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Intelligence Theory

This edited volume brings together a range of essays by individuals who are
centrally involved in the debate about the role and utility of theory in intelli-
gence studies.
The volume includes both classic essays and new articles that critically
analyse some key issues: strategic intelligence, the place of international rela-
tions theory, theories of ‘surprise’ and ‘failure’, organisational issues, and con-
tributions from police studies. It concludes with a chapter that summarises
theoretical developments, and maps out an agenda for future research. This
volume will be at the forefront of the theoretical debate and will become a key
reference point for future research in the area.
This book will be of much interest for students of Intelligence Studies, Secur-
ity Studies and Politics/International Relations in general.

Peter Gill is Research Professor in Intelligence Studies at the University of

Salford. Stephen Marrin is Assistant Professor in the Intelligence Studies
Department at Mercyhurst College in Erie, Pennsylvania. Mark Phythian is
Professor of Politics in the Department of Politics and International Relations at
the University of Leicester.
Studies in intelligence series
General Editors: Richard J. Aldrich and Christopher Andrew
ISSN: 1368-9916

British Military Intelligence in the Intelligence Analysis and

Palestine Campaign 1914–1918 Assessment
Yigal Sheffy Edited by David Charters,
A. Stuart Farson and Glenn P. Hastedt
British Military Intelligence in the
Crimean War, 1854–1856 TET 1968
Stephen M. Harris Understanding the surprise
Ronnie E. Ford
Signals Intelligence in World War II
Edited by David Alvarez Intelligence and Imperial Defence
British Intelligence and the defence of
Knowing Your Friends the Indian Empire 1904–1924
Intelligence inside alliances and Richard J. Popplewell
coalitions from 1914 to the Cold War
Edited by Martin S. Alexander Espionage
Past, present, future?
Eternal Vigilance Edited by Wesley K. Wark
50 years of the CIA
Edited by Rhodri Jeffreys-Jones and The Australian Security Intelligence
Christopher Andrew Organization
An unofficial history
Nothing Sacred Frank Cain
Nazi espionage against the Vatican,
1939–1945 Policing Politics
David Alvarez and Security intelligence and the liberal
Revd. Robert A. Graham democratic state
Peter Gill
Intelligence Investigations
How Ultra changed history From Information to Intrigue
Ralph Bennett Studies in Secret Service based on the
Swedish Experience 1939–45
C. G. McKay
Dieppe Revisited Intelligence Services in the
A documentary investigation Information Age
John Campbell Michael Herman

More Instructions from the Centre Espionage and the Roots of the
Christopher and Oleg Gordievsky Cold War
The conspiratorial heritage
Controlling Intelligence David McKnight
Edited by Glenn P. Hastedt
Swedish Signal Intelligence
Spy Fiction, Spy Films and Real 1900–1945
Intelligence C.G. McKay and Bengt Beckman
Edited by Wesley K. Wark
The Norwegian Intelligence
Security and Intelligence in a Service 1945–1970
Changing World Olav Riste
New perspectives for the 1990s
Edited by A. Stuart Farson, Secret Intelligence in the
David Stafford and Wesley K. Wark Twentieth Century
Edited by Heike Bungert,
A Don at War Jan G. Heitmann and Michael Wala
Sir David Hunt K.C.M.G., O.B.E.
(reprint) The CIA, the British Left and the
Cold War
Intelligence and Military Calling the tune?
Operations Hugh Wilford
Edited by Michael I. Handel
Our Man in Yugoslavia
Leaders and Intelligence The story of a Secret Service operative
Edited by Michael I. Handel Sebastian Ritchie

War, Strategy and Intelligence Understanding Intelligence in the

Michael I. Handel Twenty-First Century
Journeys in shadows
Strategic and Operational Len Scott and Peter Jackson
Deception in the Second World War
Edited by Michael I. Handel MI6 and the Machinery of Spying
Philip H. J. Davies
Codebreaker in the Far East
Alan Stripp Twenty-First Century Intelligence
Edited by Wesley Wark
Intelligence for Peace
Edited by Hesi Carmel Intelligence and Strategy
Selected essays
John Robert Ferris
The US Government, Citizen US Covert Operations and Cold
Groups and the Cold War War Strategy
The state-private network Truman, secret warfare and the CIA,
Edited by Helen Laville and 1945–53
Hugh Wilford Sarah-Jane Corke

Peacekeeping Intelligence Stasi

New players, extended boundaries Shield and sword of the party
Edited by David Carment and John C. Schmeidel
Martin Rudner
British Intelligence and the Arab
Special Operations Executive Revolt
A new instrument of war The first modern intelligence war
Edited by Mark Seaman Polly A. Mohs

Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad Exploring Intelligence Archives

Subversion in the Mediterranean and Enquiries into the secret state
the Middle East, 1935–1940 Edited by R. Gerald Hughes,
Manuela A. Williams Peter Jackson, and Len Scott

The Politics and Strategy of US National Security, Intelligence

Clandestine War and Democracy
Special operations executive, From the Church Committee to the
1940–1946 War on Terror
Neville Wylie Edited by Russell A. Miller

Britain’s Secret War against Japan, Intelligence Theory

1937–1945 Key questions and debates
Douglas Ford Edited by Peter Gill, Stephen Marrin
and Mark Phythian
Intelligence Theory
Key questions and debates

Edited by Peter Gill, Stephen Marrin

and Mark Phythian
First published 2009
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2008.
“To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s
collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.”
© 2009 Selection and editorial matter, Peter Gill, Stephen Marrin and
Mark Phythian; individual chapters, the contributors
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Intelligence theory : key questions and debates / edited by Peter Gill,
Stephen Marrin and Mark Phythian.
p. cm. – (Studies in intelligence)
1. Intelligence service. 2. National security. I. Gill, Peter, 1947–
II. Marrin, Stephen. III. Phythian, Mark.
JF1525.I6I58 2008
327.1201–dc22 2008004409
ISBN 0-203-89299-2 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN10: 0-415-42947-1 (hbk)

ISBN10: 0-203-89299-2 (ebk)

ISBN13: 978-0-415-42947-4 (hbk)

