Of course, the State Department suspected--just as we now know--that Berlin was behind the movement, but at that time there was no indication of the reason. In the light of later events, however, the plan is plain. Germany,[31] feeling certain that the greatest war Europe had ever known was a matter of the immediate future, was laying her plans to keep other nations out of the conflict. She figured that Mexico was the best foil for the United States and that our pitifully small army would have its hands full with troubles at home. If not, she intended to let Japan enter into the equation--as shown by the Zimmerman note some two years later.
When Stewart got to Mexico City, it did not take him long to discover that there was an undercurrent of animosity to the United States which made itself felt in numberless ways. Some of the Mexican papers, apparently on a stronger financial basis than ever be-fore, were outspoken in their criticism of American dollars and American dealings. The people as a whole, long dominated by Diaz, were being stirred to resentment of the "Gringoes," who "sought to purchase the soul of a nation as well as its mineral wealth."
The improvements which American capital had made were entirely overlooked, and the spotlight of subsidized publicity was thrown upon the encroachments of the hated Yankees.
All this Stewart reported to Washington, and in reply was politely informed that, while interesting, it was hardly news. The State Department had known all this for months. The question was: Where was the money coming from and what was the immediate object of the game?
"Take your time and don't bother us unless you find something definite to report," was the substance of the instructions cabled to
Stewart.
The secret agent, therefore, contented himself with lounging around the very inviting cafes of the Mexican capital and making friends with such officials as might be able to drop scraps of information.
It was November when he first hit Mexico City. It[32] was nearly the middle of April before he picked up anything at all worth while. Of course, in the meantime he had uncovered a number of leads--but every one of them was blind. For a day or two, or a week at most, they would hold out glowing promise of something big just around the corner. Then, when he got to the end of the rainbow, he would find an empty pail in place of the pot of gold he had hoped for.
It wasn't surprising, therefore, that Stewart was growing tired of the life of continual mystery, of developments that never developed,
of secrets that were empty and surprises that faded away into nothing.
It was on the 13th of April, while seated at a little table in front of a sidewalk cafe on the Calles de Victoria, that the American agent obtained his first real clue to the impending disaster.
13
When two Mexicans whom he knew by sight, but not by name, sat down at a table near his he pricked up his ears purely by instinct, rather than through any real hope of obtaining information of value.
The arrival of the usual sugared drinks was followed by a few words of guarded conversation, and then one of the Mexicans remarked, in a tone a trifle louder than necessary, that "the United States is a nation of cowardly women, dollar worshipers who are afraid to fight, and braggarts who would not dare to back up their threats."
It was an effort for Stewart to remain immersed in the newspaper propped up in front of him. Often as he had heard these senti-ments expressed, his Southern blood still rose involuntarily--until his logic reminded him that his mission was not to start a quarrel, but to end one. He knew that no good could ensue from his taking up the challenge, and the very fact that the speaker had raised his voice gave him the tip that the words were uttered[33] for his especial benefit, to find out whether he understood Spanish--for he made no attempt to disguise his nationality.
With a smile which did not show on his lips, Stewart summoned the waiter and in atrocious Spanish ordered another glass of lem-onade. His complete knowledge of the language was the one thing which he had managed to keep entirely under cover ever since reaching Mexico, for he figured that the natives would speak more freely in his presence if they believed he could not gather what they were discussing.
The trick worked to perfection.
"Pig-headed Yankee," commented the Mexican who had first spoken. "Lemonade! Pah!--they haven't the nerve to take a man's drink!" and he drained his glass of pulque at a single gulp.
The other, who had not spoken above a whisper, raised his glass and regarded it in silence for a moment. Then--"Prosit," he said, and drank.
"Nom di Dio," warned his companion. "Be careful! The American hog does not speak Spanish well enough to understand those
who use it fluently, but he may speak German."
Stewart smothered a smile behind his paper. Spanish had always been a hobby of his--but he only knew about three words in Ger-man!
"I understand," continued the Mexican, "that Victoriano is preparing for the coup, just as I always figured he would" (Stewart knew that "Victoriano" was the familiar form in which the populace referred to Victoriano Huerta, self-appointed President of Mexico and the man who had steadfastly defied the American government in every way possible, taking care not to allow matters to reach such a hot stage that he could handle them through[34] diplomatic promises to see that things "improved in the future").
"El Presidente has always been careful to protect himself "--the speaker went on--"but now that you have brought definite assurance from our friends that the money and the arms will be forthcoming within the fortnight there is nothing further to fear from the Yankee pigs. It will be easy to stir up sentiment against them here overnight, and before they can mass their handful of troops along the Rio Grande we will have retaken Texas and wiped out the insult of 'forty-eight. What is the latest news from the ship?"
"The ----?" inquired the man across the table, but his Teutonic intonation of what was evidently a Spanish name was so jumbled that all Stewart could catch was the first syllable--something that sounded like "Eep."
"Is that the name?" asked the Mexican.
"Yes," replied the other. "She sailed from Hamburg on the seventh. Allowing two weeks for the passage--she isn't fast, you know--
that would bring her into Vera Cruz about the twenty-first. Once there, the arms can be landed and...."
The events of the next few minutes moved so rapidly that, when Stewart had time to catch his breath, he found it difficult to reconstruct the affair with accuracy.
He recalled that he had been so interested in the conversation at the next table that he had failed to notice the approach of the only other man he knew in the State Department's secret organization--Dawson, who had been prowling around the West Coast on an errand similar to his. Before he knew it Dawson had clapped him on the back and exclaimed: "Hello, Jack! Didn't expect to see you here--thought you'd be looking over things in the vicinity of the Palace."[35]
14
The words themselves were innocent enough, but--they were spoken in fluent, rapid Spanish and Stewart had shown that he understood!
"Sapristi!" hissed the Mexican. "Did you see?" and he bent forward to whisper hurriedly to his companion.
Stewart recovered himself instantly, but the damage had been done.
"Hello, Dawson," he answered in English, trusting that the men at the next table had not noted his slip. "Sit down and have something? Rotten weather, isn't it? And not a lead in sight. These Mexicans seem to be afraid to enter into any contract that ties them up more than a year--and eighteen revolutions can happen in that time."
As Dawson seated himself, Stewart gave him a hasty sign to be careful.