Yet a further game was being played—one that, in addition to the Imperial Chancellor, I alone knew—namely, that while the Kaiser was making pretence of being the best friend of the Sultan Abdul Hamid, visiting Constantinople and Palestine, building fountains, endowing institutes, and bestowing his Imperial grace in so many ways, yet he was also secretly supporting the Young Turk party so as to effect the Sultan's downfall as part of his sly, Machiavellian policy—a plot which, as you know, ultimately succeeded, for poor old Abdul the Damned and his haremwere eventually packed off, bag and baggage, to Salonika, notwithstanding His Majesty's wild entreaty to Berlin for protection.
I happened to be with the Emperor on the Imperial yacht at Tromsö when he received by telegram the personal appeal addressed to him from his miserable dupe, and I well recollect how grimly he smiled as he remarked to me that it needed no response.
Well, at the period of which I am making the present disclosure, Herr Anton had been paying a number of flying visits to Berlin, and had had many private audiences of both Kaiser and Sultan, and had on several occasions been invited informally to the Imperial luncheon table, a mark of esteem bestowed by the Kaiser upon those who may at the moment be serving his interests particularly well.
Suddenly all of us were surprised by the announcement that the Kaiser's favoured civilian in Turkey had married Mademoiselle Julie de Lagarenne, daughter of Paul de Lagarenne, son of the great French sugar refiner, and secretary of the French Embassy at Rome. We heard also that, having married in Italy, he was bringing his wife to Berlin. Indeed, a week after that news was spread I met them both in Kranzler's in Unter den Linden, and there he introduced me to a pretty, dark-haired, vivacious young Frenchwoman, who spoke German well, and who told me that her husband had already given in her name for presentation at the next Court.
That was about a month prior to Orville Wright's flight and the midnight visit of Frau Kleist to the Emperor.
Truth to tell, the old woman's mention of Herr Reitschel's name caused me considerable misgivings, because three weeks before I had gathered certain strange facts from a secret report of a spy who in Constantinople had been set to watch Herr Reitschel's doings. That spy was Frau Kleist's son.
The Kaiser trusts nobody. Even his favouritesand most intimate cronies are spied upon, and reports upon those familiar blue papers are furnished regularly. In view of what I had read in that report from Karl Kleist, I stood amazed when, at the grand Court a week later, I had witnessed Herr Reitschel's French wife bow before the Emperor and Empress and noticed how graciously the Kaiser had smiled upon her. Truly the Emperor is sphinx-like and imperturbable. Outside the privacy of his own room, that chamber of cunning plots and fierce revenge, he never allows his sardonic countenance to betray his inner thoughts, and will grasp the hand of his most hated enemy with the hearty warmth of friendship, a Satanicvolte-facein which danger and evil lurk always, a trait inherited to its full degree by the Crown-Prince.
The days that followed Frau Kleist's midnight visit were indeed busy, eventful days. Certain diplomatic negotiations with Washington had been unsuccessful; Von Holleben, the Ambassador, had been recalled, and given an extremely bad half-hour by both Kaiser and Chancellor. In addition, some wily American journalist had fathomed the amazing duplicity of Prince Henry's visit to the States and Germany's Press Bureau in America, while the Yellow Press of New York had published a ghastly array of facts and figures concerning the latter, together with facsimile documents, all of which had sent His Majesty half-crazy with anger.
Nearly three months passed.
Herr Reitschel often came from Constantinople, and frequently brought his handsome young wife with him, for he waspersona grataat Court. To me this was indeed strange in view of the reports of the ex-opera dancer's son—who, by the way, lived in Constantinople in the unsuspicious guise of a carpet-dealer, and unknown to the bank director.
The latter had, assisted by his wife's fortune, inherited from her grandmother, purchased theSchloss Langenberg, the splendid ancestral castle and estates of the Princes of Langenberg, situate on a rock between Ilmenau and Zella, in the beautiful Thuringian Forest, and acknowledged to be one of the most famous shooting estates in the Empire. It was not, therefore, surprising that the Emperor, to mark his favour, should express a desire to shoot capercailzie there—a desire which, of course, delighted Herr Reitschel, who had only a few days before been decorated with the Order of the Black Eagle.
One afternoon in mid-autumn the Emperor, accompanied by the Crown-Prince and myself, together with the suite, arrived by the Imperial train at the little station of Ilmenau, where, of course, Reitschel and his pretty wife, with the land-rats, head and under foresters, and all sorts of civil officials in black coats and white ties bowed low as the All-Highest stepped from his saloon. The Kaiser was most gracious to his host and hostess, while the schloss, we found, was almost equal in beauty and extent to that of Prince Max Egon zu Fürstenberg at Donau-Eschingen, which place we always visited once, if not twice, each year.
The Emperor had complained of a slight cold, and in consequence, just before we left Berlin, I had been instructed to summon by telegraph a certain Dr. Vollerthun from Augsburg, who was a perfect stranger to us all, but who had, I supposed, been recommended to the Emperor by somebody who, for some consideration, wished to advance him in his profession.
While the Emperor and his host were out shooting, the Crown-Prince and several of the suite being of the party, I remained alone in a big, circular, old-world room in one of the towers of the Castle, where the long, narrow windows overlooked the forest, dealing with a flood of important State papers which a courier had brought from Berlin two hours before. Papers followed us daily wherever we might be,even when yachting at Cowes or in the Norwegian fjords.
About midday Dr. Vollerthun was ushered in to me—a short, stout, guttural-speaking man of about sixty, rather bald, and wearing big, round, gold-rimmed spectacles. I quickly handed him over to the major-domo. He was a stranger, and no doubt one who sought the Emperor's favour, therefore as such I took but little interest in him.
About three o'clock that same afternoon, however, a light tap came at the door, and on looking round, I saw my hostess standing upon the threshold.
She was quietly but elegantly dressed, presenting the true type of the smart Parisienne, but in an instant I realized that she was very pale and agitated. Indeed her voice trembled when she asked permission to enter.
Since her marriage I had many times chatted with her, for she often came to the Palace when her husband visited Berlin, as he did so frequently. I had danced with her; I had taken her in to dinner at various houses where we met, always finding her a bright and very intellectual companion.
She quietly closed the door, and, crossing the room with uneven steps, advanced to the table from which I had risen.
"Count von Heltzendorff!" she exclaimed in a low, strained voice. "I—I have come to seek your aid because—well, because I'm distracted, and I know that you are my husband's friend," she exclaimed in French.
"And yours also, Madame," I said earnestly, bowing and pulling forward a chair for her.
"My husband is out with the Emperor!" she gasped in a curious, unnerved tone. "And I fear; oh, I fear that we are in great peril—deadly peril every hour—every moment!"
"Really, Madame, I hardly follow you," I said, standing before the dark-haired, handsome Frenchgirl—for she was little more than a girl—who had inherited the whole fortune of the biggest sugar refinery in Europe, the great factory out at St. Denis which supplied nearly one-sixth of the refined sugar of the world.
