THE TRAGEDY OF THE LEUTENBERGS

You will recollect our first meeting on that sunny afternoon when, in the stuffy, nauseating atmosphere of perspiration and a hundred Parisian perfumes, we sat next each other at the first roulette table on the right as you enter the rooms at Monte Carlo?

Ah! how vivid it is still before my eyes, the jingle of gold and the monotonous cries of the croupiers.

Ah! my dear friend!  In those pre-war days the Riviera ­that sea-lapped Paradise, with its clear, open sky and sapphire Mediterranean, grey-green olives and tall flowering aloes, its gorgeous blossoms, and its merry, dark-eyed populace who lived with no thought of the morrow ­was, indeed, the playground of Europe.

And, let me whisper it, I think I may venture to declare that few of its annual habitues enjoyed the life more than your dear old ink-stained self.

What brought us together, you, an English novelist, and I a ­well, how shall I describe myself?  One of your enemies ­eh?  No, dear old fellow.  Let us sink all our international differences.  May I say that I, Count Ernst von Heltzendorff, of Schloss Heltzendorff, on the Mosel, late personal-adjutant to His Imperial Highness the Crown-Prince, an official attached to that precious young scoundrel’s immediate person, call you my dear friend?

True, our nations are, alas! at war ­the war which the Kaiser and his son long sought, but which, as you well know, I have long ago detested.

I have repudiated that set of pirates and assassins of whom I was, alas! born, and among whom I moved until I learned of the vile plot afoot against the peace of Europe and the chastity of its female inhabitants.

On August 5th, 1914, I shook the dust of Berlin from my feet, crossed the French frontier, and have since resided in the comfortable old-fashioned country house which you assisted me to purchase on the border of the lovely forest of Fontainebleau.

And now, you have asked me to reveal to you some of the secrets of Potsdam ­secrets known to me by reason of my official position before the war.

You are persuading me to disclose some facts concerning the public and private life of the Emperor, of my Imperial master the Crown-Prince, known in his intimate circle as “Willie,” and of the handsome but long-suffering Cecil Duchess of Mecklenbourg, who married him ten years ago and became known as “Cilli.”  Phew!  Poor woman! she has experienced ten years of misery, domestic unhappiness, by which she has become prematurely aged, deep-eyed, her countenance at times when we talked wearing an almost tragic look.

No wonder, indeed, that there is a heavy and, alas! broken heart within the beautiful Marble Palace at Potsdam, that splendid residence where you once visited me and were afterwards commanded to a reception held by His Imperial Highness.

I risk much, I know, in taking up my pen to tell the truth and to make these exposures to you, but I do so because I think it only just that your British nation should know the true character of the Emperor and of the unscrupulous and ubiquitous “Willie,” the defiant young Blackguard of Europe, who is the idol of the swaggering German Army, and upon whom they pin their hopes.

It is true that the Commander of the Death’s Head Hussars ­the “Commander” who has since the war sanctioned the cold-blooded murder of women and children, the shooting of prisoners, rapine, incendiarism, and every other devil’s work that his horde of assassins could commit ­once declared that “the day will come when Social Democrats will come to Court.”

True, he has been known to be present at the golden wedding festivities of a poor cobbler in Potsdam; that he has picked up in his yellow ninety-horse-power car ­with its black imp as a mascot ­a poor tramp and taken him to the hospital; and that he possesses the charming manner of his much-worshipped grandfather, the Emperor Frederick.  But he is as clever and cunning as his criminal father, Wilhehm-der-Ploetzliche (William the Sudden) or Der Einzige (The Only), as the Kaiser is called by the people of the Palace.  He shows with double cunning but one side of his character to the misguided German people, the Prussian Junker party, and the Tom-Dick-and-Harry of the Empire who have been made cannon-fodder and whose bones lie rotting in Flanders and on the Aisne.

