THE AFFAIR OF THE HUNCHBACKED COUNTESS

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 certain Countess 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 Mercedes 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 Koenigsjaeger, 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 French chansonnette!”

“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 pretty Grande Maitresse of 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, la la! 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 the Grande Maitresse had 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 Chamberlain du 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 over Her 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 Frederic, 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 its high 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 Ruegen.  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 did not 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 Luebeck, 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 curious sandstone 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-Prince affably, 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 the spot 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.

A full half-hour had passed, yet the head forester, who was keeping a look-out along the road, did not signal His Highness’s approach.

“I wonder what can have detained him?” remarked the Inspector-General of Cavalry.

I explained that a strange young man had come to the forester’s house.

“Well,” laughed a smart young lieutenant of Uhlans, “I could have understood the delay if it had been a lady!”

An hour went past.  The light would soon fade, and we, knowing “Willie’s” utter disregard for his appointments, at last decided to continue the shoot, leaving one of the foresters to tell His Highness the direction we had taken.

The Crown-Prince did not, however, join us, and darkness had fallen ere we returned to the forester’s house.  Of His Highness there was no sign, a fact which much surprised us.  In the room wherein I had left him his gun and green Tyrolese hat were lying upon a chair, and the fact that all the cars were still ranged outside showed that he had not driven back to the castle.

The Crown-Prince had disappeared!

Knof, His Highness’s chauffeur, who had been walking with us, was sent back post-haste to the schloss to ascertain whether he had been seen there, for His Highness’s movements were often most erratic.  We knew that if the whim took him he would perhaps go off in an opposite direction, or trudge back to the castle with utter disregard of our natural anxiety.

Lights were lit, and we enjoyed cigars awaiting Knof’s return.  In an hour he was back with the news that nothing had been heard of His Highness.  Soon after we had left that morning, however, a young man in a grey suit had called and seen the major-domo, who had directed him where His Highness might be found.

Upon Eckardt ­the commissary of police responsible for His Highness’s safety ­the onus rested.  Yet, had he not been sent out with the party, as His Highness had expressed to me a wish to be left alone with the stranger, whose name I alone knew.

While we were discussing the most judicious mode of action ­for I scented much mystery in this visit of Karl Krahl ­one of the party suddenly discovered, lying upon the ledge of the window, a lady’s small and rather elegant handbag of black moire silk.

“Hulloa!” I cried when he held it up for inspection.  “This reveals to us one fact ­a woman has been here!”

I opened the bag, and within found a small lawn handkerchief with a coronet embroidered in its corner, a tiny tortoise-shell mirror, and four one-hundred-mark notes, but no clue whatever as to its owner.

The mystery was increasing hourly, but the gay party, knowing “Willie’s” susceptibility where the fair sex were concerned, only laughed and declared that His Highness would assuredly turn up before the evening was over.

Truth to tell, I did not like the situation.  His Highness’s disappearance was now known to fifty or so persons, beaters, and others, and I feared lest it might get into the Berlin papers.  With that object I called them together and impressed upon them that most complete silence must be maintained regarding the affair.

Then Knof drove me alone back to the schloss.  I wondered if His Highness, wishing to get away unobserved, returning in secret there, had left me a written message in his room.  He had done that on one occasion before.

I dashed up to the small, old-world room which by day overlooked the romantic and picturesque valley, but upon the table whereat I had been writing early that morning there was nothing.

As I turned to leave I heard a footstep, and next instant saw the little deformed old Countess facing me.

Her appearance quite startled me.  Apparently she had just arrived, for she was in a dark blue bonnet and warm travelling coat.

“Ah!  Count von Heltzendorff!” she cried in that squeaky, high-pitched voice of hers.  “Is His Imperial Highness here?  I must see him immediately.”

“No, Countess.  His Imperial Highness is not here,” was my reply.  “This afternoon he mysteriously disappeared from the forester’s lodge at Neue Schenke, and we are unable to trace him.”

“Disappeared!” gasped the old lady, instantly pale and agitated.

“Yes,” I said, looking her straight in the face.

“Do you know whether he had a visitor to-day ­a young, dark-haired man?”

“He had, Countess.  A man called, and saw him.  At His Highness’s request I left him alone with his visitor at the forester’s house.  The man’s name was Karl Krahl.”