"My husband, whom I love devotedly, has done his best in the interests of his Emperor. You, Count, know—for you are in a position to know—the real aims of the Kaiser in Turkey. These last six months I have watched, and have learned the truth! I know how, when the Emperor went to Constantinople five months ago in pretence of friendship towards the Sultan, with Professor Vambéry as interpreter, he practically compelled Abdul Hamid to give him, in return for certain financial advances, those wonderful jewels which the Empress Catherine, wife of Peter the Great, gave in secret to the Grand Vizier to secure the escape of the Russian Army across the Pruth. I know how the Emperor seized those wonderful emeralds, and, carrying them back to Potsdam, has given them to the Empress. I know, too, how he laughed with my husband at the cleverness by which he is fooling the too trustful Turks. I——"
"Pardon, Madame," I said, interrupting her, and speaking in French, "but is it really wise to speak thus of the Emperor's secrets? Your husband is, I fear, guilty of great indiscretion in mentioning such matters."
"I am his wife, Count, and he conceals little, if anything, from me."
I looked the pretty young woman straight in the face in fear and regret.
Possession of those ancient jewels which, with reluctance, Abdul Hamid had brought out from his treasury, was one of the Kaiser's greatest secrets, a secret of Potsdam known to no more than three people, including myself. The Emperor had specially imposed silence upon me, because he did not wish the Powers to suspect his true Eastern policy of bribery and double-dealing, blackmail and plunder.
And yet she, the daughter of a French diplomat, knew the truth!
Instantly I realized the serious danger of the secret being betrayed to France.
"Madame," I said, leaning against the writing-table as I spoke in deepest earnestness. "If I may be permitted, I would urge that the Emperor's diplomacy neither concerns your husband, as an official, nor yourself. It is his own private affair, and should neither be discussed nor betrayed."
"I know," she said. "That is just why I have ventured to come here to consult you, M'sieur! You have been my good friend as well as my husband's, and here to-day, while the Emperor is our guest beneath our roof, I feel that I am in greatest peril!"
"Why?" I asked with considerable surprise.
"The Emperor has already learnt that I know the truth regarding his secret," was her slow reply. "By what means His Majesty has discovered it, I, alas! know not. But I do know from a confidential quarter that I have incurred the Emperor's gravest displeasure and hatred."
"Who is your informant?" I inquired sternly, eager to further investigate the great intrigue.
"A certain person who must be nameless."
"Have you spoken to anybody of the Emperor's secret plans in Turkey, or of his possession of the Empress Catherine's jewels?"
"I have not uttered a word to a single soul except my husband. I swear it."
"Your husband was extremely indiscreet in revealing anything," I declared again quite frankly.
"I fully admit that. But what can I do? How shall I act?" she asked in a low, tense voice. "Advise me, do."
For some moments I remained silent. The situation, with a pretty woman seeking my aid in such circumstances, was difficult.
"Well, Madame," I replied after reflection, "ifyou are really ready to promise the strictest secrecy and leave the matter to me, I will endeavour to find a way out of the difficulty—providing you—good German that you are by marriage—will take, before the Emperor himself, an oath of complete secrecy?"
"I am ready to do anything—anything for my dear husband's sake," the handsome young woman assured me, tears welling in her fine dark eyes.
"In that case, then, please leave the matter entirely in my hands," I said. And later on she left.
That same night, about ten o'clock, the Emperor, in the dark-green uniform which he always wears at dinner after hunting or shooting, entered the room to which I had just returned to work.
"Send Frau Kleist to me," he snapped. "And I will summon you later when I want you, Heltzendorff."
Frau Kleist! I had no idea the woman had arrived at the castle. But I dispatched one of the servants to search for her, and afterwards heard her high-pitched voice as she ascended the stairs to hold secret and, no doubt, evil counsel with His Majesty.
Below I found the fat, fair-haired little doctor from Augsburg, who was still an enigma, but eager to see his Imperial patient, and with him I smoked a cigarette to while away the time. I was anxious to return to His Majesty, and, as became my duty as his adjutant, to explain what I had learnt from the lips of our French hostess.
Suddenly one of the Imperial flunkeys bowed at the door, commanding the doctor to the Royal presence, and he left me, hot and flurried, as all become who are unused to the Court atmosphere, its rigid etiquette, and its constant bows.
Had the Emperor called the unknown doctor into consultation with Frau Kleist?
Inquiries I had made concerning the doctor from Augsburg showed that he was quite a well-known specialist on mental diseases, and he had also written a text-book upon bacteriology and the brain. Whyhad the Kaiser summoned him? He required no brain specialist.
"We leave to-morrow at noon," the Emperor exclaimed brusquely when, an hour later, I was summoned to his room. This amazed me, for our arrangements were to remain three days longer. I recollected Madame Reitschel's words.
"I do not feel at all well," His Majesty added, "and this Dr. Vollerthun orders me rest at Potsdam."
In silence I bowed, and then ventured to refer to what was uppermost in my mind.
"May I be permitted to speak to your Majesty upon a certain confidential subject?" I begged, standing against the table whereat I had been writing the greater part of that day.
"What subject?" snapped the All-Highest.
"Your Majesty's negotiations with the Sultan of Turkey. Frau Reitschel has learnt of them, but she is eager to come before you and take oath of entire secrecy."
The Kaiser's eyes narrowed and glowed in sudden anger.
"A woman's oath!" he cried. "Bah! Never have I believed in silence imposed upon any woman's tongue—more especially that of a born enemy! I appreciate your loyalty and acumen, Von Heltzendorff, but I have, fortunately, known this for some little time, and in strictest secrecy have taken certain measures to combat it. Remember that these words have never been uttered to you! Remember that! You are adjutant, and I am Emperor. Understand! I fully appreciate and note your loyal report, but it is not woman's sphere to enter our diplomacy, except as a secret agent of our Fatherland. Let us say no more."
Ten minutes later, being dismissed, I wandered back through the great, silent, echoing corridors of the ancient castle to my own room. A great human drama, greater than any ever placed upon the stage,was now being enacted. Throwing his loaded dice, the Emperor, with all his craft, cunning, and criminal unscrupulousness behind his mask of Christianity, and aided by his unprincipled son, the Crown-Prince, was actually plotting the downfall of the Turkish Empire and the overthrow of Islam in Europe. Between the All-Highest One and the realization of those dastardly plans for world-power so carefully and cleverly thought out in every detail night after night in the silence of that dull, faded green room upstairs at Potsdam, stood one frail little Parisienne, the vivacious, well-meaning Madame Reitschel!
Next day we left the Schloss Langenberg, but before doing so we heard with regret that our charming little hostess had been suddenly taken ill during the night, and the Kaiser, as a mark of favour, had ordered his doctor, Vollerthun, to remain behind to attend her. That Herr Reitschel was in great distress I saw from his face as he stood taking leave of his Imperial guest on the little platform at Ilmenau.
