Stone's Fall (42 page)

“I am afraid so, Countess,” Stone replied. “Mr. Cort is a persuasive man, and I can deny him nothing, even at the cost of losing your company.”

“But you will come back?”

“I would be delighted.”

She didn’t invite me, I noticed, a little annoyed at being so obviously left out. I pulled on my coat, and Stone walked out the door. Then she took hold of my arm.

“Any news?” she said quietly.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Come back as soon as you can.”

Stone, naturally, had his own carriage; no hire cab for him. Very comfortable, well insulated from the sounds and draughts of the outside world.

“Charming woman, the Countess,” I said, for no other reason than to see how he reacted.

“She is,” he replied.

“Delightful company,” I added.

“She is.”

“And remarkably well read.”

Stone peered at me. “Do not be nosy, Mr. Cort.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, smiling at him. “But I consider her a friend.”

“I think I might try one of these new automobiles,” he said as we clopped along. “Have you ever been in one?”

I gave up, and shook my head.

“They smell, they are slow and they are unreliable,” he went on. “I believe they may have a great future. It is shameful that our Government has thrown away any possibility of Britain being a leading manufacturer of them. We considered starting production—on a small scale, of course—but abandoned the idea.”

“Why?”

“No market. Nor will there be until the Government allows them to go at more than four miles an hour. In France, in Italy, they already travel at twenty miles an hour. They are making huge progress and we have to sit and watch. Who wants to travel at four miles an hour when a horse will take you faster? We cannot make things that people will not buy.”

“Get the law changed.”

He snorted. “Not so simple. People seem to think that businesses snap their fingers, and the Government does as it is told. Unfortunately it is not like that. And the more governments have to win votes from people who do not think or understand anything at all, the worse it becomes.”

“Maybe they are afraid that people will get killed.”

“They are afraid voters will get killed. And so they will. But hundreds are trampled by horses every year as well, and they don’t limit their speed.”

He fell silent for some while as the carriage made its way along the streets of Paris.

“You may be interested to know,” he said quietly after a while, “that I have asked the Countess von Futak to marry me.”

“Good… I mean, congratulations, sir,” I said with total astonishment. “Has she—?”

“She has asked for a week to consider her reply. It is a woman’s privilege, I believe, and I am sure she must consider the fact that for her it would be something of a social descent. Anyway, here we are.”

I imagined Elizabeth’s dinner being cooked by her chef, and wondered what I was going to eat that evening. Nothing as grand, I thought. I still hadn’t had the opportunity to tell her that Simon was no longer a problem for her. Nor that, in fact, her problems were now very much greater. Stone had just astonished me, but he clearly was already regretting his confidence and did not want to return to the subject. Poor man, I thought. I was certain I knew what her answer would be. At least she was being kind in pretending to consider the offer, rather than burst out laughing. But she had little to laugh about, at the moment. John Stone’s offer would not last long if he knew what was in those diaries, and unless I could find Drennan, he soon would.

Stone opened the door and led the way in. And switched on the lights. Of course he had offices with electricity. He liked everything modern. Even the desks the clerks worked at were sleek and new and designed with efficiency in mind.

“Through here,” he said, and led the way through one room, then through another and finally into a little cubicle containing the telegraph machine. “Don’t ask me how it works, I’ve never used it. It’s the latest machine, though, and I believe you tap on that,” he pointed to a key, “and then press all sorts of buttons there,” he pointed to a bank of switches and cables rising up in a vast, technological cliff above the desk, “to make it go.”

“Oh, God,” I said. “I don’t think this is going to work very well.” I had never seen a machine like it before. I had not a clue how to operate it. I pressed a button tentatively. Nothing happened. “Who normally sits here?”

Stone shrugged. “I’ve no idea,” he said. “Aren’t you meant to be able to do this sort of thing?”

“Let’s abandon that idea,” I said finally. But I had no other to replace it.