Ah, my dear friend, what a strange life was that of the German Court before the war ­a life of mummery, of gay uniforms, tinsel, gilded decorations, black hearts posing as virtuous, and loose people of both sexes evilly scandalizing their neighbours and pulling strings which caused their puppets to dance to the War-Lord’s tune.

I once lifted the veil slightly to you when you stayed at the Palast Hotel in Potsdam and came to us at the Marble Palace, and I suppose it is for that reason that you ask me to jot down, for the benefit of your readers in Great Britain and her Dominions, a few facts concerning the plots of the Kaiser and his son ­the idol of Germany, the Kronprinz “Willie.”

What did you think of him when I presented you?

I know how, later on that same night, you remarked upon his height, his narrow chest, and his corset-waist, and how strangely his animal eyes set slant-wise in his thin, aquiline face, goggle eyes, which dilate so strangely when speaking with you, and which yet seem to penetrate your innermost thoughts.

I agreed with you when you declared that there was nothing outwardly of the typical Hohenzollern in the Imperial Rake.  True, one seeks in vain for traces of martial virility.  Though his face is so often wreathed in boyish smiles, yet his heart is as hard as that of the true Hohenzollern, while his pretended love of sport is only a clever ruse in order to retain the popularity which, by dint of artful pretence, he has undoubtedly secured.  Indeed, it was because of the All-Highest One’s jealousy of his reckless yet crafty son’s growing popularity that we were one day all suddenly packed off to Danzig to be immured for two long years in that most dreary and provincial of all garrisons.

Of the peccadilloes of the elegant young blackguard of Europe ­who became a fully-fledged colonel in the German Army at the age of thirty-one ­I need say but little.  His life has been crammed with disgraceful incidents, most of them hushed up at the Kaiser’s command, though several of them ­especially certain occurrences in the Engadine in the winter of 1912 ­reached the ears of the Crown-Princess, who, one memorable day, unable to stand her husband’s callous treatment, threatened seriously to leave him.

Indeed, it was only by the Kaiser’s autocratic order that “Cilli” remained at the Marmor Palace.  She had actually made every preparation to leave, a fact which I, having learned it, was compelled to report to the Crown-Prince.  We were at the Palace in the Zeughaus-Platz, in Berlin, at the time, and an hour after I had returned from Potsdam I chanced to enter the Crown-Prince’s study.  The door was a self-locking one, and I had a key.  On turning my key I drew back, for His Majesty the Emperor, a fine figure in the picturesque cavalry uniform of the Koenigsjaeger ­who had just come from a review, and had no doubt heard of the threatened Royal scandal ­was standing astride in the room.

“I compel it!” cried the Emperor, pale with rage, his eyes flashing as he spoke.  “She shall remain!  Go to her at once ­make your peace with her in any way you can ­and appear to-night with her at the theatre.”

“But I fear it is impossible.  I ­”

“Have you not heard me?” interrupted the Emperor, disregarding his son’s protests.  And as I discreetly withdrew I heard the Kaiser add:  “Cannot you, of our House of Hohenzollern, see that we cannot afford to allow Cilli to leave us?  The present state of the public mind is not encouraging, much as I regret it.  Remember Frederick August’s position when that madcap Luisa of Tuscany ran away with the French tutor Giron.  Now return to Marmor without delay and do as I bid.”

“I know Cilli.  She will not be appeased.  Of that I am convinced,” declared the young man.

“It is my will ­the will of the Emperor,” were the last words I heard, spoken in that hard, intense voice I knew so well.  “Tell your wife so.  And do not see that black-haired Englishwoman again.  I had a full report from the Engadine a fortnight ago, and this contretemps is only what I have expected.  It is disgraceful!  When will you learn reason?”

Ten minutes later I was seated beside the Crown-Prince in the car on our way to Potsdam.

On the road, driving recklessly as I sat by his side, he laughed lightly as he turned to me, saying: 

“What an infernal worry women really are ­aren’t they, Heltzendorff ­more especially if one is an Imperial Prince!  Even though one is a Hohenzollern one cannot escape trouble!”