ISBN13: 978-0-203-89299-2 (ebk)
Contents

Notes on contributors ix
Acknowledgements xiii

Introduction 1
PETER GILL, STEPHEN MARRIN AND MARK PHYTHIAN

1 An historical theory of intelligence 4

DAVID KAHN

2 Intelligence as risk shifting 16

MICHAEL WARNER

3 Sketches for a theory of strategic intelligence 33

LOCH K. JOHNSON

4 Intelligence theory and theories of international

relations: shared world or separate worlds? 54
MARK PHYTHIAN

5 Theory of surprise 73
JAMES J. WIRTZ

6 Analysis, war, and decision: why intelligence failures

are inevitable 87
RICHARD K. BETTS

7 Intelligence in a turbulent world: insights from

organization theory 112
GLENN P. HASTEDT AND B. DOUGLAS SKELLEY
viii Contents
8 Intelligence analysis and decision-making:
methodological challenges 131
STEPHEN MARRIN

9 Defending adaptive realism: intelligence theory

comes of age 151
JENNIFER SIMS

10 Policing, intelligence theory and the new human

security paradigm: some lessons from the field 166
JAMES SHEPTYCKI

11 Theory and intelligence reconsidered 186

PHILIP H.J. DAVIES

12 Theories of intelligence: where are we, where should

we go and how might we proceed? 208
PETER GILL

Select bibliography 227

Index 230
Contributors

Richard K. Betts is the Arnold A. Saltzman Professor and Director of the Saltz-
man Institute of War and Peace Studies at Columbia University. He has also
taught at Harvard University and Johns Hopkins’ Nitze School of Advanced
International Studies, and was a Senior Fellow at the Brookings Institution in
Washington for fourteen years. For six years in the 1990s he was a member
of the National Security Advisory Panel of the Director of Central Intelli-
gence. Betts has published numerous articles and is author of four books –
Soldiers, Statesmen, and Cold War Crises; Surprise Attack; Nuclear Black-
mail and Nuclear Balance; and Military Readiness – and co-author or editor
of The Irony of Vietnam; Cruise Missiles: Technology, Strategy, and Politics;
Conflict After the Cold War; and Paradoxes of Strategic Intelligence.
Philip H.J. Davies has published extensively on emerging intelligence and
security trends such as information warfare and infrastructural security. Dr
Davies has taught and conducted research in the UK, Singapore and
Malaysia, and, during two-and-a-half years at the University of Malaya, regu-
larly taught on intelligence policy and analytical methods for elements of the
Malaysian intelligence community. He is the author of MI6 and the
Machinery of Spying (2004), co-author of Spinning the Spies: Intelligence,
Open Government and the Hutton Inquiry (2004) and also co-author of The
Open Side of Secrecy (2006), a history to date of the UK Intelligence and
Security Committee. He is convenor of the Security and Intelligence Studies
Group, a specialist working group of the UK Political Studies and the British
International Studies Associations/
Peter Gill is Research Professor in Intelligence Studies at the University of
Salford, UK. He has taught courses in political science and criminal justice
with particular emphasis on policing, security and intelligence. In addition to
a number of journal articles on policing and intelligence issues, he is the
author of Policing Politics (1994) and Rounding Up the Usual Suspects?
(2000) that provide comparative analyses of, respectively, security and police
intelligence processes in North America and the UK. He is also the co-editor
of Democracy, Law and Security (2003) and Transnational Organised Crime
(2003) that both deal primarily with European developments. Most recently,
x Contributors
he has co-authored Intelligence in an Insecure World (2006). His current
interests are concerned with the democratic control of intelligence and polic-
ing in both ‘old’ and ‘new’ democracies in the context of the so-called ‘war
on terror’. Between 1998 and 2006 he was convenor of the Security and
Intelligence Studies Group.
Glenn P. Hastedt holds a PhD in political science from Indiana University. For-
merly the chair of the political science department at James Madison Univer-
sity, he is now the director of the Justice Studies department. He is the author
of American Foreign Policy: Past, Present, Future (7th edn, 2008) His recent
articles on intelligence have appeared in Intelligence and National Security,
Defense Intelligence Journal and American Diplomacy.
Loch K. Johnson is the Regents Professor of Public and International Affairs at
the University of Georgia and author of over 100 articles and many books on
US national security, most recently Seven Sins of American Foreign Policy
(2007), Handbook of Intelligence Studies (2007) and Strategic Intelligence (5
vols; 2007). He has served as special assistant to the chair of the Senate
Select Committee on Intelligence (1975–6), as the first staff director of the
House Subcommittee on Intelligence Oversight (1977–9), and as special
assistant to Chairman Les Aspin on the Aspin–Brown Commission on Intelli-
gence (1995–6).
David Kahn is a historian of intelligence, especially communications intelli-
gence, or code-breaking. He has practised and taught journalism as well as
publishing widely on intelligence matters. His book, The Codebreakers, was
first published in 1967, his PhD was published as Hitler’s Spies in 1978 and
Seizing the Enigma followed in 1991. He retired from Newsday in 1998 but
continued to write on military and intelligence matters.
Stephen Marrin – a former analyst with the CIA and the congressional Govern-
ment Accountability Office – is an assistant professor in Mercyhurst
College’s Intelligence Studies Department. He is a doctoral candidate at the
University of Virginia, and has written many articles on various aspects of
intelligence studies, including one that led to the creation of CIA University.
In 2004, the National Journal described him as one of the US’s top ten
experts on intelligence reform. He is also a member of the editorial advisory
board of the International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence,
the editorial review board of the National Military Intelligence Association’s
American Intelligence Journal, a member of American Military University’s
Intelligence Advisory Council, and on the Board of Directors of the Inter-
national Association for Intelligence Education.
Mark Phythian is Professor of Politics in the Department of Politics and Inter-
national Relations, University of Leicester. He is the author or editor of
several books on security and intelligence issues, including: Arming Iraq
(1997); The Politics of British Arms Sales Since 1964 (2000); Intelligence in
 Contributors xi
an Insecure World (with Peter Gill, 2006); The Labour Party, War and Inter-
national Relations, 1945–2006 (2007); Intelligence and National Security
Policymaking on Iraq: British and American Perspectives (edited with James
P. Pfiffner, 2008); and PSI Handbook of Global Security and Intelligence:
National Approaches (2 vols; edited with S. Farson, P. Gill and S. Shpiro,
2008), as well as numerous journal articles and book chapters.
James Sheptycki is Professor of Criminology at York University, Toronto
Canada. He was editor of the international scholarly journal Policing and
Society from 1997 to 2003. He has published more than fifty refereed journal
articles, book chapters and review essays in scholarly journals including the
British Journal of Criminology, the International Journal of the Sociology of
Law, the European Journal and Crime, Criminal Law and Criminal Justice
and International Political Sociology. His edited collections include Issues in
Transnational Policing (2000), Transnational and Comparative Criminology
(with Ali Wardak, 2005) and Crafting Global Policing (with Andrew Gold-
smith, 2007) together with his single authored research monograph In Search
of Transnational Policing (2003) have helped to stake out the empirical and
theoretical connections necessary for the interdisciplinary study of global
crime and insecurity, policing and governance.
Jennifer Sims is a visiting professor with the security studies programme at
Georgetown University. She has served on the Senate Select Committee on
Intelligence and in the Department of State as a senior intelligence officer.
She is the author of Icarus Restrained: An Intellectual History of Nuclear
Arms Control, 1945–60 and numerous articles on intelligence-related
topics.
B. Douglas Skelley teaches public management courses to graduate and under-
graduate students at James Madison University while coordinating its Master
of Public Administration programme. He has published widely on public
administration theory, public management, and retiree-migration policy,
including in Public Administration, American Review of Public Administra-
tion and Public Administration and Management.
Michael Warner is Chief Historian for the Office of the Director of National
Intelligence. He has written and lectured extensively on intelligence history,
theory and reform. His recent publications include The Intelligence Commun-
ity, 1950–1955, a volume co-edited with Douglas Keene in the Department of
State’s Foreign Relations of the United States series (Washington, DC.
Government Printing Office, 2007); ‘Building a Theory of Intelligence
Systems’, in Gregory Treverton, ed., Mapping the State of Research on Intel-
ligence (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, forthcoming in 2008);
‘Sources and Methods for the Study of Intelligence’, in Loch K. Johnson, ed.,
Handbook of Intelligence Studies (New York: Routledge, 2007), and ‘The
Divine Skein: Sun Tzu on Intelligence’, Intelligence and National Security
21:4 (August 2006).
xii Contributors
James J. Wirtz is a Professor at the Naval Postgraduate School in Monterey,
California. He is the editor of the Palgrave Macmillan series, Initiatives in
Strategic Studies: Issues and Policies; he has also been a section chair of the
Intelligence Studies Section of the International Studies Association and
President of the International Security and Arms Control Section of the
American Political Science Association. He received his PhD in Political
Science from Columbia University.
Acknowledgements