“How did you know his name?” she asked, staring at me with an expression of distinct suspicion.

“Because ­well, because I happen to have learnt it some time ago,” I said.  “And, further, on returning to the house we found this little bag in the room wherein I had left the Crown-Prince.”

“Why! ­a lady’s bag!” she exclaimed as I held it out for inspection.

“Yes,” I said in a somewhat hard tone.  “Do you happen to recognize it?”

“Me?  Why?” asked the old woman.

“Well, because I think it is your own property,” I said with a sarcastic smile.  “I have some recollection of having seen it in your hand!”

She took it, examined it well, and then, with a hollow, artificial laugh, declared: 

“It certainly is not mine.  I once had a bag very similar, but mine was not of such good quality.”

“Are you really quite certain, Countess?” I demanded in a low, persuasive voice.

“Quite,” she declared, though I knew that she was lying to me.  “But why trouble about that bag while there is a point much more important ­the safety and whereabouts of His Imperial Highness?” she went on in a great state of agitation.  “Tell me, Count, exactly what occurred ­as far as you know.”

I recounted to her the facts just as you have already written them down, and as I did so I watched her thin, crafty old face, noticing upon it an expression full of suspicion of myself.  She was, I now realized, undecided as to the exact extent of my knowledge.

“How did you know that the young man’s name was Krahl?” she asked eagerly.  “You had perhaps met him before ­eh?”

But to this leading question I maintained a sphinx-like silence.  That the little old woman who had so unexpectedly become a lady-in-waiting was playing some desperate double game I felt sure, but its exact import was still an enigma.

“In any case,” she said, “would it not be as well to return to the Neue Schenke and make search?”

I smiled.  Then, in order to let her know that I was acquainted with Italian, the language she had spoken on that well-remembered night in her own conservatory, I exclaimed: 

“Ahe! alle volte con gli occhi aperti si far dei sogni.” (Sometimes one can dream with one’s eyes open.)

Her thin eyebrows narrowed, and with a shrug of her shoulders the clever old woman replied: 

“Dal false bene viene il vero male.” (From an affected good feeling comes a real evil.)

I realized at that moment that there was more mystery in the affair than I had yet conceived.  His Imperial Highness was certainly missing, though the female element of the affair had become eliminated by my recognition of her own handbag.  She, too, had been in secret to the forester’s house ­but with what object?

Half an hour later we were back at the little house in the forest.

The guests had all returned to the castle, and only Eckardt, the police commissary, remained, with the forester and his underlings.  Already search had been made in the surrounding woods, but without result.  Of his Imperial Highness there was no trace.

In the long room, with its pitch-pine walls, and lit by oil lamps, the crafty old Countess closely questioned Eckardt as to the result of his inquiries.  But the police official, who had become full of nervous fear, declared that he had been sent off by His Highness, and had not since found any trace of him.  He spoke of the little black silk bag, of course, and attached great importance to it.

Within half an hour we had reorganized the beaters from the neighbourhood and, with lanterns, set out again to examine some woods to the east which had not been searched.  About ten o’clock we set forth, the Countess accompanying us and walking well, notwithstanding her age, though I could see that it was a fearful anxiety that kept her active.  To the men with us every inch of the mountain side was familiar, and for hours we searched.

Suddenly, not far away, a horn was blown, followed by loud shouts.  Quickly we approached the spot, and Eckardt and myself, as we came up, looked upon a strange scene.  Close to the trunk of a great beech tree lay the form of the Crown-Prince, hatless, outstretched upon his face.

Instantly I bent, tore open his shooting jacket, and to my great relief found that his heart was still beating.  He was, however, quite unconscious, though there seemed no sign of a struggle.  As he had left his hat and gun in the house, it seemed that he had gone forth only for a moment.  And yet we were quite a mile from the forester’s house!

The Countess had thrown herself upon her knees and stroked his brow tenderly when I announced that he was still living.  By her actions I saw that she was filled by some bitter self-reproach.

With the lanterns shining around him ­surely a weird and remarkable scene which would, if described by the journalists, have caused a great sensation in Europe ­the Crown-Prince was brought slowly back to consciousness, until at last he sat up, dazed and wondering.

