I had met him during the Boer War, and as he
took off his motoring coat he looked at me closely.
"I believe I've seen you before," he said.
"I met the right honorable gentleman in the Bloemfontein Field
Hospital during the war."
"Ah, yes," said Churchill, his face lighting up.
He had had his wound dressed there; his recognition showed his
remarkable memory.
After refreshments the envoys immediately adjourned to the big morning
room, and I was posted outside to see that no gendarme or forest
pensioner carne within earshot. I was not present at the beginning of
the conference, but after an hour had passed I was summoned. My first
impression as I opened the door was of an air of tenseness. It was
obvious in the way Churchill was staring across the table at Haldane.
It was an ordinary large German oak dining-room table, and in the
middle were two big shaded lamps. It was growing dusk, and after
lighting the lamps, I backed away to a corner of the room. I had a
distinct impression of the features of the six men who were making
history round that table. There were writing materials, stacks of
paper, and documents at every place. Sheets and sheets of paper were
covered with their handwriting. Only in front of von Heeringen were
the sheets blank, for he never makes a note of anything, carrying
everything in his marvelous memory.
Obviously what were the last words of a speech came from Moritz, the
Austrian, as I entered: "And to make this all possible," he was
saving, "we must break the Russian Federation in the Balkans.
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