Flashman And The Tiger

"Because I see at once how to frustrate them. I go to Prince Hohenlohe, the German Minister, and demand that as a reward for my services to the Congress—and because I am Blowitz—Prince Bismarck should give the treaty only to me, so that I may publish it in The Times tomorrow. Hohenlohe consults Bismarck, who refuses (as I knew he would). He says I must wait until it is signed. But," he raised a pudgy finger, "I know Bismarck. He is one for strict justice. Having said I must wait until tomorrow, he will now make the German papers wait also. So, in effect, I have gained a postponement … you see?"

I don’t know if Macchiavelli was a fat little cove with long whiskers, but he should have been.

"When Prince Hohenlohe tells me my request is refused, I play my part. I am affronted. My disgust knows no bounds. I tell him I am leaving Berlin at once in protest. If Blowitz is to be treated with such contempt, they may keep their Congress and their treaty. Hohenlohe is dismayed, but I am adamant. I take my leave in what you call the dudgeon—and word flies from mouth to mouth that Blowitz is beaten, that he sulks like a spoiled child, my rivals rejoice at my failure—and breathe sighs of relief … and all the time the treaty is here—" he tapped his breast, chortling "—and tomorrow it will appear in The Times and in no other paper in the world!"

He paused to draw breath and gloat; you never saw smugness like it, so I pointed to the one fly I saw in his ointment.

"But you haven’t got the preamble or the clauses they’re adopting today."

He gave a lofty wave. "Soit tranquil, my ’Arree. From Hohenlohe I go tout suite to M. de St Vallier, the French Ambassador—who I know has a copy of the preamble. In confidence I show him the treaty. He is staggered, he goes pale, but when I ask for the preamble and clauses, he throws up the hands, crying why not, since already I have so much? He cannot give me his copy of the preamble, but he reads it aloud, page upon page, and now it is here—" he tapped his brow "—and will be dictated to my secretary after we board the train."

I ain’t given to expressions of admiration, as you know, but looking at that grinning cherub with his baby peepers and daft whiskers I confess I put a finger to my hat brim. "Though I still don’t see why you’re in such an almighty sweat to leave. Can’t you telegraph your story to London?"

"From Berlin? Oh, my boy, you want to laugh! Where my every action is watched, my movements followed—why, let a telegraph clerk catch a glimpse of my message and I should be in a police cell!" He grew earnest. "But it is not the authorities I fear—it is envious rivals. My little charade of pique will deceive the many, but not all. Some, knowing Blowitz, will suspect me still. They may board the train. They would rob me if they could. That," says he, clapping a hand on my knee, "is why I bring you with me. I am small, you are large. Who knows what they may attempt between here and Paris? But what have I to fear," cries he, with a great idiot laugh, "when the bravest soldier of the British Army, the partner of my fate, is by my side?"

A great deal, I could have told him, if Bismarck’s bullies were after him; he’d find himself relying on the communication cord. But no, that wasn’t likely; even Otto wouldn’t dare. Blowitz’s brother journalists were another matter, as I saw when we reached the station, and they were on the platform to see him off with covert grins and ironic tile-doffing; I hadn’t realised what respect and jealousy my stout friend attracted. He bustled down the train looking like an angry frog in his great fur coat and felt hat, ignoring their greetings, and I played up by taking his arm and wearing my most threatening scowl.

The secretary and Blowitz’s colleague, Wallace, were already aboard, and when we pulled out punctually on 12.30, Blowitz told the secretary to get out his book, folded his hands across his paunch, closed his eyes, and recited steadily for half an hour. It was fearful stuff, all in German, with an occasional phrase in French or English by way of explanation, and he didn’t even pause; once, when the train clanked to an unexpected halt and we were almost jolted from our seats, he forged light ahead with his dictation, and when it was done he sat drooping like a limp doll, and then went straight off to sleep. For concentration and power of mind, I don’t recall his equal.