Each of us owes a multitude of intellectual debts in getting us to the point of

contemplating this book, commissioning contributors, commenting on drafts
and, finally, completing the editing. It has been a fascinating and challenging
process and we have learnt a great deal. Our thanks are due, first, to all the con-
tributing authors who have kept to our deadlines better than we have! Thanks
also to Andrew Humphreys and his colleagues at Routledge for their encourage-
ment and work in the book’s production. We are grateful to Pen Gill, Angela
Marrin and Diane Evans for their continuing support in our efforts to make
sense of intelligence. Finally, we acknowledge the following:

Betts, Richard. ‘Analysis, War, and Decision: Why Intelligence Failures Are
Inevitable’ was first published in World Politics 31:1 (October 1978), 61–89.
©The Johns Hopkins University Press. Reprinted with permission of The
Johns Hopkins University Press.
Johnson, Loch. ‘Bricks and Mortar for a Theory of Intelligence,’ Comparative
Strategy 22:1 (2003), 1–28. ©Routledge, part of the Taylor & Francis
Group, LLC. A modified version of this article is reprinted as Chapter 3
of the present volume with permission of Taylor & Francis.
www.taylorandfrancis.com.
Kahn, David. ‘An Historical Theory of Intelligence’ was first published in Intel-
ligence and National Security 16:3. (2001), 79–92. ©Taylor & Francis
Group, LLC. Reprinted with permission.
Wirtz, James. ‘Theory of Surprise’ was first published in Richard K. Betts and
Thomas G. Mahnken (eds), Paradoxes of Intelligence: Essays in Honor of
Michael I. Handel (London: Frank Cass, 2003). ©Taylor & Francis Group,
LLC. Reprinted with permission.
Other documents randomly have
different content
window, springing backwards and forwards with what, but for the
action’s deadly seriousness, would have been antics comical in their
intensity. He just had time to see a hand come through the window
on the further side, then the door opened, and a ruffianly looking
fellow stumbled out with drawn sword. The situation was critical. The
reason of the treacherous attack might be a mystery, at all events it
was real enough. The three were now closing upon Ludovic; the
fourth, who had come out of the carriage, was dodging Ompertz and
making to join them. Ludovic saw that another moment’s hesitation
might mean death. At least one man’s life was in his hand, for he
had a pistol. He levelled it at the chief, the man called Gronhartz,
and shot him through the heart. Seeing him fall, the two with him
slackened their pace and wavered. But, encouraged by the shout of
the man from the carriage, who was now rushing with uplifted sword
upon Ludovic, they came on again, and for a moment he was in
extreme peril. But Ompertz, whose alertness had been checked by a
fall on the slippery, uneven ground, was now at hand, coming up just
as Ludovic found himself beset by two assailants in front and one
behind. Could Ompertz get to him in time, before the three weapons
should make their simultaneous thrusts? If not, it seemed that
Ludovic must fall. The blades were now within a few feet of him, as
he stood desperately swinging his own round, and Ompertz was yet
some yards away. With a furious cry like a wild animal’s, the soldier
rushed madly to the rescue. His great shout gained him a second or
two as the man, the most dangerous of the three, who was
threatening Ludovic from behind, half turned, and so had to check
his rush. Then, seeing Ompertz was not quite so near as he had
imagined, he went on again, and coming to close quarters, let drive
at Ludovic. By almost miraculous good fortune, the King’s sword was
sweeping round that way; it just caught and beat aside the deadly
thrust. There was no time for a second in the same direction; the
ruffian’s sword was now needed to meet that of Ompertz. When it
came to a fair fight, man to man, he was no match for the soldier
either in courage or skill. Ompertz knew that, with the odds still
against them, no time was to be wasted in pretty fighting. Rapidly,
with a furious onslaught, he drove his man back upon the shelving
wall of the ravine, with the result that the fellow stumbled backwards,
and, before he could recover himself, the unerring sword passed
through him, and he went down with a groan, as Ompertz sprang to
the King’s assistance.
Barely in time. For the slope, which had just been fatal to one of their
enemies, was likewise placing Ludovic in great peril. With two men
attacking him, he was forced to keep his back to the rocky wall, and,
in consequence, could not spring backwards to avoid the furious
double thrusts which were made at him. His two assailants were
fighting desperately, more for their own skins now than for murder.
When they saw their intended victim joined by Ompertz, his face like
that of an enraged lion, his sword red with the blood of the man who
lay a few paces away, where in his death agony he had rolled, such
assassins’ courage as they had completely failed them; the certainty
of their design’s failure seemed to paralyze their arms, and, before
Ludovic had time to command his forbearance, Ompertz had run
them both through, and they were writhing on the ground.
“Speak, you dog!” the soldier cried, holding his point to the throat of
the one who seemed to have the more life in him. “Who set you on
this devil’s work, the Count?”
“The Count, curse him!” the fellow ejaculated with a hideous
grimace, and then lay still with the look stamped on his face.
Ompertz turned away with all a soldier’s indifference mingled with
disgust.
“A narrow escape, sire,” he laughed, grimly respectful. “I thank
Heaven I was here to help your Highness out of the trap.”
“I shall not forget your service if ever fate gives me the power to
reward it,” Ludovic replied, grasping the soldier’s hand. “I wish,
though, you had not been so quick with those last two fellows. When
we got the advantage, their deaths were not necessary.”
“Pardon me, sire,” Ompertz insisted deferentially, “it never pays to let
a snake go when you have him under your heel. Mercy is thrown
away upon such reptiles as those. Worse, it breeds danger, and we
have, I fancy, enough to face as it is.”