How the conjugal relations were resumed I know not.  All I know is that I attended their Imperial Highnesses to the Lessing Theatre, where, in the Royal box, the Kaiser ­ever eager to stifle the shortcomings of the Hohenzollerns ­sat with us, though according to his engagements he should have been on his way to Duesseldorf for a great review on the morrow.  But such public display allayed all rumour of his son’s domestic infelicity, and both Emperor and Kronprinz smiled benignly upon the people.

Early next day the Crown-Prince summoned me, in confidence, and an hour later I left on a secret mission to a certain lady whom I may call Miss Lilian Greyford ­as it is not fair in certain cases in these exposures to mention actual names ­daughter of an English county gentleman, who was staying at the “Kulm” at St. Moritz.

Twenty-four hours afterwards I managed to see the winter-sports young lady alone in the hotel, and gave her a verbal message, together with a little package from His Imperial Highness, which, when she opened it, I found contained a souvenir in the shape of an artistic emerald pendant.  With it were some scribbled lines.  The girl ­she was not much more than twenty ­read them eagerly, and burst into a torrent of tears.

Ah! my dear Le Queux, as you yourself know from your own observations, there are as many broken hearts beating beneath the corsets of ladies-in-waiting and maids-of-honour, as there are among that frantic feminine crowd striving to enter the magic circle of the Royal entourage or the women of the workaday world who pass up Unter-den-Linden on a Sunday.

Phew!  What a world of fevered artificiality revolves around a throne!

Very soon after this incident ­namely, in the early days of 1912 ­I found myself, as the personal-adjutant of His Imperial Highness the Crown-Prince, involved in a very strange, even inexplicable, affair.

How shall I explain it?  Well, the drama opened in the Emperor’s Palace in Berlin on New Year’s night, 1912, when, as usual, a Grand Court reception was held.

The scene was one which we who revolve around the throne know so well.  Court gowns, nodding plumes, gay uniforms, and glittering decorations ­a vicious, tinselled, gossip-loving little world which with devilish intent sows seeds of dark suspicion or struggles for the Kaiser’s favour.

In the famous White Salon, with its ceiling gaudily emblazoned with the arms of the Hohenzollerns as Burgraves, Electors, Kings, Emperors, and what-not, its walls of coloured marble and gilded bronze, and its fine statues of the Prussian rulers, we had all assembled and were waiting the entrance of the Emperor.

Kiderlen-Waechter ­the Foreign Secretary ­was standing near me, chatting with Von Jagow, slim, dark-haired and spruce.  The latter, who was serving as German Ambassador in Rome, happened to be in Berlin on leave, and the pair were laughing merrily with a handsome black-haired woman whom I recognized as the Baroness Bertieri, wife of the Italian Ambassador.

Philip Eulenburg, one of the Emperor’s personal friends (by the way, author, with Von Moltke, of the Kaiser’s much-advertised “Song to AEgir” ­a fact not generally known), approached me and began to chat, recalling a side-splitting incident that had occurred a few days before at Kiel, whither I had been with the Crown-Prince to open a new bridge.  Oh, those infernal statues and bridges!

Of a sudden the tap of the Chamberlain’s stick was heard thrice, the gold-and-white doors instantly fell open, and the Emperor, his decorations gleaming beneath the myriad lights, smilingly entered with his waddling consort, the Crown-Prince, and their brilliant suite.

All of us bowed low in homage, but as we did so I saw the shrewd eyes of the All-Highest One, which nothing escapes, fixed upon a woman who stood close to my elbow.  As he fixed his fierce gaze upon her I saw, knowing that glance as I did, that it spoke volumes.  Hitherto I had not noticed the lady, for she was probably one of those unimportant persons who are commanded to a Grand Court, wives and daughters of military nobodies, of whom we at the Palace never took the trouble to inquire so long as their gilt command-cards, issued by the Grand Chamberlain, were in proper order.

That slight contraction of the Emperor’s eyebrows caused me to ponder deeply, for, knowing him so intimately, I saw that he was intensely annoyed.