Back in Berlin, I wondered what was in progress in that far-off Schloss in Thuringia, but a week later the truth became vividly apparent when I read in theStaats-Anzeigeran announcement which disclosed to me the terrible truth.
I held my breath as my eyes followed the printed lines.
Frau Reitschel, the young wife of the famous Anton Reitschel of Constantinople, had, the journal reported, been seized by a sudden and somewhat mysterious illness on the night prior to the Emperor's departure from the Schloss Langenberg, and though His Majesty had graciously left his own physician behind to attend her, the unfortunate lady had developed insanity to such a hopeless degree that it had been necessary to confine her in the Rosenau private asylum at Coburg.
In a second I realized how the dancing-mistress and the mental specialist from Augsburg had beenthe tools of the Emperor. That "mysterious illness," developing into madness, was surely not the result of any natural cause, but had been deliberately planned and executed by means of a hypodermic syringe, in order that the woman who had learnt the secret of the Emperor's double cunning in the Near East should be for ever immured in a madhouse.
Outside the trio responsible for the cruel and dastardly act, I alone knew the truth how, by the Emperor's drastic action, he had prevented the secret of his chicanery leaking out to the Powers.
Poor Madame Reitschel! She died early in 1913, a raving lunatic. Her devoted husband, having served the Emperor's purpose, had been recalled to Berlin, where, bereft of the Kaiser's favour, he predeceased her by about six months, broken-hearted, but in utter ignorance of that foul plot carried out under his very nose and in his own castle.
Late on the night of November 18th, 1912, I was busily at work in the Crown-Prince's room—that cosy apartment of which I possessed the key—at the Marble Palace at Potsdam.
I, as His Imperial Highness's personal-adjutant, had been travelling all day with him from Cologne to Berlin. We had done a tour of military inspections in Westphalia, and, as usual, "Willie's" conduct, as became the heir-apparent of the psalm-singing All-Highest One, had not been exactly exemplary.
With his slant eyes and sarcastic grin he openly defied the Emperor, and frequently referred to him to his intimates as "a hoary old hypocrite"—the truth of which recent events have surely proved.
On the night in question, however, much had happened. The Emperor had, a month before,returned from a visit to England, where he had been engaged by speeches and hand-shakes, public and private, blowing a narcotic dust into the nostrils of your dear but, alas! too confiding nation.
You British were all dazzled—you dear English drank the Imperial sleeping-draught, prepared so cunningly for you and your Cabinet Ministers in what we in Berlin sometimes called "the Downing-Strasse." You lapped up the cream of German good-fellowship as a cat laps milk, even while agents of our Imperial War Staff had held Staff-rides in various parts of your island. All of you were blind, save those whom your own people denounced as scaremongers when they lifted their voices in warning.
We at Potsdam smiled daily at what seemed to us to be the slow but sure decline of your great nation from its military, naval, and commercial supremacy. The Kaiser had plotted for fourteen years, and now he was being actively aided by his eldest son, that shrewd, active agnostic with a criminal kink.
"Heltzendorff!" exclaimed the Crown-Prince, as he suddenly entered the room where I was busy attending to a pile of papers which had accumulated during our absence in Westphalia, and which had been sorted into three heaps by my assistant during our absence. "Do get through all those letters and things. Burn them all if you can. What do they matter?"
"Many of them are matters of grave importance. Here, for instance, is a report from the Chief of Military Intelligence in Washington."
"Oh, old Friesch! Tear it up! He is but an old fossil at best. And yet, Heltzendorff, he is designed to be of considerable use," he added. "His Majesty told me to-night that after his visit to England he has conceived the idea to establish an official movement for the improvement of better relations between Britain and Germany. The dear British are always ready to receive such movements with open arms.At Carlton House Terrace they strongly endorse the Emperor's ideas, and he tells me that the movement should first arise in commercial and shipping circles. Herr Ballin will generate the idea in his offices in London and the various British ports, while His Majesty has Von Gessler, the ex-Ambassador at Washington, in view as the man to bring forth the suggestion publicly. Indeed, to-night from the Wilhelmstrasse there has been sent a message to his schloss on the Mosel commanding him to consult with His Majesty. Von Bernstorff took his place at Washington a few months ago."
"But Von Gessler is an inveterate enemy of Britain," I exclaimed in surprise, still seated at my table.
"The world does not know that. The whole scheme is based upon Britain's ignorance of our intentions. We bring Von Gessler forward as the dear, good, Anglophile friend with his hand outstretched from the Wilhelmstrasse. Oh, Heltzendorff!" he laughed. "It is really intensely amusing, is it not?"
I was silent. I knew that the deeply-laid plot against Great Britain was proceeding apace, for had I not seen those many secret reports, and did I not possess inside knowledge of the evil intentions of the Emperor and his son.
"Get through all that—to-night if you can, Heltzendorff," the Crown-Prince urged. "The Crown-Princess leaves for Treseburg, in the Harz, to-morrow, and in the evening we go to Nice."
"To Nice!" I exclaimed, though not at all disinclined to spend a week or so on the Riviera.
"Yes," he said. "I have a friend there. The Riviera is only pleasant before the season, or after. One cannot go with the crowd in January or February. I have already given orders for the saloon to leave at eleven to-morrow night. That will give us ample time."
A friend there! I reflected. I, knowing hispartiality to the eternal petticoat, could only suppose that the attraction in Nice was of the feminine gender.
"Then the lady is in Nice!" I remarked, for sometimes I was permitted, on account of my long service with the Emperor, to speak familiarly.
"Lady, no!" he retorted. "It is a man. And I want to get to Nice at the earliest moment. So get through those infernal documents. Burn them all. They are better out of the way," he laughed.
And, taking a cigarette from the golden box—a present to him from "Tino" of Greece—he lit it, and wishing me good night, strode out.
Just before eleven o'clock on the following night we left the Marmor Palace. His Imperial Highness travelled incognito as he always did when visiting France, assuming the name of Count von Grünau. With us was his personal valet, Schuler, the military secretary, Major Lentze, and Eckardt, the Commissioner of Secret Police for His Highness's personal protection, who travelled with us wherever we went. In addition, there was an under-valet, and Knof, the Crown-Prince's favourite chauffeur. When abroad cars were either bought and afterwards re-sold, or else hired, but Knof, who was a celebrated racing motorist and had driven in Prince Henry's tour of exploration through England, and who had gained many prizes on the various circuits, was always taken as "driver."
After a restless night—for there were many stoppages—I spent next day with the Crown-Prince in long and tiring discussions on military affairs as we travelled due south in the beautifully-fitted Imperial car, replete with its smoking saloon with wicker chairs, its four bathrooms, and other luxuries. I endeavoured to obtain from him some reason why we were proceeding to Nice, but to all my inquiries he was smilingly dumb. He noticed my eagerness, and I saw that he was amused by it.
Yet somehow, as we travelled towards the Italianfrontier—for our road lay through Austria down to Milan, and thence by way of Genoa—he seemed to become unduly thoughtful and anxious.