“That is true,” Ludovic agreed, with a troubled look. “I seem to have
fallen now into a very vortex of difficulty and danger. Still, I may be
thankful that luck has so far been on my side, and that Heaven has
sent you, my friend, to help me.”
They went to the carriage. Inside, lying back in the seat which
Ruperta had occupied on their long drive, with a ghastly grin on his
ashen face, was a dead man.
“I gave that fellow no chance to take a second aim at your
Highness,” Ompertz observed grimly. “It was a pretty trap, and I
hope we may be well out of it.”
The carriage was now to be no more thought of, so, taking from it
such of their belongings as might be useful, as well as a spare pistol
of the dead man’s, they made their way from the place of bloodshed.
“What I cannot understand,” Ludovic remarked, as they went
cautiously down the gorge, “is the Count’s motive in this attempt.”
“A precious scoundrel!” Ompertz ejaculated. “I only hope I may have
a chance of getting even with him; and we have left the Princess
there in his devilish hands.”
“That is what troubles me more than anything else,” Ludovic replied
seriously. “I cannot understand it. Even as it is, I almost incline to
doubt whether the Count was the real instigator of this outrage. It is
too preposterous.”
“I had no liking for the man last night,” Ompertz observed.
“Nor had I. Still, what possible harm can we have done him that he
should have conceived this vile attempt against us? To murder in
cold blood.”
Their return through the valley was without further incident. As they
drew near the castle, they saw the lounging figure of the Count on
one of the lower terraces. He was alone, save for the company of a
great wolf-hound, with which he was carelessly playing.
“Let him not see us too soon,” Ludovic said, and, keeping on the
inner edge of the path, they approached the flight of terraces from
the side. By this means they came upon their host somewhat
suddenly, at a distance of not more than twenty paces. The dog
looked round sharply with a low growl of suspicion, and his master
followed the look, expectantly, it seemed, although, when he saw his
two guests, he showed no sign of surprise or discomfiture. On the
contrary, there was a pleasant smile on his face as he went forward
to greet them.
“So, my friends! You have found your carriage, I hope, not past
repair. And my men are doing for you all that may be necessary,
yes?”
The man’s coolness was almost staggering. For a moment Ludovic
stared at him astounded, scarcely believing such hypocrisy possible.
Then he replied—
“Your men, Count Irromar, have certainly tried to do all that was
necessary to prevent our ever journeying again in that carriage or
any other.”
The Count looked mystified. “I do not understand you, Lieutenant.”
“I think you do,” returned Ludovic. “The men whom you were kind
enough to send with us have just, in conjunction with two other
ruffians who lay in wait in our carriage, made a dastardly attempt on
our lives.”
The Count had preserved his look of mystified inquiry, till the last
words changed it to one of serious, then smiling incredulity.
“Lieutenant, surely you have prepared a little jest for our breakfast
table.”
“I fancy,” Ompertz, towards whom the Count had glanced in half-
amused inquiry, put in with bluff impatience, “those five sportsmen
who are now lying in the gorge yonder will miss both the jest and the
breakfast.”
As though failing still to obtain a satisfactory explanation, the Count
looked back to Ludovic.
“I am still in the dark. If this is not a jest, will you, sir, kindly tell me
what has happened?”
“I have already told you,” Ludovic returned sternly. “It is for me to ask
you, Count Irromar, whether this abominable attempt was made at
your instigation?”
The Count gave a shrug of impatient contempt. “My instigation?” he
echoed, with a show of restrained indignation. “If I understand aright,
you come to me with an extraordinary tale of having been attacked
by five men, three of them my servants; and you return to the house
which has received you, you must allow, with every token of
hospitality, and accuse me, your host, of being the author of this
unheard-of outrage. Really, my Lieutenant, I hope my ideas of
hospitality differ vastly from yours.”
“They do,” Ludovic retorted dryly. “For I can scarcely believe that
these men acted of their own accord.”
“Such things have happened,” Irromar rejoined suavely, “whether
they have taken place to-day or not. I do my best to keep order in my
household, but can hardly be held morally responsible for the acts of
my servants.”
He was so confident, so incredulous, and withal so politely unruffled,
that Ludovic found himself doubting whether the attempt, after all,
should be laid to his charge. Then the woman’s face, which he had
seen the night before, rose in his mind, and his mistrust returned in
fuller force.
“That the outrage could have been planned without your knowledge,
Count,” he said resolutely, “is inconceivable.”
Irromar smiled indulgently. “I cannot be answerable, either, for the
workings of your imagination,” he replied, with irritating demur. “Do I
understand you, or your friend, to say that the five men you speak of
have been killed?”
Ludovic nodded assent “Luckily. It was our lives or theirs.”
The Count looked grave. “I hope you may be able to justify such an
extreme measure,” he said. “Even in these wilds, we do not hold life
so cheap as you military gentlemen seem to suppose. But I should
like to think that this is all a pleasant little fiction on your part.”
His indifference was growing more and more exasperating. “I am
quite ready to justify what I and my friend have been forced to do in
this business,” Ludovic returned sternly. “The atrocious attack upon
us can never be explained away, and I am at a loss even to guess its
motive. But as it seems quite useless to expect sympathy from you
in the matter, we will ask you to let us resume our journey without
further delay, and to send word to the ladies that we are ready and
await them here.”
There was a deepening of the curious look in the Count’s eyes.
“The ladies?” he repeated, in a tone of bland surprise. “Surely they
have been with you. They left the castle, I understand, about half an