For what reason?  I was much mystified.

Naturally I turned to glance at the woman whose presence had so irritated him.  She was fair-haired, blue-eyed, petite and pretty.  Her age was about twenty-five, and she was extremely good-looking.  Beside her stood a big, fair-haired giant in the uniform of a captain of the First Regiment of the Hussars of the Guard, of which the Crown-Prince was Colonel-in-Chief.

Within a quarter of an hour I discovered that the officer was Count Georg von Leutenberg, and that his pretty wife, whom he had married two years before, was the eldest daughter of an English financier who had been created a Baron by your rule-of-thumb politicians.

“Pretty woman, eh?” lisped Eulenburg in my ear, for he had noticed her, and he was assuredly the best judge of a pretty face in all Berlin.

Next day, just before noon, on entering the Crown-Prince’s private cabinet, I found “Willie” in the uniform of the 2nd Grenadiers, apparently awaiting me in that cosy apartment, which is crammed with effigies, statuettes, and relics of the great Napoleon, whom he worships just as the War Lord reveres his famous ancestor Frederick the Great.

“Sit down, Heltzendorff,” said his Elegant Highness, waving his white, well-manicured hand to a chair near by, and puffing at his cigarette.  “It is really pleasant to have an hour’s rest!” he laughed, for he seemed in merry mood that day.  “Look here!  As you know, after the little affair with the Crown-Princess I trust to your absolute discretion.  Do you happen to know Count Georg von Leutenberg, of the Hussars of the Guard?”

“By sight only,” was my reply.  Mention of that name caused me to wonder.

“He is a very good fellow, I understand.  Do you know his wife ­a pretty little Englishwoman?”

“Unfortunately, I have not that pleasure.”

“Neither have I, Heltzendorff,” laughed the Prince, with a queer look in those slant-set eyes which appear so strangely goggly sometimes.  “But I soon shall know her, I expect.  In that direction I want your assistance.”

“I am yours for your Highness to command,” I replied, puzzled to know what was in progress.  After a few seconds of silence the Crown-Prince suddenly exclaimed: 

“So good is the report of Von Leutenberg that has reached the Emperor that ­though he is as yet in ignorance of the fact ­he has been promoted to the rank of major, and ordered upon a foreign mission ­as military attache in London.  He will leave Berlin to-night to take up his new post.”

“And the Countess?”

“By a secret report I happen to have here it is shown that they are a most devoted pair,” he said, glancing at a sheet of buff paper upon which was typed a report, one which I recognized as emanating from the secret bureau at the Polizei-Präsidium, in Alexander Platz.  “They live in the Lennestrasse, N, facing the Tiergarten.  Note the address.”

Then his Highness paused, and, rising, crossed to the big writing-table set in the window, and there examined another report.  Afterwards, glancing at the pretty buhl clock opposite, he suddenly said: 

“The Count should call here now.  I have sent informing him of the Emperor’s goodwill, and ordering him to report here to take leave of me as his Colonel-in-Chief.”

Scarcely had he spoken when Count von Leutenberg was announced by a flunkey in pink silk stockings, and a moment later the tall officer clicked his heels together and saluted smartly on the threshold.

“I thought you would be pleased at your well-merited promotion,” said his Highness in quite a genial tone.  “The Emperor wishes you to leave for London by the ten o’clock express for Flushing to-night, so as to report to his Excellency the Ambassador before he departs on leave.  Hence the urgency.  The Countess, of course, will remain in Berlin.  You will, naturally, wish for time to make your arrangements in London and dispose of your house here.”

“I think she will wish to accompany me, your Imperial Highness,” replied the fond husband.  “London is her home.”

“Ah!  That is absurd!” laughed “Willie.”  “Why, you who have been married two whole years are surely not still upon your honeymoon?” and his close-set eyes glinted strangely.  “You will be far too busy on taking up your new appointment to see much of her.  No.  Let her remain comfortably at home in Berlin until you are quite settled.  Then I will see that Kiderlen grants you leave to return to put your house in order.”