Only a fortnight before he had had one of those ever-recurring and unseemly quarrels with his long-suffering wife.
"Cilli is a fool!" he had declared openly to me, after she had left the room in anger.
We had been busy arranging a programme of official visits in Eastern Germany, when suddenly the Crown-Princess entered, pale with anger, and disregarding my presence—for I suppose I was regarded as one who knew all the happenings of the palace, and whose discretion could be relied upon—began to demand fiercely an explanation of a certain anonymous letter which she held in her hand.
"Kindly read that!" she said haughtily, "and explain what it means!"
The Crown-Prince grinned idiotically, that cold, sinister expression overspreading his countenance, a look which is such a marked characteristic of his.
Then, almost snatching the letter from his young wife's fingers, he read it through, and with a sudden movement tore it up and flung it upon the carpet, saying:
"I refuse to discuss any unsigned letter! Really, if we were to notice every letter written by the common scum we should, indeed, have sufficient to do."
His wife's arched brows narrowed. Her pale, delicate face, in which the lines of care had appeared too prematurely, already betrayed fiercest anger.
"I happen to have inquired, and I now know that those allegations are correct!" she cried. "This dark-haired singer-woman, Irene Speroni, has attained great success on the variety stage in Italy. She is the star of the Sala Margherita in Rome."
"Well?" he asked in defiance. "And what of it, pray?"
"That letter you have destroyed tells me the truth.I received it a few days ago, and sent an agent to Italy in order to learn the truth. He has returned to-night. See!" And suddenly she produced a crannied snapshot photograph, of postcard size, of the Crown-Prince in his polo-playing garb, and with him a smartly-dressed young woman, whose features were in the shadow. I caught sight of that picture, because when he tossed it from him angrily without glancing at it, I picked it up and handed it back to the Crown-Princess.
"Yes," she cried bitterly, "You refuse, of course, to look upon this piece of evidence! I now know why you went to Wiesbaden. The woman was singing there, and you gave her a pair of emerald and diamond earrings which you purchased from Vollgold in Unter den Linden. See! Here is the bill for them!"
And again she produced a slip of paper.
At this the Crown-Prince grew instantly furious, and, pale to the lips, he roundly abused his long-suffering wife, telling her quite frankly that, notwithstanding the fact that she might spy upon his movements, he should act exactly as his impulses dictated.
That scene was, indeed, a disgraceful one, ending in the poor woman, in a frantic paroxysm of despair, tearing off the splendid necklet of diamonds at her throat—his present to her on their marriage—and casting it full into his face.
Then, realizing that the scene had become too tragic, I took her small hand, and, with a word of sympathy, led her out of the room and along the corridor.
As I left her she burst into a sudden torrent of tears; yet when I returned again to the Crown-Prince I found his manner had entirely changed. He treated his wife's natural resentment and indignation as a huge joke, and it was then that His Imperial Highness declared to me:
"Cilli is a fool!"
That sunny afternoon the Crown-Prince hadsprawled himself on the plush lounge of the smoking car as the train travelled upon that picturesque line between Genoa and the French frontier at Ventimiglia, the line which follows the coast for six hours. With the tideless sapphire Mediterranean lapping the yellow beach on the one side and high brown rocks upon the other, we went through Savona, Albenga, the old-world Porto Maurizio to the glaring modern town of San Remo and palm-embowered Bordighera, that beautiful Italian Riviera that you and I know so well.
"Listen, Heltzendorff," his Highness exclaimed suddenly between the whiffs of his cigarette. "In Nice I may disappear for a day or two. I may be missing. But if I am, please don't raise a fuss about it. I'm incognito, and nobody will know. I may be absent for seven days. If I am not back by that time then you may make inquiry."
"But the Commissary of Police Eckardt! He will surely know?" I remarked in surprise.
"No. He won't know. I shall evade him as I've so often done before," replied His Imperial Highness. "I tell you of my intentions so that you may curb the activities of our most estimable friend. Tell him not to worry, and he will be paid a thousand marks on the day Count von Grünau reappears."
I smiled, for I saw the influence of the eternal feminine.
"No, Heltzendorff. You are quite mistaken," he said, reading my thoughts, and putting down his cigarette end. "There is no lady in this case. I am out here for secret purposes of my own. For that reason I take you into my confidence rather than that unnecessary inquiry should be made and some of those infernal journalists get hold of the fact that the Count von Grünau and the Crown-Prince are one and the same person. I was a fool to take this saloon. I ought to have travelled as an ordinary passenger, I know, but," he laughed, "this is really comfortableand, after all, what do we care what the world thinks—eh? Surely we can afford to laugh at it when all the honours of the game are already in our hands."
And at that moment we ran into the pretty, flower-decked station of San Remo, the place freshly painted for the attraction of the winter visitors who annually went south for sunshine.
His words mystified me, but I became even more mystified by his actions a few days later.
I was in ignorance that a fortnight before Hermann Hardt, one of His Highness's couriers, had left Potsdam and on arrival at Nice had rented for three months the fine Villa Lilas—the winter residence of the American millionaire leather merchant, James G. Jamieson, of Boston, who had gone yachting to Japan.
You know Nice, my dear Le Queux—you know it as well as I do, therefore you know the Villa Lilas, that big white mansion which faces the sea on Montboron, the hill road between the port of Nice and Villefranche. Half hidden among the mimosa, the palms, and grey-green olives, it is after the style of Mr. Gordon Bennett's villa at Beaulieu, with a big glass front and pretty verandas, with climbing geraniums flowering upon the terraces.
We soon settled there, for the household staff had arrived three days before, and on the evening of our arrival I accompanied the Crown-Prince down into the town to the Jetée promenade, the pier-pavilion where the gay cosmopolitan world disports itself to chatter, drink and gamble.
It was a glorious moonlit night, and "Willie," after strolling through the great gilded saloons, in one of which was a second-rate variety entertainment—the season not having yet commenced—went outside. We sat at the end of the pier smoking.
"Nice is dull as yet, is it not?" he remarked, for each year he always spent a month there incognito, the German newspapers announcing that he was away shooting. But "Willie," leading the gay lifeof the Imperial butterfly, much preferred the lively existence of the Côte d'Azur to the remote schloss in Thuringia or elsewhere.
I agreed with him that Nice had not yet put on the tinsel and pasteboard of her Carnival attractions. As you know, Carnival in Nice is gay enough, but, after all, it is a forced gaiety got up for the profit of the shops and hotels, combined with the "Cercle des Bains" of Monaco—the polite title of the Prince's gilded gambling hell.
We smoked together and chatted, as we often did when His Imperial Highness became bored. I was still mystified why we had come to the Riviera so early in the season, because the white and pale green paint of the hotels was not yet dry, and half of them not yet open.
Yet our coming had, no doubt, been privately signalled, because within half an hour of our arrival at the Villa Lilas a short, stout old Frenchman, with white, bristly hair—whom I afterwards found out was Monsieur Paul Bavouzet, the newly-appointed Prefect of the Department of Alpes-Maritimes—called to leave his card upon the Count von Grünau.
