for the
fall of the town.

The Russian secretary was a typical ultra-neurotic Slav. Could not
exist, he told me, without operas, ballets, and "stir tout des
Emotions." Was horribly vexed that the Albanian Nationalist party
proved so strong, and that Albania had not yet been overthrown. In
order to keep himself alive meanwhile in this miserable hole he
tried to get people to play bridge with him for as high stakes as
possible. And this did not suffice him. He told me that having run
through all the sensations of life he thought of committing suicide.

"Why don't you, then, Monsieur?" I asked enthusiastically. "No one
will regret you. Suicide yourself, I beg you, quickly!" Which so
infuriated him that I dare say he is alive still. It roused him to
an attack on the English, who, he said, were ruining civilization by
the way they treated the Jews. I retorted by hoping that the
terrible accounts we had had of Jewish pogroms were exaggerated.
"Exaggerated!" cried he. "You may believe everything you have heard.
Nothing is bad enough or too bad for those brutes."

"You have no right," said I, "to speak so of any human beings."

"Human beings!" cried he. "What you English must learn is that they
are not human beings. They are bugs, and must be cr-r-rushed."

This is a mere detail. But what sort of peace can be expected when
men such as this are in the diplomatic service helping to pull the
strings?

At night the heat was terrible. The motionless air was shrill with
mosquitoes from the fever swamps. The Italian forces were camped
just under my window and he stench of unwashed men and sweaty
uniforms penetrated the miserable garret I slept in with suffocating
acridity. I lay awake for hours thinking of the fate of thousands of
human beings dependent on such men as Petar Karageorgevitch, with
his blood-stained hands; his hoary father-in-law, Nikola, weaving
spider webs; the decadent Russian, fanatical and cruel; the
Levantine Slav, agent of France; the Italians like a pack in full
cry with the victim in sight; the Greek Varatassi mainly playing
bridge, but plotting behind the scenes with the Greek bishop, and
probably with Essad too. All bent on war, and meaning to have it in
some form.

Only Mr. Lamb and the German commissioner were playing straight. On
16th H.M.S. Defence and Admiral Troubridge arrived. Fighting went
on, on and off, for the next few days. The Russian correspondent
chuckled indecently over the Albanian