From the Count’s manner I could see that he was very much puzzled at his sudden promotion.

Indeed, on entering he had stammered out his surprise at being singled out for such high distinction.

Von Leutenberg’s hesitation was the Crown-Prince’s opportunity.

“Good!” went on his Highness in his imperious, impetuous way.  “You will leave for London to-night, and the Countess will remain until you have settled.  I congratulate you most heartily upon your well-deserved advancement, which I consider is an honour conferred by the Emperor upon my regiment.  I know, too, that you will act to the honour of the Fatherland abroad.”

And with those words the major was dismissed.

“A charming man!” remarked the Prince, after the door had closed.  “He has only been brought to my notice quite recently.  An enthusiastic officer, he will be of great use to us at Carlton House Terrace.  There is much yet to be done there, my dear Heltzendorff.  Fortunately we have put our friends the English comfortably to sleep.  It has cost us money, but money talks in London, just as it does in Berlin.”

And he drew a long, ecstatic breath at the mere thought of the great international plot in progress ­of the staggering blow to be struck against France, and the march upon Paris with those men who were his boon companions ­Von Kluck, Von Hindenburg and Von der Goltz.

“Heltzendorff,” he exclaimed a few moments later, after he had reflected deeply between the whiffs of his cigarette.  “Heltzendorff, I wish you to become acquainted with the Countess von Leutenberg, and you must afterwards introduce me.  I have a fixed and distinct reason.  I could obtain the assistance of others, but I trust you only.”

“But I do not know the lady,” I protested, for I had no desire whatsoever to become implicated in any double-dealing.

“Hohenstein knows her well.  I will see that he introduces you,” replied the Kaiser’s son, with that strange look again in his eyes.  “She’s uncommonly pretty, so mind you don’t fall in love with her!” he laughed, holding up his finger reprovingly.  “I’ve heard, too, that Count Georg is a highly jealous person, but, fortunately, he will be very busy writing secret reports at Carlton House Terrace.  So go and see Hohenstein at once, and get him to introduce you to the pretty little Englishwoman.  But, remember, not a word of this conversation is to be breathed to a single soul.”

What did it all mean?  Why had the Emperor singled out for advancement the husband of that woman, the sight of whom had so greatly annoyed him?  I confess that I became more than ever puzzled over the curious affair.

Within a week, however, thanks to the introduction of that old roue, Hohenstein, I had dined at Count von Leutenberg’s pretty house in the Lennestrasse in a fine room, the long windows of which commanded a delightful view over the Tiergarten and the Siegesallee.

The Countess, extremely charming and refined, having the misfortune of being English, had not been taken up warmly by Berlin society.  She was, I found, a most delightful hostess.  The party included Laroque, the elegant First Secretary of the French Embassy, and his Parisian wife, together with Baron Hoffmann, the burly, round-faced Minister of the Interior, and Doctor Paulssen, Under-Secretary at the Colonial Office, against whom you will remember there were allegations of atrocities committed upon the natives in German East Africa.  Hohenstein was, however, not there, as he had been suddenly dispatched by the Emperor upon a mission to Corfu.

At table the talk ran upon Leutenberg’s sudden promotion, whereupon the Minister Hoffmann declared: 

“His Majesty only gives reward when it is due.  When he discerns talent he is never mistaken.”

A week later the Crown-Prince had returned from a surprise visit the Kaiser had made to Stettin.  The Emperor had played his old game of rousing the garrison in the middle of the night, and then laughing at the ludicrous figures cut by his pompous Generals and Colonels rushing about in their night attire eager to greet their Sovereign.

I was in the Prince’s private room arranging the details of a military programme at Potsdam on the following day when he suddenly entered and exclaimed: 

“Well, Heltzendorff, and how are you proceeding in the Lennestrasse, eh?” and he looked at me with those crafty eyes of his.  “I hear you were at the house last night.”

