Her Majestys Minister

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Speaker, I have personally visited the trade shops at our correctional facilities across the province. I have spoken with inmates that participate in these programs about how they benefit from the work and the pride they feel due to the positive impacts they have on their communities.

"Everything in the world exists in order to end up as a book"

As well, inmates are developing skills that they can use when they leave custody and are being provided with a sense of purpose as they serve their sentences. He is extremely talented and committed to this important program. This page and all contents are copyright, Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, all rights reserved. News Releases. She had virtually admitted a close acquaintance with a man upon whom distinct suspicion rested, and her actions had been those of a guilty woman.

My thoughts were full of that interview and its painful ending as I walked back towards the Embassy. THERE was war in the air. At the Embassy we could not conceal from ourselves the seriousness of the situation. From hour to hour we were living in dread lest diplomatic negotiations should be broken off with the French Republic.

We had discovered what seemed very much like a conspiracy against England, and as an energetic protest it appeared quite possible that the Marquess of Malvern might order my Chief to leave Paris. This would mean a rupture of diplomatic relations, and in all probability war. Never in the history of modern Europe had there been a day so critical as that blazing, well-remembered one in mid-July. There were ugly rumours of complications in the Transvaal. The fate of certain nations trembled in the balance.

In every capital diplomatists were active, some striving to force war, others endeavouring to prevent it. A diplomatist's life is assuredly no sinecure. The British public, as I have said before, little dreams of the constant anxiety and terrible tension which are parts of the daily life of its faithful servants abroad. On my return to the Embassy I found that some important despatches had been brought from London by Anderson, the foreign service messenger.

He was sitting in my room smoking a cigarette, and awaiting me in order to obtain the receipt for his despatch-box. A tall, round-faced, merry man of middle age, he was an especial favourite in all the embassies as far as Teheran. A thorough cosmopolitan and man of the world, he had resigned his commission in the Scots Greys to become one of that half-dozen of the greyhounds of Europe known as Queen's messengers.

That's about all that's new. The Chief, however, seems busy. I'm loaded with despatches. I leave by the Orient express in an hour's time," he answered, with a glance at his watch.

I've only slept one night in London since the 1st. He was an easy-going fellow; his good-humour never seemed ruffled.


That's a bit of a change, you know, after these everlasting railways, with their stuffy sleeping-cars and abominable arrangements for giving a man indigestion. I examined the box to see that the seals affixed in Downing Street were intact, then signed the receipt and handed it back to him. Of the corps of Queen's messengers—nicknamed "the greyhounds" because of the badge which each wears suspended round his neck and concealed beneath his cravat, a silver greyhound surmounted by the Royal arms— Captain Jack Anderson was the most popular.

A welcome guest at every embassy or legation, he was on friendly terms with the whole staff, from the Ambassador himself down to the hall-porter, and he carried the gossip of the embassies to and fro across Europe. From him we all gathered news of our old colleagues in other capitals—of their joys and their sorrows, their difficulties and their junketings. His baggage being by international courtesy free from Customs' examination, he oft-times carried with him a new frock for an ambassador's wife or daughter—a service which always put him high in the good graces of the feminine portion of the diplomatic circle.

Anderson's cigarettes were well known for their excellence, for he purchased them at a shop in Petersburg, and often distributed a box in one or other of the embassies. He was, however, as close as an oyster. It isn't likely that he'd talk very much," I remarked. He went to Berlin last night. The denunciation of her as a secret agent instantly flashed through my mind.

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Every detail of that balmy summer night in those gaily illuminated gardens came back to me in that moment. I loved Yolande in those long-past days. He remarked how very charming she was—a verdict in which we both agreed. Have you seen her lately? I did not know that she was here till yesterday," I replied with affected carelessness. She had a companion with her—a pimply-faced, ugly Johnnie, whom I took to be a German. They spoke in German all the time.

Catalog Record: Her majesty's minister [a novel | HathiTrust Digital Library

Could it be, I wondered, that Yolande and her companion had travelled with Anderson with some evil intent? To affect Italian is generally a sure game, for so few people speak it in comparison with those who know other Continental languages. I had never seen her from that night in Brussels until we had met in the train, but I've a good memory for faces. I can swear I was not mistaken. He was well-dressed, but as you know I've always a sharp eye where my fellow-travellers are concerned, and I felt certain that there was something shady about him. They shifted about all night, and were constantly watching to see whether I had gone to sleep.

But all their watching was without reward. Jack Anderson never sleeps while he has a crossed despatch upon him;" and he blew a cloud of smoke upward from his lips. What they wanted was the crossed despatch from Berlin that I had in my belt next my skin. Experience has taught me that that cushion has saved me many an aching head and stiff neck when on long journeys.

So I placed it behind my head, and through the night read a novel by the dim, uncertain light. About two o'clock in the morning we ran into Hanover, and I got out to get a drink. When I returned, however, and placed the cushion behind my head, I felt a slight dampness upon it. In an instant suspicion seized me.

Some liquid had been sprinkled upon it in my absence. My two fellow-travellers, wrapped in their rugs, were apparently sleeping. At once I resolved to act with caution, and, turning my cheek towards the pillow, smelt it. There was a curious odour, sweet and subtle, like some new perfume. I had suspected chloroform, but it was certainly not that.

Yet almost the instant after I had inhaled it a curious and unaccountable drowsiness seized me. Then I knew the truth. They had plotted to render me insensible and afterwards steal the despatch! I struggled against this feeling of weariness, and, rising to my feet, buttoned my overcoat as though I were chilly. This action allowed the cushion to fall away from my head, and, again re-seating myself, I made a feint of being interested in my book; but in reality my head was awhirl, and in the pocket of my ulster I had my hand upon my revolver, ready to use it should that pimply-faced ruffian attempt violence.

The pair commenced to shift about uneasily in their seats, and I could see that their failure had considerably disconcerted them. They were silent for over an hour, during which time it occurred to me to move the cushion farther from me, in case the evaporation of the mysterious liquid should cause insensibility. I was determined that your pretty little friend's companion should be the first to be thus affected.

The feeling of drowsiness, however, wore off, and at Cologne the pair, after chatting in German regarding the train to Venlo, bustled about hastily and descended.

They had no baggage, and went into the buffet to breakfast. I know she's a friend of yours, but I can't help saying just what I think. There is no necessity whatever for her to be in the pay of any foreign Government," I protested. Yolande de Foville was evidently well aware that I had the despatch in my belt.

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But now he has made one attempt it is quite probable he may make another. I'm on the look-out for him again. Bond, the analyst, at Somerset House. He's trying to discover the liquid used. I hope he will be successful, for the stuff was so potent that I have no desire for it again to be sprinkled upon my belongings. Yet I could not believe that Yolande, my charming little friend, in whom I had in the old days reposed so many confidences, and by whose side I had lingered through many idle hours in the Bois or in that almost endless forest around her feudal home, was actually a spy.

The suggestion seemed too absurd. Nevertheless, Kaye was not a man to make unfounded charges, nor was Anderson given to relating that which was untrue. Truth to tell, this story of his held me absolutely dumbfounded.

I recollected my conversation with her an hour ago, and the strange effect my announcement that Wolf was in Paris had made upon her. She had implored me to save her. A silence fell between us.