The Imperial incognito only means that the public are to be deluded. Officialdom never is. They know the ruse, and support it all the world over. His Highness the Crown-Prince was paying his annual visit to Nice, and the President had sent his compliments through his representative, the bristly-haired little Prefect.
Soon after eleven that night the Crown-Prince, after chatting affably with me, strolled back to the Promenade des Anglais, where Knof, the chauffeur, awaited us with a big open car, in which we were whizzed around the port and up to Montboron in a few minutes.
As I parted from the Crown-Prince, who yawned and declared that he was tired, he said:
"Ah! Heltzendorff. How good it is to get abreath of soft air from the Mediterranean! We shall have a port on this pleasant sea one day—if we live as long—eh?"
That remark showed the trend of events. It showed how, hand in hand with the Emperor, he was urging preparations for war—a war that had for its primary object the destruction of the Powers which, when the volcano erupted, united as allies.
The bright autumn days passed quite uneventfully, and frequently I went pleasant motor runs into the mountains with His Highness, up to the frontier at the Col di Tenda, to La Vésubie, Puget-Théniers, and other places. Yet I was still mystified at the reason of our sojourn there.
After we had been at the Villa Lilas about ten days I was one afternoon seated outside the popular Café de l'Opéra, in the Place Masséna, when a lady, dressed in deep mourning and wearing the heavy veil in French style, passed along the pavement, glanced at me, and then, hesitating, she turned, and, coming back, advanced to the little table in the corner whereat I was sitting.
"May I be permitted to have a word with you, Monsieur?" she asked in French, in a low, refined voice.
"Certainly," was my reply, and, not without some surprise, I rose and drew a chair for her.
She glanced round quickly, as though to satisfy herself that she would not be overheard, but, as a matter of fact, at that hour the chairs on the terraces of the café were practically deserted. At the same moment, viewing her closely, I saw that she was about twenty-four, handsome, dark-haired, with well-cut features.
"I know, Monsieur, that I am a complete stranger to you," she exclaimed with a smile, "but to me you are quite familiar by sight. I have passed you many times in Berlin and in Potsdam, and I know that you are Count von Heltzendorff, personal-adjutant to HisHighness the Crown-Prince—or Count von Grünau, as he is known here in France."
"You know that!" I exclaimed.
She smiled mysteriously, replying:
"Yes. I—well, I happen to be a friend of His Highness."
I held my breath. So this pretty young Frenchwoman was one of my young Imperial master's friends!
"The fact is, Count," she went on, "I have travelled a considerable distance to see you. I said that I was one of the Crown-Prince's friends. Please do not misunderstand me. I know that he has a good many lady friends, but, as far as I am concerned, I have never been introduced to him, and he does not know me. I am his friend because of a certain friendliness towards him."
"Really, Madame, I don't quite understand," I said.
"Of course not," she answered, and then, glancing round, she added: "This place is a little too public. Cannot we go across to the garden yonder?"
At her suggestion I rose and walked with her to a quiet spot in the gardens, where we sat down, and I listened with interest to her.
She told me that her name was Julie de Rouville, but she would give no account of where she lived, though I took it that she was a young widow.
"I have ventured to approach you, Count, because I cannot approach the Crown-Prince," she said presently. "You probably do not know the true reason of his visit here to Nice?"
"No," I said. "I admit that I do not. Why is he here?"
"It is a secret of his own. But, curiously enough, I am aware of the reason, and that is why I have sought you. Would it surprise you if I told you that in a certain quarter in France it will, in a few days, be known that the German Emperor is establishinga movement for anententebetween Germany and Britain, and that the whole affair is based upon a fraud? The Emperor wants noentente, but only war with France and with Britain. The whole plot will be exposed in a few days!"
"From what source have you derived this knowledge?" I asked, looking at her in amazement that she should know one of the greatest State secrets of Germany.
But she again smiled mysteriously, and said:
"I merely tell you this in order to prove to you that I am in possession of certain facts known to but few people."
"You evidently are," I said. "But who intends to betray the truth to France?"
"I regret, Count, that I cannot answer your question."
"If you are, as you say, the Crown-Prince's friend, it would surely be a friendly act to let us know the truth, so that steps may be taken, perhaps, to avoid the secret of Germany's diplomacy from leaking out to her enemies."
"All I can tell you, Count, is that the matter is one of gravest importance."
"But will you not speak openly, and give us the actual facts?"
"I will—but to His Imperial Highness alone," was her answer.
"You wish to meet him, then?" I asked, rather suspicious that it might after all be only a woman's ruse. And yet what she had said showed that she knew the Emperor's secret, for she had actually mentioned Von Gessler's name in connection with the pretended Anglo-Germanentente.
"If His Highness will honour me with an interview, then I will reveal all I know, and, further, will suggest a means of preventing the truth from leaking out."
"But you are French," I said.
"I have told you so," she laughed. "But probablyHis Highness will refuse to see Julie de Rouville, therefore I think it best if you show him this."
From her little gold chain-purse she produced a small, unmounted photograph of herself, and handed it to me.
"When he recognizes who wishes to see him he will fully understand," she said, in a quiet, refined voice. "A letter addressed to Julie de Rouville at the Post Restante at Marseilles will quickly find me."
"At Marseilles?" I echoed.
"Yes. I do not wish the letter to be sent to me here. From Marseilles I shall duly receive it."
I was silent for a few moments.
"I confess," I exclaimed at last. "I confess I do not exactly see the necessity for an interview with His Highness, when whatever you tell me—as his personal-adjutant—will be regarded as strictly in confidence."
Truth to tell, I was extremely suspicious of her. She might be desirous of meeting the Prince with some evil intent.
"I have already said, Count Heltzendorff, that I am His Highness's friend, and wish to approach him with motives of friendship."
"You wish for no payment for this information, eh?" I asked suspiciously, half believing that she might be a secret agent of France.
"Payment—of course not!" she answered, half indignantly. "Show that photograph to the Crown-Prince, and tell him that I apply for an interview."
Then, rather abruptly, she rose, and, thanking me, wished me good afternoon, and walked away, leaving me with her photograph in my hand.
The Crown-Prince was out motoring, and did not get back to the Villa until after seven o'clock.
As soon as I heard of his return I went to his room, and recounted my strange adventure with the dark-haired young woman in black. He became keenly interested, and the more so when I told him of hersecret knowledge of the Kaiser's intended establishment of a bogusententewith Great Britain.
"She wishes to see you," I said. "And she told me to give you her photograph."
I handed it to him.
At sight of it his face instantly changed. He held his breath, and then examined the photograph beneath the light. Afterwards I noticed a strange, hard look at the corners of his mouth, while his teeth set themselves firmly.
Next second, however, he had recovered his self-possession, and with a low laugh said:
"Yes. Of course, I know her. She wants me to write to Julie de Rouville at the Post Restante at Marseilles, eh? H'm—I'll think it over."