I started.  Was I being watched?  It was quite true that I had called on the previous evening, and, finding the Countess alone, had sat in her pretty drawing-room enjoying a long and delightful chat with her.

“Yes.  I called there,” I admitted.  “The Count is returning from London next week to take his wife back with him.”

The Crown-Prince smiled mysteriously, and critically examined the curious snake ring which he always wears upon the little finger of his left hand.

“We need not anticipate that, I think.  Kiderlen will not grant him leave.  He is far better in Carlton House Terrace than in the Lennestrasse.”

“I hardly follow your Highness,” I remarked, much mystified at his words.

“H’m.  Probably not, my dear Count,” he laughed.  “I do not intend that you should.”

And with that mysterious remark he turned to meet Count von Zeppelin, the round-faced, snow-haired, somewhat florid inventor, who was one of his Highness’s most intimate friends, and who had at that moment entered unannounced.  Zeppelin was a character in Berlin.  He sought no friends, no advertisement, and shunned notoriety.

“Ha, my dear Ferdinand!” cried the Prince, shaking the hand of the man who so suddenly became world-famous at the age of seventy.  “You have travelled from Stuttgart to see me ­unwell as you are!  It is an honour.  But the matter is one of greatest urgency, as I have already written to you.  I want to show you the correspondence and seek your advice,” and the Prince invited his white-haired friend to the big, carved arm-chair beside his writing-table.  Then, turning to me, he said:  “Will you see Von Glasenapp for me, and hand him those orders for Posen?  He must leave to-night.  The General Court-Martial at Stendal I have fixed for the 25th.  I shall be with the Emperor this afternoon.  Report here at seven to-night ­understand?”

Thus was I dismissed, while His Imperial Highness and Count Zeppelin sat together in secret counsel.

At ten minutes to seven that evening I unlocked the Crown-Prince’s room with the key I carried, the other two keys being in the hands of the Crown-Princess and her husband.  I had placed upon the table a bundle of reports which had just been brought round from the Ministry of War, and required that scribbly signature, “Wilhelm Kronprinz,” when I noticed three private letters that had evidently been placed aside.  The envelopes were addressed in a thin, angular, female hand, and bore an English address.  I noted it.  The name on each was that of a lady residing in Aylesbury Avenue, Hampstead, London.  The letters bore German stamps.  In keen curiosity, I took one and examined it, wondering whether it could be the correspondence which the Crown-Prince had been so eager to show Count von Zeppelin in secret.

I drew the letter from the envelope and scanned it rapidly.

What I read caused me to hold my breath.  The signature to the letters was “Enid von Leutenberg.”

Those letters of hers had, it was plain, been seized in the post on their way to London.  The Countess either had a traitor in her household or secret watch was being kept by the Secret Service upon her correspondence.

All three of those letters I read ­letters which opened my eyes and broadened my mind.  Then, taking up my bundle of reports, I crept away from the room, carefully re-latching the door.  I intended that his Highness should return, discover the letters left there inadvertently, and put them away ere my arrival, in which case he would never suspect that I had any knowledge of their contents.

With the papers in my hand I passed along the many carpeted corridors to the south wing of the Palace, where I found Tresternitz, Marshal of the Prince’s Court, in his room.

The Crown-Prince imitated his father’s sharp punctuality, therefore I knew that he would be there at seven or soon afterwards.

Tresternitz was always full of scandal concerning those who lived in the higher circles of Berlin, and it was to one of these stories of Court scandal concerning one of the ladies-in-waiting which I listened while I smoked one of his excellent Russian cigarettes.

Then, glancing at the clock, I rose suddenly and left him, returning again to the private room.

I found his Highness there, and as I entered I noticed that he had hidden those remarkable letters which he had in secret shown to Count Zeppelin.

A fortnight went past.  The Kaiser, with his mad love of constant travel, had been rushing up and down the Empire ­to Krupp’s at Essen, to the trials of a newly-invented howitzer, thence to an inspection at Kassel, and afterwards to unveil monuments at Cologne and at Erfurt.  The Crown-Prince and Princess had accompanied him, the Kaiserin being indisposed, and I, of course, had been included in “Willie’s” suite.