hour since, and followed you down the valley.”
Ludovic’s face darkened as the scheme of treachery grew more
apparent.
“It is impossible,” he objected. “In that case we must have met them.
You have been misinformed. May I ask you to let the ladies know
that we are waiting to start.”
The Count seemed to lose patience. “The ladies are no longer under
my roof, I tell you,” he insisted. “If you think they have missed their
way, I will send out a party to seek them. I can do no more.”
Ompertz stood at Ludovic’s shoulder. “He is lying,” he whispered.
“I think, Count,” Ludovic said, “that you are mistaken. The ladies are
still within the castle.”
Suddenly the Count’s face changed, as, somehow, although the
actuality was in a greater degree, Ludovic had had an intuition that it
would change. Its expression of urbane, if cynical, strength became
one of furious rage, which seemed to blaze forth from every feature.
Yet, curiously, for the moment, the outburst was confined to his
looks; his speech did not rise above a concentrated but restrained
indignation.
“You think? You give me the lie, Herr Lieutenant? I am wondering
what will be your next insult to the man who has sheltered and fed
you. I tell you the ladies of your party have left my roof. If you choose
to doubt me, you may search the castle, but at your peril.”
“At our peril, then,” Ludovic replied resolutely, “if it must be. I fear we
must seek them within doors since——”
“Since you do not choose to believe my word,” the Count roared,
letting loose his rage now with a vengeance. “You give me the lie!”
he continued furiously. “You come here, wretched whipster, begging
my hospitality, which I give you in full measure, and you repay it by
insult, by worse, according to your own words, by killing my men;
bringing me a story such as no one would credit. You must be mad.
By heaven, if I find that what you have told me be true, I will have
vengeance. The blood of my servants shall not be shed for nothing
by wandering madmen. I will kill you as a dangerous pest, so look to
yourself, yes, both of you, my Lieutenant and Captain!”
Nothing could exceed the acrimonious fury of this tirade. The
polished man-of-the-world, the self-indulgent sportsman, with his
suave cynical philosophy, was transformed into a raging animal,
snarling upon his spring. The dark face seemed now black with
temper, the eyes were blood-shot, the great white teeth significantly
shown, all made the face a picture of vicious rage not to be
forgotten.
For a moment Ludovic stood nonplussed, hardly knowing how to
take the situation. That the Count had some evil scheme in his mind
was certain, how it was to be met by two men, with nothing but their
courage to back them, was not quite so plain. One awkward feature
of the situation was the plausibility behind which the Count had taken
his stand. The position he had assumed had in it certainly less of
improbability than the story Ludovic had to tell. Anyhow, in that wild
region might was right. The Count’s intention to pick a quarrel and so
get rid of them was manifest: to argue further or try to convince him
would be sheer waste of time. And yet the crisis was so desperate
that something had to be done.
As Ludovic paused, hesitating as to the course he should take,
Ompertz took a step sturdily forward, and confronted the raging
Count with no sign of flinching or perplexity.
“As to madmen,” he said bluffly, “you will soon find, Count, on which
side the madness lies. At least we are not fools, and I know not what
object you may have in trying to make us such. We are not afraid of
you or your threats, and that we can fight against odds your ravine
yonder bears witness more eloquent than a whole day’s boasting.”
The Count, who during this speech had eyed Ompertz with a deadly
hatred, remarkable for its very unreasonableness, now laughed
scornfully.
“You are a fine fellow,” he cried, “to afford asylum to. A precious pair
of adventurers, I doubt not. I am tired of you; you sicken me with
your mad tales and your brag. You can fight, you say? Good; then
fight!”
With the word he put a silver whistle to his lips and blew a shrill call.
Before the summons ceased to sound men began to make their
appearance from all parts of the castle and its approaches. Men of
determined, if ruffianly, aspect, most of them in the dress of
foresters, all bearing on the left arm the badge of the house they
served, and all armed with hunting cutlasses. They came hurrying
down the terraces in a business-like manner, and as, at a sign from
the Count, they formed up in double line on the platform next above
that where he stood, Ludovic told himself that a more truculent array
of ruffians he had never set eyes on or even imagined could exist. It
took not many seconds for them to assemble, and during the
operation the Count watched them with a set, grim smile. Then he
turned to his late guests. The rage had gone from his face now—
perhaps it had never been more than skin deep—it had given place
to a vicious suavity which was, if anything, more repulsive than the
coarser token to his disposition.
“These,” he waved his hand towards them, “are but a small part of
the force with which I protect myself and my property in these wilds.
These are but the number who were within call. No man has ever yet
defied me with impunity, and there seems no reason”—here he
smiled with evil sarcasm—“why you should succeed where others
have failed. But, as you have eaten my bread, I will be somewhat
punctilious in observing the laws of hospitality, without enquiring too
curiously how far you have disregarded them. Walter!” he called to a
man who, standing a little in advance, seemed in command of the
posse of retainers. When this fellow, no exception to the general
repulsiveness, had come down the Count proceeded. “I give you,
Lieutenant von Bertheim and Captain von Ompertz, one hour from
now to get clear of my territory. If, after that hour, you are found on it
you shall die the death of dogs. You hear? Those are my orders. I
have no more to say. I listen to no word. Go!”
He turned abruptly, and walked quickly up the ascent. His two guests
were left standing there, with the officer grimly watching them.
 CHAPTER XX
A STRANGE ALLY

