s departures were unassuming, all but the American's. Sandy
spent a busy fortnight in his subterranean fashion, now in the British
Museum, now running about the country to see old exploring companions,
now at the War Office, now at the Foreign Office, but mostly in my
flat, sunk in an arm-chair and meditating. He left finally on December
1st as a King's Messenger for Cairo. Once there I knew the King's
Messenger would disappear, and some queer Oriental ruffian take his
place. It would have been impertinence in me to inquire into his
plans. He was the real professional, and I was only the dabbler.

Blenkiron was a different matter. Sir Walter told me to look out for
squalls, and the twinkle in his eye gave me a notion of what was
coming. The first thing the sportsman did was to write a letter to the
papers signed with his name. There had been a debate in the House of
Commons on foreign policy, and the speech of some idiot there gave him
his cue. He declared that he had been heart and soul with the British
at the start, but that he was reluctantly compelled to change his
views. He said our blockade of Germany had broken all the laws of God
and humanity, and he reckoned that Britain was now the worst exponent
of Prussianism going. That letter made a fine racket, and the paper
that printed it had a row with the Censor. But that was only the
beginning of Mr Blenkiron's campaign. He got mixed up with some
mountebanks called the League of Democrats against Aggression,
gentlemen who thought that Germany was all right if we could only keep
from hurting her feelings. He addressed a meeting under their
auspices, which was broken up by the crowd, but not before John S. had
got off his chest a lot of amazing stuff. I wasn't there, but a man
who was told me that he never heard such clotted nonsense. He said
that Germany was right in wanting the freedom of the seas, and that
America would back her up, and that the British Navy was a bigger
menace to the peace of the world than the Kaiser's army. He admitted
that he had once thought differently, but he was an honest man and not
afraid to face facts. The oration closed suddenly, when he got a
brussels-sprout in the eye, at which my friend said he swore in a very
unpacifist style.

After that he wrote other letters to the Press, saying that there was
no more liberty of speech in England, and a lot of scallywags backed
him up. Some Americans wanted to tar and feather him,