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Updated: June 13, 2025
But his despatch to Bland-Potterton pleased him most of all. He imagined that gentleman, swollen with the consciousness of important news, dashing off to the Foreign Office in a taxi-cab, posing Ministers of State with unanswerable conundrums, very probably ruffling the calm waters of Washington with cablegrams of inordinate length and fierce urgency. He rang the bell for Smith.
I asked King Konrad Karl. I asked that footling ass Bland-Potterton. They don't any of them seem to be able to do more than just gasp and say 'The Emperor' over and over again." "The Emperor's wish " said von Moll. "There you go," said Gorman. "That's exactly what I'm complaining about. I ask what the Emperor has got to do with it and all the answer I get is 'The Emperor."
Bland-Potterton knows and often tells his friends in confidence. I know. Donovan knows. So does Smith. But we cannot make our knowledge public. Gorman tried, by means of a carefully worded question, to induce the Prime Minister to make a statement in the House of Commons about Salissa. He was told that it was contrary to the public interest that any information should be given.
But Bland-Potterton woke me by whispering in my ear. He might just as well have spoken in the ordinary way. There was only one other man in the room and he was quite asleep. Besides, Bland-Potterton's whisper carries further than most men's conversational voices. "Have you," he hissed, "any news from Gorman? A letter? A message? Anything?" "No," I said, "I haven't.
On the very evening of Gorman's dinner with the King I happened to meet Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton at another, a much duller dinner party. Sir Bartholomew was not yet Secretary of State for Balkan Problems, but he was well known as an authority on the Near East, and was in constant unofficial touch with the Foreign Office.
Even as a schoolboy, Bland-Potterton was fussy and self-important At the university Balliol was his college he was regarded as a coming man, likely to make his mark in the world. This made him more fussy and more self-important. When he became a recognised authority on Near Eastern affairs he became pompous and more fussy than ever.
They come to the palace. They say 'In the name of the Republic, so that the world may be safe for democracy and then ! There is a rope. There is a flag staff. I float in the air. They cheer. I am dead. I know it. But it is for Corinne. Good." It was in this mood of chivalrous high romance that the king received Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton. Gorman was present during the interview.
The men who leased the land were greatly pleased, everyone else looked forward to a period of employment at very high wages, and Gorman became very popular even among the extreme Sinn Feiners. Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton went about London, purring with satisfaction like a large cat, and promising sensational events in the Near East which would rapidly bring the war to an end.
Bland-Potterton was in a corner with a highly decorated foreigner who looked like a stage brigand. I found out afterwards that he was the Megalian ambassador. Bland-Potterton was talking to him with intense earnestness. Another day he dashed at me in the smoking-room of the club. I was half asleep at the moment and desired nothing in the world so much as to be let alone.
In it, too, he announced the complete failure of his mission. "The fact is," he added, by way of explanation, "that these Americans don't know enough about your Emperor to be properly impressed. Could you send along a good-sized photo of him, in uniform if possible? I am sure it would have a great effect." Then he wrote to Sir Bartholomew Bland-Potterton.
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