It is always a delicate matter for a foreigner to write about the Sovereign of another country in such a way as to be acceptable to his subjects. In case I, a citizen of the United States, should unwittingly offend any English prejudices in the following narrative, I can only assure my readers that I am actuated by no feeling but that of the most sincere respect for the greatest of living Sovereigns and the mighty people over whom he reigns. In the summer of 1902 the whole world was dismayed by the news that the Coronation of King Edward VII. had been postponed at the last moment, on account of his Majesty’s grave state of health. The Governments of the Continent, ever distrustful, and prone to credit others with their own Machiavellian statecraft, eagerly asked themselves if the official explanation of this event was genuine, or whether it did not conceal some subtle political purpose. As a result, I found myself commissioned by a certain great Power to go over to London, and ascertain the true state of affairs. Needless to say, my inquiries enabled me in a very short time to report to my employers that their suspicions were groundless. In the course of the brief investigation I was brought into personal touch with a man of high rank, occupying a confidential position in the Royal Household--the Marquis of Bedale. The manner in which I carried out my delicate mission caused Lord Bedale to compliment me highly upon my courage and discretion, and I have every reason to think that his lordship spoke in favourable terms of me to his exalted master. Before I left England I was surprised and gratified to receive a request from Lord Bedale to wait upon him in his private apartment in Buckingham Palace, on confidential business.[1] His lordship received me in the friendliest fashion, and talked to me quite freely. ‘Let me begin,’ he said, ‘by asking you for your frank opinion on our Secret Service.’ ‘The Secret Service of Great Britain is the most scrupulously conducted in the world,’ I replied discreetly. Lord Bedale gave me a queer smile. ‘That means, I suppose, that it is the most inefficient?’ he suggested. ‘It is the worst paid,’ I said, by way of extenuation. ‘I have heard that the total amount voted for this purpose by the British Parliament is only £40,000, but that sounds incredible.’ ‘I am afraid it is not far from the truth,’ Lord Bedale answered. ‘We have acted in the belief that the British Empire was too strong to care about what its enemies were planning.’ ‘I should think the Boer War must have made you realise that such a policy was not the cheapest in the long run,’ I ventured to remark. ‘It has shown _me_ so, at all events,’ he answered, ‘and possibly some others. You will not offend me in the least, Monsieur V----, if you tell me plainly that you consider our Intelligence Department the weakest branch of our Foreign Service, and utterly unworthy of an Empire with such world-wide interests as ours.’