The week had been a strenuous one of train-travel, luncheons, tiring dinners, receptions, dancing, and general junketings, and I was glad enough to get back to my bachelor rooms ­those rooms in the Krausenstrasse that you knew so well before the bursting of the war-cloud.  To dance attendance upon an Imperial Crown-Prince, as well as upon an autocratic Emperor, becomes after a time a wearisome business, however gay and cosmopolitan a man may be.

I had only been at home a few hours when a telephone message summoned me at five o’clock to the Crown-Prince’s Palace.

His Imperial Highness, who had, I knew, been lunching with the Emperor at the Koenigliches Schloss across the bridge, seemed unusually serious and thoughtful.  Perhaps the Emperor had again shown his anger at his peccadilloes, as he did so frequently.

“Count,” he said, after a few seconds of silence, during which I noted that upon his table lay a private letter from the German Ambassador in London.  “You will recall my conversation regarding the Countess von Leutenberg ­eh?”

“Perfectly,” was my reply.

“I told you that I should require you to introduce me,” he said.  “Well, I want you to do so this evening.  She has taken a box at the Koenigliche Opera to-night, where they are to play Falstaff.  I shall be there, and you will be with me.  Then you will introduce me to your pretty friend.  Understand?” And he grinned.

That night, in accordance with my instructions, I sat in the Emperor’s box with the Crown-Prince, Tresternitz, and two personal-adjutants, and, recognizing the Countess von Leutenberg in a box opposite, accompanied by an elderly lady, I took the Crown-Prince round, and there presented her to him, greatly to her surprise and undisguised delight.

The Prince and the Countess chatted together, while I sat with her elderly companion.  Then, when we had withdrawn, my Imperial Master exclaimed: 

“Ah! my dear Heltzendorff.  Why, she is one of the prettiest women in all Berlin!  Surely it is unfortunate ­most unfortunate.”

What was unfortunate?  I was further puzzled by that last sentence, yet I dare not ask any explanation, and we went back to our own box.

After our return to the Palace the Crown-Prince, who was standing in one of the corridors talking with the slim, fair-haired Baroness von Wedel, one of his wife’s ladies-in-waiting, left her and beckoned me into an adjoining room.

“I wish you, Heltzendorff, to call upon the Countess von Leutenberg at nine o’clock to-morrow evening.  She will expect you.”

I looked at his Highness, much puzzled.  How did he know that the pretty Countess would expect me?

But he gave me no time to reply, merely turning upon his heel, and striding down the corridor to the private apartments.

Punctually at nine o’clock that wintry evening I called at the Lennestrasse, but Josef, the elderly manservant, informed me that his mistress was engaged, adding that His Imperial Highness the Crown-Prince had paid a surprise call.

“The Crown-Prince here!” I gasped, astounded.

“Yes, Count.  And, further, my mistress is in high glee, for my master returned this morning quite unexpectedly from London.  He has been out at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs all the evening, and I expect him home at any moment.  The Crown-Prince ordered me to ask you to await him here.”

Count von Leutenberg in Berlin!  What did it mean?  He was absurdly jealous, I recollected.  He might return at any moment and find the Crown-Prince alone in the Countess’s drawing-room.  If so, the situation might certainly be a most unpleasant one.

Hardly had the thought crossed my mind when I heard the Count enter, his spurs clinking and his sabre rattling as he strode up the stairs.

I crept forth, listening breathlessly.

A few seconds later I heard the Count’s voice raised in anger and high, bitter words.  Next moment I sprang up the stairs and, dashing into the room, found the pretty Countess standing near the window, white and rigid as a statue, while the two men in uniform faced each other.  Von Leutenberg’s countenance was distorted with rage as he abused the Crown-Prince, and openly charged him with having brought about his exile to London.