“WE cannot play the lion here; we must play the fox.”
Ludovic had touched Ompertz on the arm, as the soldier stood
defiantly eyeing the captain of the Count’s body-guard, and they had
turned away down the slope.
“We can do nothing against that force as we are, and it is madness
to think of it. All we can attempt is to set our wits against the
Count’s.”
“A damnable villain!” Ompertz exclaimed setting his teeth wrathfully.
“Yes; we have walked into a hideous trap. Worse, we have taken that
divine girl into it with us.”
“May I be hanged if I understand it,” Ompertz observed, in a
mystified tone.
“I think I do,” Ludovic returned gloomily.
“You believe the ladies have not left the castle?”
“I am sure of it.” He turned and looked towards the point where the
great square tower was just visible above the ravine, and stamped
his foot in impotent desperation. “And I have been calling Fate my
friend,” he exclaimed bitterly. “Of all the hideous tricks she has ever
played man, surely this is the most crushing. To lose everything at
one stroke by the hand of a brute in human form such as that. To be
helpless here, our very lives not worth an hour’s purchase, and the
Princess——ah, why did we not let those five fellows kill us just now,
and end this misery worse than death?”
“For my part I am just as pleased they did not,” Ompertz said dryly;
“and it is some satisfaction to know that if we have but an hour or
two to live, we have accounted for five of as scurvy a company of
scoundrels as ever it has been my luck to encounter. Now, sire, if, as
our law is short enough to make time of some account, I may speak
under pardon, we have two courses more or less open to us. To run
away, or stay and do our best to rescue the ladies. I need hardly ask
which, even with a kingdom at stake, your Highness chooses.”
The sharp gust of despondency which had swept over Ludovic had
soon passed away. “No need, truly,” he replied. “If we have but one
thing more to do in this world it must be to find the Princess and
Countess Minna and get them out of the clutches of this execrable
villain. It is a desperate venture, and our lives will, almost surely, pay
forfeit for the attempt; but it must be made.”
Ompertz had become thoughtful. “It is a poor chance,” he said at
length; “so desperate that I doubt whether your Highness be justified
in taking it. Hear me out, sire,” for Ludovic had, by an impatient
gesture, imposed silence upon him; “I am far from counselling a
policy of cowardice. This rescue cries out to be accomplished; it is
the one thing under Heaven to-day which can brook no disregard.
But the means, sire? Are you right in almost surely throwing your life
away on a forlorn hope? Will you hear my simple plan? That the
Princess Ruperta is held a prisoner in the castle of this rascally
Count has but to be known abroad, and her rescue is but the
question of a regiment’s march hither, nay of a word from our late
acquaintance, Chancellor Rollmar. Her kidnapper is ignorant of her
identity; he little knows what he is doing.”
“I doubt whether, did he know it, the matter would not be made
worse,” Ludovic said. “I seem now to have heard of this Count
Irromar as one who has spent his life in defying all law, national and
moral, and has long been at issue with the government to which he
should owe allegiance. An outlaw, a very brigand, or I am much
mistaken; and his conduct corroborates my suspicion. That we, of all
people, should have put our necks under his heel.”
“It is like enough,” Ompertz replied composedly. “But that the rightful
and, I trust, soon reigning King of one State, and the Princess of
another, should remain in such a situation is monstrous,
inconceivable. Now, sire, my plan is this: Let me stay here alone,
using what poor strength and wit I have to find out and free the
Princess, while your Highness hurries post-haste back to Rollmar.
There can be nothing to fear from him now, this peril will be
paramount over every other consideration.”
Ludovic took a short turn, thinking over the project “No,” he said at
length. “I cannot do it. Your suggestion is praiseworthy enough, my
good friend, but I cannot leave Princess Ruperta.”
“Not even when your departure would mean her speedy release,” the
soldier urged; “your staying here, your own death and her
condemnation to the lengthened horror, to which from that villain she
is certain to be exposed?”
“I cannot go,” Ludovic cried in desperation. “How can I leave her like
this without even an attempt at rescue?”
“If the Princess,” Ompertz said resolutely, “can hear one word from
the world outside those walls, she shall know the truth; if not, you
may as well be bringing help as staying here to no purpose.”
But still the idea of leaving was so repugnant to Ludovic that he
would not agree. He proposed to send Ompertz on the errand, but
the soldier sturdily refused to leave the King in the midst of that
deadly peril. For it was certain enough that the Count’s was no idle
threat. It needed no more than the argument of that morning’s attack
to put his intention beyond a doubt. At length, after a discussion
which lasted till the sands of their hour’s grace had run out, it was
determined that they should, at any risk, make a thorough
examination of the castle and its approaches, and try what chance
there might be of holding communication with the Princess. To leave
that unattempted was impossible, and should their scrutiny promise
no success, Ludovic would lose no further time in hurrying off to the
nearest place where help could be obtained.
With this settled plan, they set themselves to return to the castle,
avoiding any spies or guards who might be on the watch for them.
Ompertz, however, was shrewdly of opinion that the Count would
regard the idea of their return, at least alone, as too improbable for
the need of taking any great precautions, although he might, no
doubt, anticipate the bringing of an armed force against him later,
when time allowed.
Still, with their lives already forfeit, they had to proceed warily. They
were at issue with a man, shrewd, determined and probably as
cunning as he was cruel. They decided to make their way to the
wooded height above the castle whence they could reconnoitre it
from the rear. The climb was tedious enough to their impatient
spirits, since it was necessary for safety to approach it by an indirect
way. But at length they reached a point of observation several
hundred feet above the castle which lay immediately beneath. On
the way they had met no signs of any human beings, and had begun
to hope that the place might, after all, not be so jealously guarded as
they feared. The castle below them stood grey and massive, silent,
with no indication of the active, organised life the watchers knew well
it contained. They could see now it was a building of considerable
size; much greater, in fact, than the front suggested. It ran back at
various points into the rock which had, either by nature or by art,
been excavated in a manner that it and the building seemed dove-
tailed into each other, the stone projections, natural and constructed,
alternating in a strange architectural fashion.
“A rare prison-house our friend the Count has built for his chance
guests,” Ompertz observed grimly, as, with a soldier’s eye, he took in
the stronghold. “’Tis well placed, too, strategically, since it commands
this raking height, which is rather its strength than, as one might at
the first glance suppose, its weak point. Even artillery would be
wasted here, unless the devil himself guided the flight of the shot,
and he would be more likely to fight on the side of his disciple
within.”
Cautiously now, they began the descent of the mountain side, taking
good care that the sharpest observation from the castle should not
detect them. Every few minutes they would pause and reconnoitre
shrewdly. The whole place was still as death. The wind had quite
died away, the tall pines stood motionless, the thick carpet they shed
deadened all footfalls, no living thing crossed their path; it seemed
as though the evil genius of the place had infected the very air and
frightened away all free life. At length Ludovic and his companion got
down to the castle’s turrets, unmolested so far. Proceeding now with
the greatest circumspection, since every foot they descended
increased their peril, they lowered themselves little by little, till they
found themselves in face of a wall of smooth rock, pierced about the
centre by a small doorway which was approached by a short flight of
rough steps. This wall evidently formed the outer side of one of the
wedges or dove-tails which ran in alternate fashion in and out of the
rock. Whatever light the narrow building got would be from windows
on the inner side, since outwardly there were none.
Whispering to Ludovic to watch his keenest, Ompertz crept forward,
then up the steps and examined the little door. Evidently nothing was
gained by that, for he turned away presently with a shake of the
head. Ludovic stole down and joined him, and they explored further.
The various ramifications at the back of the castle seemed to be
joined by tunnels cut through the rock. These tunnels were not
straight, but zig-zag, evidently so contrived for a purpose, and, from
the fact that the explorers could never see more than a few feet in