And I could see that sight of the photograph had not only displeased him, but it also caused him very considerable uneasiness.
Late in the afternoon, two days later, His Highness, who had been walking alone, and who had apparently evaded the vigilance of the ever-watchful Eckardt, returned to the Villa with a stranger, a tall, rather thin, fair-haired man, undoubtedly a German, and the pair were closeted together, holding counsel evidently for a considerable time. Where His Highness met him I knew not, but when later on I entered the room I saw that the pair were on quite friendly terms.
His Highness addressed him as Herr Schäfer, and when he had left he told me that he was from the Wilhelmstrasse, and had been attached to the Embassy at Washington, and afterwards in London, "for affairs of the Press"—which meant that he was conductor of the German Press propaganda.
It seemed curious that the young man Schäfer should be in such high favour with the Crown-Prince.
I watched closely. Whatever was in progress was a strict secret between the pair. The more I saw of Hans Schäfer the more I disliked him. He hadcruel eyes and heavy, sensuous lips—a coarse countenance which was the reverse of prepossessing, though I could see that he was a very clever and cunning person.
For a full fortnight the Crown-Prince and the man Schäfer were almost inseparable. Was it for the purpose of meeting Schäfer that we had gone to Nice? The man had been back from London about two months, and had, I learnt, been lately living in Paris.
One evening while strolling in the sunset by the sea along the tree-lined Promenade des Anglais, I suddenly encountered Julie de Rouville, dressed in mourning, a quiet, pathetic figure, just as we had last met.
I instantly recollected that since the evening when I had given her photograph to the Crown-Prince he had never mentioned her, and I could only believe that for some mysterious reason sight of the picture had recalled some distasteful memory.
"Ah, Count!" she cried, as I halted and raised my hat. "This is, indeed, a welcome meeting! I have been looking out for you for the past two days."
"I've been staying over at Cannes," was my reply. "Well?"
She indicated a seat, and upon it we sat together.
"I have to thank you for giving my photograph and message to His Highness," she said in that sweet, refined voice that I so well remembered.
"I trust that the Crown-Prince has written to you—eh?"
She smiled, a trifle sadly I thought.
"Well, no——" was her rather vague reply.
"Then how are you aware that I gave your message?"
She shook her head and again smiled.
"I had my own means of discovery. By certain signs I knew that you had carried out your promise," she said. "But as I have heard nothing, I wish you,if you will, to deliver another message—a very urgent one. Tell him I must see him, for I dread daily lest the truth of the Kaiser's real intentions be known at the Quai d'Orsay."
"Certainly," was my polite reply. "I will deliver your message this evening."
"Tell him that my sole desire is to act in the interests of the Emperor and himself," she urged.
"But, forgive me," I said, "I cannot see why you should interest yourself in the Crown-Prince if he declines to communicate with you."
"I have my reasons, Count von Heltzendorff," was her rather haughty reply. "Please tell him that the matter will not brook further delay."
I had seen in the London newspapers during the past week how eagerly the English journalists, with the dust cast into their eyes, were blindly advocating that the British public should welcome the great German national movement, headed by Baron von Gessler, supported by Ballin, Delbrück, and Von Wedel, with the hearty co-operation of the Emperor and the Imperial Chancellor—the movement to establish better relations with Great Britain.
I knew that the secret should at all hazards be kept, and that night I told the Crown-Prince of my second meeting with the pretty woman in black and her urgent request.
He laughed, but made no remark. Yet I knew by his tone that he was not so easy in his mind as he desired me to believe.
It also seemed strange why, if the young Frenchwoman was so desirous of meeting him, she did not call at the Villa.
About a week later it suddenly occurred to me to endeavour to discover the real identity of the lady in black, but as I was not certain whether she actually lived in Nice it was rather difficult. Nevertheless, by invoking the aid of my friend Belabre, inspector of the Sûreté of Nice, and after waiting a few daysI made an astounding discovery, namely, that the lady who called herself De Rouville was an Italian café concert singer named Irene Speroni—the woman who had aroused the jealousy of the Crown-Princess! And she knew that important State secret of Germany!
The situation was, I saw, a most serious one. Indeed, I felt it my duty to mention my discovery to His Highness, when, to my surprise, he was not in the least angry. He merely said:
"It is true, Heltzendorff—true what the Crown-Princess declared—that I went to Wiesbaden and that I gave the woman a pair of emerald earrings which I ordered from old Vollgold. But there was no reason for jealousy. I saw the woman, and gave her the present in the hope of closing her lips."
In a moment I understood. The pretty variety artiste was endeavouring to levy blackmail. But how could she, in her position, have learnt the secret of the Emperor's intentions?
She was, I found, living as Signorina Speroni, with her maid, at the Hôtel Bristol over at Beaulieu, just across the blue bay of Villefranche, and as the days went on I realized the imminent danger of exposure, and wondered if the Kaiser knew of it.
I made a remark to that effect to His Highness one morning, whereupon he replied:
"Don't disturb yourself, my dear Heltzendorff! I have not overlooked the matter, for it is one that closely concerns both the Emperor and myself. The woman obtained the secret by opening the dispatch-box of one who believed her to be his friend, and then she attempted to use her knowledge in order to drag me into her net. But I do not think I am very likely to be caught—eh?"
At that moment Herr Schäfer entered the room, therefore further discussion was out of the question.
From inquiries I made later on I found that the concert singer had suddenly left the hotel, thereforeI went over to Beaulieu and had an instructive chat with the hall porter, a German of course. From him I learnt that the Signorina had been staying there ever since the date when we had arrived at Nice, and, further, that two gentleman had been frequently in the habit of calling upon her. One was a smart young Frenchman who came in a motor-car, and the other was a German. From the description of the latter I at once came to the conclusion that it was none other than Herr Schäfer!
"The one gentleman did not know of the other's visits," said the bearded porter, with a laugh. "The Signorina always impressed silence upon me, because she thought one would be jealous of the other. The German gentleman seemed very deeply in love with her, and she called him Hans. He accompanied her when she left here for San Remo."
I reported this to His Highness, but he made no remark. That some devilish plot was being carried out I suspected. The Hohenzollerns are ready to go to any length to prevent their black secrets from leaking out.
My surmise proved correct, for, a week later, some fishermen found upon the brown rocks near Capo Verde, beyond San Remo, the body of a woman, fully dressed, afterwards identified as that of Irene Speroni, the singer so popular in Rome.
It was proved that on the previous night she had been seen by two peasants walking along the sea road near San Lorenzo, accompanied by a tall, thin man, who seemed greatly excited, and was talking in German. It was believed by the Italian police that the unknown German, in a fit of jealousy, threw her into the sea.
From facts I gathered some months later I realized that the whole plot had been most cunningly conceived by the Crown-Prince. Schäfer, after his return from America, had met the woman Speroni, who was performing in London, and she had, unknown tohim, opened his dispatch-box, and from some secret correspondence had learned the real truth regarding the proposedententewhich the Emperor contemplated.