His first words to me were: 

“That fellow!  Where is he?  That ­that glass globe!”

Glass globe!  Surely His Highness’s mind was wandering.

An hour later he was comfortably in bed in the great old-world room in the castle, attended by a local doctor ­upon whom I set the seal of official silence ­and before dawn he had completely recovered.

Yet, even to me, he declared that he retained absolutely no knowledge of what had occurred.

“I went out quickly, and I ­well, I don’t know what happened,” he told me soon after dawn, as he lay in bed.  Strangely enough, he made no mention of the man, Karl Krahl.

Later on he summoned the Countess von Kienitz, and for twenty minutes or so he had an animated discussion with her.  Being outside the room, however, I was unable to hear distinctly.

Well, I succeeded, by bribes and threats, in hushing up the whole affair and keeping it out of the papers, while by those who knew of the incident it was soon forgotten.

I suppose it must have been fully three months later when one evening, having taken some documents over to the Emperor for signature at the Berlin Schloss, I returned to the Prince’s private room in the Palace, when, to my great surprise, I found the man Karl Krahl seated there.  He looked very pale and worn, quite unlike the rather athletic figure he presented at the forester’s house.

“If you still refuse to tell me the truth, then I shall take my own measures to find out ­severe measures!  So I give you full warning,” the Crown-Prince was declaring angrily, as I entered so unexpectedly.

I did not withdraw, pretending not to notice the presence of a visitor, therefore His Highness himself beckoned the young man, who followed him down the corridor to another room.

The whole affair was most puzzling.  What had happened on that afternoon in the Harz Mountains I could not at all imagine.  By what means had His Highness been rendered unconscious, and what part could the little old Countess have played in the curious affair?

In about half an hour the Crown-Prince returned in a palpably bad humour, and, flinging himself into his chair, wrote a long letter, which he addressed to Countess von Kienitz.  This he sealed carefully, and ordered me to take it at once to the Stulerstrasse and deliver it to her personally.

“The Countess left for Stockholm this morning,” I was informed by the bearded manservant.  “She left by the eight o’clock train, and has already left Sassnitz by now.”

“When do you expect her to return?”

The man did not know.

On going back to His Highness and telling him of the Countess’s departure, he bit his lip and then smiled grimly.

“That infernal old woman has left Germany, and will never again put her foot upon our soil, Heltzendorff,” he said.  “You may open that letter.  It will explain something which I know must have mystified you.”

I did so.  And as I read what he had written I held my breath.  Truly, it did explain much.

Imposing the strictest silence upon me, the Crown-Prince then revealed how utterly he and the Crown-Princess had been misled, and how very narrowly he had escaped being the victim of a cunning plot to effect his death.

The little old Countess von Kienitz had, it seemed, sworn to avenge the degradation and dismissal of her son, who had been in the famous Death’s Head Hussars.  She had secretly traced the Crown-Prince as author of a subtle conspiracy against him, the underlying motive being jealousy.  With that end in view she had slowly wormed her way into His Highness’s confidence, and introduced to him Karl Krahl, a neurotic young Saxon who lived in London, and who pretended he had unearthed a plot against the Kaiser himself.

“It was to tell me the truth concerning the conspiracy that Krahl came to me in secret at Ballenstedt.  He remained with me for half an hour, when, to my great surprise, we were joined by the Countess.  The story they told me of the plot against the Emperor was a very alarming one, and I intended to return at once to Berlin.  The Countess had left to walk back to the schloss, when presently we heard a woman’s scream ­her voice ­and we both went forth to discover what was in progress.  As I ran along a little distance behind Krahl, suddenly what seemed like a thin glass globe struck me in the chest and burst before my face.  It had been thrown by an unknown hand, and, on breaking, must have emitted some poisonous gas which was intended to kill me, but which happily failed.  Until yesterday the whole affair was a complete mystery, but Krahl has now confessed that the Countess conceived the plot, and that the hand that had thrown the glass bomb was that of her son, who had concealed himself in the bushes for that purpose.”

Though, of course, I hastened to congratulate His Highness upon his fortunate escape, yet I now often wonder whether, if the plot had succeeded, the present world-conflict would ever have occurred.