Stone pursed his lips. “The only option is to write a letter, and get someone to take it. There I can help. That is, I can provide pen, paper, envelope and a trustworthy man.” He looked at his watch. “Might just get the eleven o’clock train, I think. With luck you should have your letter delivered by Saturday lunchtime. If you can find someone to deliver it to.”

He looked at my despondent air. “Marvels of modern technology,” he said. “When I was young it still took nearly twenty-four hours to get from Paris to London.”

I sighed. “No alternative, is there? Very well, then. I will write a letter.”

Stone nodded. “Come back to my hotel and do it there. Xanthos will take it; you can hand it to him when you are finished.”

So that is what I did; I spent the next hour in Stone’s apartment at the Hôtel du Louvre, carefully crafting a letter to Wilkinson, explaining exactly what I had discovered, what I suspected, and what I thought should be done about it. I was a bit hazy about the final part as, in truth, I could not see what might be done. Even if Xanthos was as efficient as Stone said, the timing would still be tight. Finding the owners of Barings, the directors of the Bank of England, would take time. Getting them all together, deciding on some course of action…

Stone evidently had the same thought. He, I suspected, was writing letters as well, and I thought I knew what was in them. He wanted to hit the market with sales orders first thing Monday morning, to unload as many of his stocks as possible before anyone else suspected what might be about to happen. I couldn’t blame him, of course.

“And do not lose them, Xanthos,” Stone said as he handed over the letters to his secretary. “It is vital that these reach Wilkinson and Bartoli as soon as possible.”

The secretary put the envelopes carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket.

“A promising young man,” Stone said. “You need have no concerns. He is so eager to get on he would swim the Channel if it was necessary to do his job. A drink, Mr. Cort?” I was quite exhausted; it had been a busy day. But I accepted nonetheless.

“An interesting business,” he said once the servant had served the drinks and withdrawn. “It gives a whole new meaning to the idea of modern warfare. It is fascinating to think what might be the motives of the people involved.”

“They want to destroy London and the Empire.”

“Oh, yes, of course. But why? From what you tell me, it seems to be the French and the Russians acting together, after a fashion. Which is curious, is it not? The only republic in Europe and the Great Despot of the East? An unlikely pair, I think.”

I shrugged. “The French hate us because of the Empire, the Germans because of the war, and the Russians because of their politics. Not that it matters. My interests are more short-term. How to stop it.”

“Maybe it cannot be stopped,” he replied mildly. “While you were writing your letter, I was checking your figures. You are quite right. There is not enough gold, at the moment, to contain a run on the banks. Even if all the bankers were pulled together in one room, and all agreed to pool their reserves, there still would not be enough.”

We sat in silence for a while, considering the dreadful possibilities that lay ahead for next week. My feeling of failure was quite overwhelming. If I had only found out about this a few days earlier—even two days would have made all the difference—then the situation would have been entirely different. But I was wasting my time with minor nonsense—trying to find out the specifications, and the purpose, of a new French cruiser then being laid down at Brest, and more particularly being diverted by the problem of Elizabeth’s diaries—and failed to see what was going on. I had thought it was an abstract problem, not something real and imminent.

“I wonder though…” I began.

“What do you wonder?”

“Well, I told you of my conversation with Netscher, did I not? The conversation that started all this off?”

Stone nodded.

“He sounded scornful of the idea. And he is an influential man.”

“A very fine one, as well,” Stone added. “I have a great deal of time for him. As bankers go, he is one of the best. Although, as you realise, I do not have much time for them, on the whole.”

“So what if there are others like him? Who think that this is disruptive of the smooth ordering of world trade, an unwarranted intrusion of politics into the pure and pristine world of money?”

“Go on.”

“Who has the more influence? People like Netscher, or the people organising this?”

“As we don’t know who is behind it…”

“What I mean is, are we seeing a faction fight here? Money against politics? Is this in fact a coherent policy, or a private venture? To put it another way, could this be reversed if we got to the right people?”