Schäfer, alarmed at the woman's knowledge, and yet fascinated by her charms, had gone to the Crown-Prince, and he, in turn, had seen the woman in Wiesbaden. Finding her so dangerous to the Emperor's plans, His Highness then conceived a fiendish plot. He first introduced her to a young French Marquis, de Vienne by name, who pestered her with his attentions, and followed her to Beaulieu. Having so far succeeded, the Crown-Prince went to Nice, and cleverly played upon Schäfer's love for the woman, pointing out that she was playing a double game, and urging him to watch.
He did so, and discovered the truth. Then there occurred the tragedy of jealousy, exactly as the police believed.
Herr Schäfer, the tool of His Imperial Highness, had, however, escaped to Germany, and the police of San Remo are still in ignorance of his identity.
I suppose that none of your British friends have ever heard the name of Thyra Adelheid von Kienitz.
She was a funny little deformed person, aged, perhaps, seventy, widow of the great General von Kienitz, who had served in the Franco-German campaign, and who, before his death, had been acknowledged to be as great a strategist as your own Lord Roberts, whom every good German—I did not write Prussian—salutes in reverence.
Countess von Kienitz was the daughter of a certainCountess von Borcke, and after living for many years in retirement in her picturesque old schloss perched on a rock not far from the famous wine district of Berncastel, on the winding Mosel river, became suddenly seized with an idea to re-enter Berlin society.
With this view she rented a fine house not far from the Liechtenstein Bridge, and early in 1911 commenced a series of wildly-extravagant entertainments—luncheons, dinners, and supper concerts, at which were artistes to whom three-thousand-mark fees were often paid—with a view, as it seemed to me, to attract the more modern and go-ahead section of Berlin society.
At first the smarter set looked askance at the ugly, deformed, painted-up old woman with the squeaky voice, and they strenuously declined invitations to her splendid, newly-furnished mansion in the Stulerstrasse. Indeed, the name of the Countess von Kienitz became synonymous for all that was grotesque, and her painted, doll-like countenance and yellow wig were the laughing-stock of both the upper and middle classes.
Nevertheless she strenuously endeavoured to surround herself with young society of both sexes, and many smart dances were given at the Stulerstrasse during the season—dances at which the swaggering Prussian officer was seen at his gorgeous best.
One afternoon, seated by the Crown-Prince as he drove recklessly his great Mercédès car along the Bismarckallee in the direction of Potsdam, we passed an overdressed old woman, very artificial, with yellow hair, and short of stature.
"Look, Heltzendorff! Is she not like that old crow, Von Kienitz?"
"Yes, her figure is very similar," I admitted.
"Ah! The old woman was introduced to me the other night at Bismarck-Bohlen's house.Himmel!What a freak! Have you seen her wig?"
I replied that I had visited once or twice at the Stulerstrasse, and that the company I had met there were certainly amusing. I mentioned some of their names, among them that of young Von Ratibor, Major Gersdorff, of the Death's Head Hussars, Von Heynitz, of the Königsjäger, a well-known man about town, his friend Winterfeld, together with a number of ladies of the very ultra go-ahead set. At this His Highness seemed highly interested.
"She certainly seems a very curious old person," he laughed. "Fancies that she's but twenty-five, and actually had the audacity to dance at Bismarck-Bohlen's. Somebody was cruel enough to ask her to sing a Frenchchansonnette!"
"Did she?" I inquired.
"Of course. She put herself into a martial attitude, and sang something about 'Le drapeau' of 'Jacques Bonhomme,' as though we wished to know anything about it. The man who suggested the song was sorry."
I laughed heartily. Sometimes the Crown-Prince could be humorous, and it certainly must have been distinctly quaint when, as a result of the joke played upon the old Countess, she so completely turned the tables upon the party by singing a song full of French sentiment.
That circumstance told me that she must be a very clever old lady, even though she wore that tow-coloured wig which sometimes on nights of merriment got a trifle askew.
Judge my great surprise, however, when, about six weeks later, Frau von Alvensleben, the prettyGrande Maîtresseof the Court of the Crown-Princess, stopped me in one of the corridors of the Marmor Palace and, drawing me aside, whispered:
"I have news for you, my dear Count. We have a new arrival at Court—Frau Yellow-Wig."
I looked at her, for the moment puzzled. She saw that I did not follow her.
"Countess von Kienitz—a friend of yours, I believe."
"Friend of mine!" I echoed. "I've only been to her house three or four times, just in a crowd, and out of curiosity."
"Oh, là là!Well, she has told the Crown-Princess that you are her friend, and, in brief, has entirely fascinated Her Imperial Highness."
I gasped. At what a pass we had arrived when the Crown-Princess was receiving that old woman whose reputation was of the gayest and most scandalous!
What theGrande Maîtressehad told me was perfectly correct, for three days later a dance was held, and as I entered the room I saw amid that gay assemblage the yellow-haired old widow of the long-forgotten military hero wagging her lace fan and talking quite familiarly with Her Imperial Highness. To my utter amazement also, His Majesty the Emperor, in the gay uniform of the 3rd Regiment of Uhlans of Saxony—of whom he was chief, among a hundred-and-one other high military distinctions—advanced and smiled graciously upon her as she bowed as low as rheumatism and old age allowed.
The fascination which the ugly, shrill-voiced old woman exercised over "Cilli" was quickly remarked, and, of course, gossip became more rife than ever, especially when, a week later, it was announced that she had actually been appointed a lady-in-waiting.
The Crown-Prince, too, soon became on friendly terms with her, and many times I saw them chatting together as though exchanging confidences. Why?
His Highness, usually so utterly piggish towards ladies, given to snubbing even the highest-born in the Empire, was always smiling and gracious towards her.
"I can't make it out," declared Von Behr, the Chamberlaindu service, to me one day two months later, while I was smoking with him in his room. "The old woman has the most complete control overHer Highness. Because she was averse to the journey, we are not going to Norway this year. Besides, since her appointment she has succeeded in plotting the dismissal of both Countess von Scheet-Plessen and Countess von Brockdorff."
"I know," I replied. I had been discussing it only a few hours before with Major von Amsberg, aide-de-camp of the Prince Eitel Frédéric, and he, too, had expressed himself both mystified and disgusted with the mysterious power exercised by the old woman in the yellow wig. "It seems so extraordinary," I went on, "that the Court should so utterly disregard the woman's reputation."
"Bah, my dear Heltzendorff!" laughed the Chamberlain. "When a woman arrives at seventy she has outlived all the peccadilloes of youth. And, after all, the reputations of most of us here are tarnished—more or less—eh?"
His remarks were indeed true. Nevertheless, it did not lessen the mystery of the appointment of the little old Countess as a lady-in-waiting, nor did it account for the strange influence which she held over the Imperial pair.