front of them, the examination was attended with the greatest risk.
“This is hopeless,” Ludovic said despairingly, at length, when they
had crept for some time through the turnings of the rocky fastness.
“It seems sheer folly in a place like this to expect that we can light
upon Ruperta’s prison. There may be chambers running far into the
rock itself of which we from the outside can know nothing.”
“It is a fairly impregnable dwelling-place,” Ompertz assented dryly.
“With accommodation such as this establishment affords, the man
would be a fool if he cannot keep his prisons snug away from
observation. It seems to me that the sooner your Highness sets off
for more effective help than we can hope to give, the less time will be
lost in the Princess’s rescue.”
To continue in their present position was too perilous. With discovery
threatening them every moment, to attempt a leisurely examination
of the building was madness. They had noted a winding path with
rough steps which seemed to lead up into the woods above.
“Let us go up here and make one more survey,” Ludovic said, “and
then I will lose no more time in seeking help.”
The ascent was fortunately screened from observation by a rocky
wall on each side. They lost no time in climbing it, and soon found
themselves once more among the trees high above the castle. From
where they now stood many of the windows were visible, although
they themselves, keeping back in the obscurity of the wood, were
tolerably safe from observation. They crept along well within the
fringe of the trees till they could look down upon a court-yard formed
in a triangular opening in the rock, and having for its base a wall of
the castle. In this several men were moving about, the first signs of
the busy life of the place which their reconnaissance had shown
them. But this sight advanced them nowise towards the object they
sought. That the place was well manned was obvious; in the teeth of
such a garrison to hope to get at the prisoners was out of the
question. Even Ompertz was without hope.
“There might be a chance at night for finding out something as to
their situation,” he said dubiously. “But I would not give a kreutzer for
it. This is a hard nut, and we shall break our teeth before we crack
it.”
“You are right, my friend,” replied Ludovic; “and I repent now that we
have wasted these hours in this vain spying. Hateful as it is to me to
turn my back on this brigand’s den while Ruperta is there, I will lose
no more time in bringing those who shall force it. Though, Heaven
knows, I seem poor and powerless enough now.”
“I will see your Highness on your way,” Ompertz said, “and then
return to my post here.”
They turned and had ascended but a few paces through the wood
when by a common impulse they stopped. A figure stood before
them, its presence made known so suddenly that they could not
have told whence it had sprung—the figure of a woman. With the
first glance of surprise, Ludovic saw that it was she of whom he had
caught that painful glimpse in the doorway the night before. But her
face was now no more contorted by passion; save for an expression
of troubled purpose it was calm enough for its dark, striking beauty to
be fully seen. She was dressed in a close-fitting gown of greenish
brown cloth the colour of which made her not easily distinguishable
among the trees when her face was not seen. With the slight
repellent frown on her face, she seemed indeed to be the
unpropitious spirit of that wild forest.
For a few moments she and the two men stood confronted in the
silence of surprise and doubt. Then she spoke.
“You are seeking someone?”
“Yes,” Ludovic answered, eyeing her suspiciously. For the natural
thought in both men’s minds was that she was there as a spy.
“The ladies who came hither with you last night?” she pursued in the
cold, even voice of intense repression. A moment’s reflection told
Ludovic that there was nothing to be gained by concealment or
evasion.
“Yes,” he said. “We have been unaccountably separated from them.”
She gave a low, harsh laugh. “Unaccountably! You do not know your
late host, then. It would have been indeed strange if you had been
allowed to leave this place together.”
The bitterness with which she spoke was so intense that it seemed
to wring the words from her. But it prompted Ludovic to take
confidence.
“Then,” said he, “my worst fears are true. The ladies have been
kidnapped and are imprisoned in the castle.”
With a scornful smile she bowed her head in assent.
“And you think, in your simplicity, to get them out. You, who would be
killed like a couple of troublesome wasps if you were seen prowling
about here.”
“Better that prospect, madam, than be the cowards to run away.”
She gave a little start of interest at his speech, looking at him
steadfastly with a half-sigh of regret. “True; I do not blame you; no
woman could. Only I warn you that any hopes you may have of
rescue are worse than vain. You would know that if you knew Count
Irromar.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” Ludovic replied simply.
“Yes. What are two men, however brave, however careless of their
lives, against Irromar’s gang of assassins, against his secret
chambers, his locks and bars?”
“I have in me the bold hope,” Ludovic said shrewdly, “that you,
madam, are willing to help us, since we seek nothing wrong.”
She laughed curiously. “You find me a likely traitor?”
Ludovic made a protesting gesture. “I thought not so. Treachery is no
name for help in this cause.”
“And yet,” she rejoined, speaking through her clenched teeth, “it is,
above all others, the right word for my help. But if I am a traitor, it is
that I have been driven to it. And a traitor’s doom would be, perhaps,
the most grateful form of the death I have now hourly to expect.” She
was speaking more to herself than to them. “Yes; I will help you,” she
continued, suddenly rousing herself. “It was for that I sought you
here.” She laughed; it was always the same bitter, repellent laugh, a
laugh that transformed her beauty into ugliness, drawing, as it were,
a film of evil over the comely flesh. “I watched for you,” she
continued, “from my little window in the tower yonder. I was pretty
certain you would come. You are not the first fools, or the last, to
dash out your brains against those rocky walls. I saw you. I have a
quick eye—to-day.” There was a curious significance in the last
word. “I will help you. At least, I will let you into the castle and show
you where Karl Irromar keeps his fair prisoners. Do not blame me if
you find your deaths in place of your ladies.”
Ompertz, who had all this time stood silent, although keenly
observant, now struck in.
“Under pardon, gracious lady, if I may be permitted a word, I would
say that your offer is as handsome as it is unexpected. But before
we are free to bless our good genius, we should have some surety
that the Count has not chosen an alluring bait to attract us into his
stone trap.”
The lady flushed. “You may take or reject my offer,” she returned
haughtily. “Your doubts are perhaps natural enough, still I cannot
undertake to remove them.” She half turned away. Ludovic, with a
monitory gesture to his companion, took a step after her.
“If we doubt,” he protested gently, “it is, as you say, but natural, for
we have some experience, unhappily, of the Count’s methods and
cunning. My comrade is fearful but for me; for himself he has as little
fear in trusting you as I for myself. I accept your offer gratefully.”
It was the vivid recollection of her face the night before that decided
him. It might be a trap, he told himself, but the chances, as he saw
them, were against it.
The lady met his look with eyes that had in them a softer expression
than he had seen there before; a memory, perhaps it was, of what
her character had once been.
“I can scarcely blame you,” she, replied, as the more sympathetic
expression passed away in a hard laugh, “for mistrusting me. After
all, it matters very little, since the venture on which you seem
determined is such desperate folly. But I will say this for your comfort
that, could I trust myself to tell you what I have suffered at the hands
of Karl Irromar, you would wish you might be as sure of my ability as
of my willingness to help you. The man can be a very fiend when he
chooses; I think some of his familiar devils must have raised the
storm which drove you here.”
She spoke with an intense, despairing bitterness that carried
conviction with it. Her story, in all but its details, was plain enough. It
was written on her face in those evil lines which surely a splendid
misery, rather than nature, had branded there.
“You will help us, then?” Ludovic said.
“Yes,” she answered. “But not now. It must be to-night. Be here, at
the top of this path, half an hour after night-fall, that is, if reflection
allows you to keep your foolhardy intention.”
“It can only strengthen it,” he replied.
She gave a smile of curiosity. “I think I understand,” she murmured.
“You have surprised me into forgetting how grateful I should be,”
Ludovic said, with gallant earnestness, taking the hand she held
towards him and raising it to his lips.
But she gave a sudden little shudder. “No, no!” she cried, snatching
back her hand. Then she turned away and went quickly down the
steep path.
 CHAPTER XXI
THE COUNT AND HIS PRISONERS