Stone considered. “It would depend on the price, would it not? What would the French, the Russians, want? Besides, is this your job? Should you not go to the Embassy and let them deal with it?”

I had never even considered that, but it was easy enough to dismiss it. “You know the Ambassador?”

Stone nodded.

“Do I need to say more then?”

He smiled. “Not the most effective of men, I agree. Nonetheless, I think you should keep him informed.”

“I think I will go and see Netscher,” I said. “It’s not as if I will be divulging anything which isn’t going to be common knowledge in a day or so. Besides, he might well know all about it. If he can be persuaded to help in some way…”

Stone stood. “It is worth a try, I suppose. As you say, it can’t do much harm now. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a dinner appointment.”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon!” I said. “I have taken up too much of your time.”

“On the contrary; it has been most interesting. Ah…”

“Yes?”

“Well, you may need to contact me in the next few days. Should I not be here, then you might call at the Countess’s house.”

He said it quite calmly, but I could quite plainly sense the awkwardness underlying his words. Stone was not a sophisticated man of the world; he was perfectly incapable of passing off such a statement in a matter-of-fact manner, however hard he tried.

CHAPTER
16

Why do French bankers insist on living so far away? The richest had migrated out of Paris entirely, and congregated upriver in St.-Germainen-Laye, miles away. There they had their pocket châteaux, the huge grounds, the children, and the servants, all the space they needed, apart from the further estates they kept in the country, the vineyards in Bordeaux or in Burgundy. So much easier if they had congregated in the French equivalent of Mayfair or Belgravia, as English bankers did.

When I got up the next morning, after only a couple of hours’ sleep, and took the tram to St.-Germain, I had neither an appointment nor a guarantee of finding Netscher at home. I wasn’t even certain I’d be able to get through the main gate to the house. But I managed, although I had to climb over a fence and wade through brambles to overcome the gate problem, then brave barking dogs, a virtual schoolroom of screaming children, three maids and a nanny—all belonging to Netscher
fils
—before I penetrated the main house, knocked and sat, looking very grumpy and feeling not unlike a travelling salesman, in the main hallway.

Netscher, however, was a gentleman; my unorthodox arrival and slightly weary appearance did not upset him one jot, even though it was Saturday. Instead, he had me shown into his office, and disappeared to make his apologies to his family. Then he returned, announcing that he had asked for breakfast to be brought.

“You do not look like someone who is capable of surviving an encounter with my grandchildren,” he said with a smile.

“That is kind. And I apologise for my arrival. But I believe it is important. Do you remember the conversation we had a while back at the Countess von Futak’s salon?”

“About—?”

“About the vulnerability of the City of London.”

“Ah, yes. I remember it well. You seemed quite sceptical, I recall.”

“Are you aware of what is happening? About to happen, I should say.”

“I have heard that Barings may experience difficulties in finding subscribers to an Argentinian loan it has been proposing. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes. And you realise the consequences?”

He nodded.

“Is that what you were referring to at the salon?”

He looked at me carefully, clearly weighing what to say next. That was enough, of course, but not enough to continue the conversation.

“It certainly fits the picture I laid out.”

“I am hardly divulging a great secret if I say that the Bank of England will be hard put to meet the demands that are likely to be placed on it in the coming week or so. And that the refusals and the withdrawing of bullion are too neatly bound together to be anything other than a concerted operation.”

“That had occurred to me also.”

“The Bank will need assistance. For its friends to rally around in time of need.”

“Ah,” he said, “but however well considered the Bank may be by its peers, I think you can say that England is not well looked upon in general. That is a constant in French thinking, whatever the Government, as I have no doubt you are aware. It has friends, of course but, alas, those friends have few friends themselves.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Well, you see, my dear sir, France is stricken. It wants revenge, but as yet has no clear notion of how to take that. It was defeated in 1870, and not just defeated but humiliated. It lost some of its most valuable provinces to Germany. It had to pay to make the invader go away. Five billion francs to pay for the cost of the Germans invading our country and stealing our land. Is it surprising that there is one thought only, in the mind of the people? Have you been to the Place de la Concorde? Seen the statues of the great cities of France? The statue of Strasbourg is permanently wreathed in black; flowers are put there daily, as on a grave. Revenge, my dear sir. We want revenge.”