One evening I went to the Countess's house in the Stulerstrasse to a dinner-party, at which there were present the Crown-Prince, Admiral von Spee from Kiel, and Von Ilberg, the Emperor's doctor, together with the old Duke von Trachenberg, who held the honorary and out-of-date office of grand cupbearer to the Emperor, and the eternal "Uncle" Zeppelin. With us were a number of ladies, including their Serene Highnesses the Princess von Radolin and the Duchess von Ratibor, both ladies of the Court of the Kaiserin, and several others of the ultra-smart set.
After the meal there was a small dance, and about midnight, after waltzing with a pretty girl, the daughter of the Baron von Heintze-Weissenrode, we strolled together into the fine winter garden with itshigh palms, its plashing fountains, and its cunningly-secreted electric lights.
I was seated with her, chatting gaily, for we had met in July at Stubbenkammer, on the island of Rügen. She had been staying with her father at Eichstadt's, in Nipmerow, and we had all three been on some pleasant excursions along the Baltic coast, with its picturesque beech woods, white cliffs, and blue bays.
We were recalling a delightful excursion up to the Herthaburg, on the road to Sassnitz, that "altar of sacrifice" which tradition connects with the mysterious rites of the beautiful goddess Hertha, mentioned by Tacitus, when suddenly we overheard voices.
Two persons were approaching somewhere behind us, conversing in Italian—a man and a woman.
"Hush!" I whispered mischievously. "Listen! Do you know Italian?"
"Alas! no," was her reply. "Do you?"
I did not answer, for I had already recognized the voices as those of our hostess and the Crown-Prince.
Next moment, however, my companion's quick ears caught that unmistakable squeaky voice.
"Why, it's the Countess!" she exclaimed.
I made no reply, but continued to recall that glorious summer's day beside the blue Baltic, while His Highness and the little old lady-in-waiting seated themselves out of sight a short distance away, and continued a very confidential discussion in an undertone in the language in which, after German, I happened perhaps to be most proficient.
The pair were discussing somebody named Karl Krahl, and the curious discussion was undoubtedly regarding some evil intent.
"I saw the Emperor to-day," declared the old woman in her sibilant Italian, so that no one should understand, for Italian is seldom spoken in Germany. "His Majesty shares my views now, though he didnot do so at first. Indeed, I was very near being dismissed in disgrace when I first broached the affair. But, fortunately, he now knows the truth and sees the advantage of—well, you know, eh?"
"Certo, Contessa," replied the Crown-Prince, who speaks Italian extremely well, though not with half the fluency of his hostess. "I quite foresee the peril and the force of your argument."
"How shall we act?" asked the old woman. "It remains for you to devise a plan. At any moment matters may approach a crisis. One can never account for the confidences exchanged by those who love each other. And, remember, Krahl is in love."
The Crown-Prince grunted, but as several couples entered at that moment the pair suddenly broke off their confidential chat, and, rising, went out together.
Who was this Karl Krahl against whom some deep-laid plot was levelled?
I searched various directories, lists of persons engaged in the Government offices in the Wilhelmstrasse, the Leipzigerstrasse, and Unter den Linden; I consulted the Director of Berlin Police, Von Jagow; the well-known Detective Schunke, and Heinrich Wesener, Assistant-Director of the Secret Service of the General Staff; but nobody knew Karl Krahl. There seemed to be no record of him anywhere.
In October I went with the Crown-Prince and the Emperor upon a round of ceremonial military inspections to the garrisons in Silesia—namely, Breslau, Leignitz, and Oppeln—and afterwards to Lübeck, where we presented new colours to two regiments. Thence, while the Emperor and his Staff returned direct to Berlin, I accompanied His Imperial Highness to Ballenstedt, the beautiful schloss in the Harz Mountains. Here once or twice each season the Crown-Prince's habit was to invite a few of his most intimate chums to shoot in the forests of Stecklenberg and the Lauenberg, and along that curioussandstone ridge known as the Teufelsmauer, or "Devil's Wall."
The sport was always excellent, especially about the romantic district of Neue Schenke, near Suderode.
The guns consisted of five well-known officers from Berlin, together with Dr. Zeising, the Master-General of Forests, and Lieut.-General von Oertzen, the fat old Inspector-General of Cavalry. As usual, we all had a most enjoyable time.
On the third day, after a champagne luncheon taken at the forester's little house at Neue Schenke, we were about to resume our sport. Indeed, all the guests had gone outside, preparing to go to their allotted stations, when the head forester, a stalwart man in green livery, entered, and, addressing the Crown-Prince, said:
"There is a man to see Your Imperial Highness, and refuses to leave. He gives his name as Karl Krahl."
In an instant I pricked up my ears.
His Highness's brows narrowed for a second, which showed his annoyance, then, smiling affably, so clever was he, like his Imperial father, in the concealment of his real feelings—he replied:
"Oh, yes—Krahl! I recollect. Yes, I will see him here."
Next moment the person whom I had heard discussed so strangely in the little old woman's beautiful winter garden was ushered in.
He was dark-haired, aged about twenty-eight, I judged, with small, shrewd black eyes, dressed in a well-cut suit of grey country tweeds, and but for his German name I should have taken him for an English tourist, one of those familiar objects of the Harz in peace time. His appearance instantly interested me, the more so owing to the fact that he had come to that remote spot and at that hour to pay a visit to the Emperor's son.
"Come in, Karl!" exclaimed the Crown-Princeaffably, as he grasped his visitor's hand. His Highness did not often offer his manicured hand to others, and at this I was, I admit, greatly surprised. "The forester did not know you, of course. Well, I am very pleased to see you. Have you come straight here?"
"Yes, your Highness. I went first to Berlin, and learning that you were here I thought I had better lose no time."
"Quite right," laughed his Highness who, turning to me, said: "Heltzendorff, will you tell the others to go on—that I am detained for an hour on State business, and—and that I will join them as soon as possible. I will find you in the woods, on the left of the Quedlinburg Road, before one comes to the Wurmtal. Apologize for me, but the delay is inevitable. I have a conference with Herr Krahl."
While His Highness remained behind at the forester's house to chat alone with the mysterious Karl Krahl, we went out among the birds and had some excellent sport. Yet the sight of that ferret-eyed young man, whom I had long endeavoured in vain to trace, caused me considerable wonderment. Who was that young fellow in whom the little old Countess seemed to take such deep and peculiar interest? What was his offence that she, with the Crown-Prince, should concoct, as it seemed to me, such a plot as that I had partly overheard?
That there was a woman in the case I felt assured, but her name had not been mentioned, and I had no suspicion of whom it could be. I realized, however, that something important must be in progress, otherwise His Highness, devoted to sport as he was, would never have given up the best afternoon to consult with that stranger in grey tweeds.
The forester and beaters had come with us, as the Crown-Prince had, at his own request, been left alone with his mysterious visitor.
After a couple of short beats we arrived at thespot on the forest road to Quedlinburg, a most romantic and picturesque gorge, where His Highness had arranged to meet us, and there we sat down and waited. Both Von Oertzen and Dr. Zeising, being unduly stout, had been puffed in coming up the steep mountain side, and as we sat we gossiped, though impatient to set forth again.