His Highness made no reply, but only smiled sarcastically and shrugged his narrow shoulders.

So enraged the other became at this latter gesture that, with a sudden movement, he drew his sword.

The Countess shrieked and swooned as I sprang forward and stayed her husband’s hand.

It was a dramatic moment.  The Count instantly realized the enormity of his crime, and his hand dropped.

“Enough!” cried the Crown-Prince, waving his adversary aside.  Then, turning to me, he said in a calm, hard voice: 

“Heltzendorff, you are witness that this man has drawn his sword upon the heir to the Throne.”

And with those haughty words he bowed stiffly and strode out of the room.

Two hours later I was commanded to the Kaiser’s presence, and found him in counsel with his son.

The Emperor, who wore the uniform of the Guards, looked pale and troubled, yet in his eyes there was a keen, determined look.  As I passed the sentries and entered the lofty study, with its upholstery and walls of pale green damask ­that room from which the Empire and the whole world have so often been addressed ­the Kaiser broke off short in his conversation.

Turning to me as he still sat at his littered table, he said in that quick, impetuous way of his: 

“Count Heltzendorff, the Crown-Prince has informed me of what has occurred this evening in the Lennestrasse.  I wish you to convey this at once to Count von Leutenberg and to give it into his own hand.  There is no reply.”

And His Majesty handed me a rather bulky envelope addressed in his own bold handwriting, and bearing his own private cipher impressed in black wax.

Thus commanded, I bowed, withdrew, and took a taxicab straight to the Lennestrasse, being ushered by Josef into the presence of husband and wife in that same room I had quitted a couple of hours before.

I handed the Count the packet the Emperor had given me, and with trembling fingers he tore it open.

From within he drew three letters, those same letters which his wife had written to London, and which had been intercepted by the Secret Service ­the letters which I had read in his Highness’s room.

As he scanned the lines which the Emperor had penned his face blanched.  A loud cry of dismay escaped his wife as she recognized her own letters, and she snatched the note from her husband’s hand and also read it.

The light died instantly from her beautiful countenance.  Then, turning to me, she said in a hoarse, hopeless tone: 

“Thank you, Count von Heltzendorff.  Tell His Majesty the Emperor that his command shall be ­yes, it shall be obeyed.”

Those last words she spoke in a deep, hoarse whisper, a strange, wild look of desperation in her blue eyes.

An hour later I reported again at the Imperial Palace, was granted audience of the Emperor, and gave him the verbal reply.

His Majesty uttered no word, merely nodding his head slowly in approval.

Next afternoon a painful sensation was caused throughout Berlin when the Abendpost published the news that Count von Leutenberg, the man so recently promoted by the Emperor, and his pretty wife had both been found dead in their room.  During the night they had evidently burned some papers, for the tinder was found in the stove, and having agreed to die together, they being so much attached during life, they had both taken prussic acid in some wine, the bottle and half-emptied glasses being still upon the table.

The romantic affair, the truth of which I here reveal for the first time, was regarded by all Berlin as an inexplicable tragedy.  The public are still unaware of how those intercepted letters contained serious warnings to the British Government of the Emperor’s hostile intentions towards Britain, and the probable date of the outbreak of war.  Indeed, they recounted a private conversation which the Countess had overheard between the Kaiser and Count Zeppelin, repeating certain opprobrious epithets which the All-Highest had bestowed upon one or two British statesmen, and she also pointed out the great danger of a pending rupture between the two Powers, as well as explaining some details regarding the improved Zeppelins in course of construction secretly on Lake Constance, and certain scandals regarding the private life of the Crown-Prince.

It was for the latter reason that the heir, aided by the War-Lord, took his revenge in a manner so crafty, so subtle, and so typical of the innate cunning of the Hohenzollerns.

Thus the well-meant warnings of one of your good, honest Englishwomen never reached the unsuspicious address to which they were sent, and thus did “Willie” ­who, as I afterwards discovered, devised that subtle vengeance ­act as the Emperor’s catspaw.