He stopped to make sure that I had enough to eat, then fussed and apologised for not having offered me anything to drink. The children were still playing in the garden, all bundled up against the cold, catching the weak morning sunshine. Their squeals of excitement came drifting through the closed windows.

“But how to go about it?” he went on eventually. “If we fight the German Empire alone, we will be defeated again. We have no friends, except countries like Italy or Spain, which are of no use to us. The Habsburg Empire is tied to Germany, the Russians repel us, the English oppose us at every turn throughout the world. So some people begin to mutter that this is insoluble, that there is a better way than war to regain what we have lost. Forget Germany for a while, and make common cause against England. Befriend Russia, cripple England, then turn back to the problem of Germany.

“And a second group believes that this is all fantasy, the posturings of people who do not understand the slightest thing about the way the world works, who think that the clash of nations has not changed since the days of Napoleon. Such people say that France will not be strong when it triumphs, but that it will triumph when it is strong. And a nation grows strong in peace when it can devote itself with one mind to accumulating capital and growing industries. As England has done.”

“Bankers, you mean?”

“The most despised of all. It was people like the Rothschilds who conjured the five billion francs out of thin air to pay off the Kaiser in the 1870s, and yet they are reviled as manipulative Jews, fattening themselves on the labours of others. The socialists ran around Paris shouting slogans; the politicians cowered in Bordeaux; the generals made excuses; and bankers went to work evicting the enemy with an efficiency the army could never imagine. Yet who is admired, who hated?

“It is not money that corrupts politics, but politics that corrupt money. All politicians have their price, and sooner or later they come with their hand out. Do you think that a Rothschild or a Reinach or a Baring can be corrupted? In terms of morality, a banker and a beggar are similar; money matters little to them. One has it, the other does not want it. Only those who want but do not have are liable to be corrupted. That is the vast majority of mankind and nearly all the politicians I have ever met.”

“And your point…?”

“My point is that England’s natural allies in France are, unfortunately, the most hated. Obviously, the collapse of the London credit market would be disastrous, for trade, for investment, for industry. All countries would be weakened, generations of capital accumulation would go for nought. Alas, there are many who do not see that a short-term triumph bought at the cost of long-term misery is no bargain. And any house in France which comes to the aid of its brothers in London would swiftly be condemned as an enemy. Particularly if it is Jewish.”

“So you will not help?”

“I must. Barings is foolish and arrogant, yet it must not fall, however much it deserves to do so. But assistance will only be possible if the Government puts itself behind this; it cannot be through the actions of banks alone.”

This was a long way out of my area of competence, and I had to work hard to keep a calm head about it.

“What would the price be?”

Netscher smiled. “A high one.”

“But who are they? Are we dealing with Government policy, or not?”

“You assume governments are coherent. It is better to assume there are factions. And factions break up and recombine in different shapes. It is more a question of how to fragment the pieces and put them back together in a way better suited to your requirements. For example, if the financial interests in Paris were to approach the Bank of France and speak with one voice, say that it must come to the aid of the Bank of England, then our opinion would undoubtedly be heard. However, there are others who will argue for a more dramatic policy.”

“We are talking about M. Rouvier here?”

“He is ambitious, vainglorious. He sees a great opportunity to destroy an enemy, and vaunt himself. He may be persuadable, but it would be foolish to pretend it will not be difficult.”

“And what is in it for the Russians? They want to raise huge amounts of money to fund their army and their economy. How will they get it if they destroy the markets that provide it?”

“I’m afraid you will have to ask them that.”