which he had disposed of an awkward dilemma.

“And now, gentlemen, we will call the next witness. Mr. Tarleton, will you kindly—”

“One moment please, Sir Matthew.”

The interruption was made in a very soft voice which almost lisped the words. They came from the immediate right of the chairman, who turned with surprise toward the speaker, Lord Milford, who until this moment had never opened his mouth.

“I have to propose,” continued the gentle voice, “that we call before us, without delay, Mr. Maurice Blum, of the firm of Blum & Co., Threadneedle Street.”

Sir Matthew gasped and turned deadly pale. For an instant he felt as though he would collapse, then, summoning all his will, he fought back the emotion which was almost choking him. By a supreme effort he partially regained his self-possession and managed to assume an ordinary expression. With one rapid and comprehensive glance he took in the faces of Lord Milford and the committee, and with an immense relief told himself that they were one and all ignorant of what the proposal signified to him.

Where had Milford obtained his information? How much did he know? While these thoughts flashed through his brain the soft voice lisped on—

“Certain evidence has reached me which points to Mr. Blum’s having interests in Sweden of a character that immediately, concerns our investigations. The firm are large holders of shares in a smelting concern called the Swedenborg Coal and Iron Smelting Company, and there is also a probability that Messrs. Blum’s interests extend in a direction which, though I am not suggesting disloyalty or illegality, urgently necessitates inquiry.”

Lord Milford sat down. His expression was solemn; it was evident that he was rather pleased at finding himself for once in the unusual position of having something to say and saying it. There was a buzz of whispered conversation round the table, then a sudden hush—the chairman was addressing the meeting.

For a moment Sir Matthew paused. Once more his eyes took in the room. Where was the enemy? Just behind him, in his usual place, sat Tarleton at his table covered with papers. The secretary’s face was white and drawn; he was twisting his small moustache nervously; his eyes were fixed on the chairman with a half-frightened expression.

Once more Sir Matthew’s eyes scanned the faces. Where was the enemy? And now, at the opposite end of the table, he noticed, for the first time, a figure almost concealed behind the stout form of Mr. Small. It was Klein. The two men’s eyes met. It was only for a fraction of a moment, but it was long enough. In the concentrated gaze of the Alsatian there was neither hatred nor vindictiveness, but only determination. The two wills were in conflict, and this time Sir Matthew knew he had met his master. In that instant he made up his mind.

“Gentlemen”—his voice was calm, his bearing unruffled; the old habit was as strong as ever, he drew down his cuffs and leaned easily on the table, spreading out his fingers—“I have a very short personal statement to make. You are perhaps unaware that I have been for many years connected with the firm of Blum & Co.; in fact, I was the original founder of the business in which for a considerable period Lord Milford’s nephew, Lord Reginald Dumbarton, was also partner.” Sir Matthew paused a moment and smiled towards his neighbour. “For some years my interest has been confined to a sleeping partnership; I have been completely ignorant of the details of the business. While I need hardly tell you that the situation in which I find myself is very trying, I support Lord Milford’s suggestion that the affairs of the firm shall be investigated and that Mr. Maurice Blum shall be summoned before you. But in these circumstances I have to inform you with great regret that I shall immediately place my resignation of the chairmanship in the hands of the Prime Minister. Gentlemen, may I, as my last act before leaving the chair, propose that, pending the appointment of a new chairman by the Government, Lord Milford shall take my place.”

Bowing slightly to right and left and gathering up his papers, Sir Matthew walked with a dignified step to the door and disappeared.