WHEN Countess Minna awoke that morning, she had found herself
among surroundings which, as she examined them, gave her
considerable uneasiness. In her fatigue and the excitement of the
night before she had but cursorily noticed the room, merely finding
that it was next to the Princess’s, and communicated with it. When
she rose in the morning she saw that this door, which had overnight
been left open, was shut. When she tried it she found it locked; when
she called to her mistress no answer was returned. She ran to the
other, the outer door of her room; that was locked also. A vague
alarm seized her. She looked round and shuddered in an excess of
fear at the unprepossessing character of the apartment. At night it
had looked fairly comfortable; the grey light of morning now brought
out its dismal, almost funereal, sombreness. The great bed
resembled a catafalque; its hangings, like the rest in the room, were
black, scarcely relieved by a purple line of device. The few pictures
were portraits, all of singularly forbidding aspect, and the whole tone
of the apartment bore out the note of gloom. She went to the window
and threw back the curtains; as she did so almost starting back in
dismay. The outlook was upon a sheer wall of hewn rock, as gloomy
and depressing as was the room. The place had the aspect of a
prison, and it seemed very much as though it were really one as far
as she was concerned.
“Worse than Krell,” she gasped, as she turned away and began to
dress herself. When this was done, she tried the doors again,
shaking and knocking at them, but without getting any response. Her
fears now increased every moment; she thought of all the tales she
had heard of wild robber nobles and their death-traps; were they not
nicely caught there? The very circumstance of their flight had made
their rescue or any knowledge of their imprisonment an impossibility.
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