The figure was unfamiliar, but, catching sight of his face, I held my
breath. I had seen that sallow, deep-eyed countenance before.
It was the young man who, two months previously, had sat eating his
luncheon alone at the "Esplanade," apparently fascinated by the beauty
of little Elise Breitenbach!
"Well," exclaimed the Baron. "I see you recognize him--eh? He is
probably going to buy more paper for his scurrilous screeds."
"Yes. But who is he? What is his name?" I asked anxiously. "I have seen
him before, but have no exact knowledge of him."
The Baron did not reply until we were back again in the cosy room in
Neuilly. Then, opening his cigar-box, he said:
"That young man, the author of the outrageous insults to His Majesty, is
known as Franz Seeliger, but he is the disgraced, ne'er-do-well son of
General von Trautmann, Captain-General of the Palace Guard."
"The son of old Von Trautmann!" I gasped in utter amazement. "Does the
father know?"
The Baron grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
Then after I had related to him the incident at the "Esplanade," he
said:
"That is of greatest interest. Will you return to Berlin and report to
the Emperor what you have seen here? His Majesty has given me that
instruction."
Much mystified, I was also highly excited that the actual writer of
those abominable letters had been traced and identified. The Baron told
me of the long weeks of patient inquiry and careful watching; of how the
young fellow had been followed to Angers and other towns in France where
the letters were posted, and of his frequent visits to Berlin. He had
entered a crack regiment, but had been dismissed the Army for forgery
and undergone two years' imprisonment. Afterwards he had fallen in with
a gang of clever international hotel thieves, and become what is known
as a _rat d'hotel_. Now, because of a personal grievance against the
Emperor, who had ordered his prosecution, he seemed to have by some
secret means ferreted out every bit of scandal at Potsdam, exaggerated
it, invented amazing additions, and in secret sown it broadcast.
His hand would have left no trace if he had not been so indiscreet as to
buy his paper from that one shop close to the Rue de Provence, where he
had rooms.
On the third night following I stood in the Emperor's private room at
Potsdam and made my report, explaining all that I knew and what I had
witnessed in Paris.
"That man knows a very great deal--but how does he know?" snapped the
Emperor, who had just returned from Berlin, and was in civilian attire,
a garb quite unusual to him. He had no doubt been somewhere
incognito--visiting a friend perhaps. "See Schunke early to-morrow," he
ordered, "and tell him to discover the link between this young
blackguard and your friends the Breitenbachs, and report to me."
I was about to protest that the Breitenbachs were not my friends, but
next instant drew my breath, for I saw that the great War-Lord, even
though he wore a blue serge suit, was filled with suppressed anger.
"This mystery must be cleared up!" he declared in a hard voice,
reflecting no doubt upon the terrible abuse which the writer had heaped
upon him, all the allegations, by-the-way, having contained a certain
substratum of truth.
Next morning I sat with the bald-headed and astute Schunke at the
headquarters of the detective police in Berlin, and there discussed the
affair fully, explaining the result of my journey to Paris and what I
had seen, and giving him the order from the Kaiser.
"But, Count, if this woman Breitenbach and her pretty daughter are your
friends you will be able to visit them and glean something," he said.
"I have distinct orders from the Emperor not to visit them while the
inquiry is in process," I replied.
Schunke grunted in dissatisfaction, stroked his iron-grey beard, but
made no further comment.
We walked out together, and I left him at the door of the Etat-major of
the Army in the Koenigsplatz.
Later that same morning I returned to the Marmor Palace to report to the
Crown-Prince, but found that His Highness was absent upon an official
visit of inspection at Stuttgart. The Marshal of the Court, Tresternitz,
having given me the information, laughed, and added:
"Officially, according to to-day's newspapers, His Highness is in
Stuttgart, but unofficially I know that he is at the Palace Hotel, in
Brussels, where there is a short-skirted variety attraction singing at
the Eden Theatre. So, my dear Heltzendorff, you can return to the
Krausenstrasse for a day or two."
I went back to Berlin, the Crown-Princess being away at Wiesbaden, and
from day to day awaited "Willie's" return.
In the meantime I several times saw the great detective, Schunke, and
found that he was in constant communication with Baron Steinmetz in
Paris. The pair were evidently leaving no stone unturned to elucidate
the mystery of those annoying letters, which were still falling as so
many bombs into the centre of the Kaiser's Court.
Suddenly, one Sunday night, all Berlin was electrified at the news that
General von Trautmann, Captain-General of the Palace Guard--whom, truth
to tell, the Crown-Prince had long secretly hated because he had once
dared to utter some word of reproach--had been arrested, and sent to a
fortress at the Emperor's order.
An hour after the arrest His Majesty's personal-adjutant commanded me by
telephone to attend at the Berlin Schloss. When we were alone the Kaiser
turned to me suddenly, and said:
"Count von Heltzendorff, you will say nothing of your recent visit to
Paris, or of the authorship of those anonymous letters--you understand?
You know absolutely nothing."
Then, being summarily dismissed by a wave of the Imperial hand, I
retired, more mystified than ever. Why should my mouth be thus closed? I
dared not call at the Alsenstrasse to make my own inquiries, yet I knew
that the police had made theirs.
When I returned to my rooms that evening Schunke rang me up on the
telephone with the news that my friends the Breitenbachs had closed
their house and left early that morning for Brussels.
"Where is Seeliger?" I inquired in great surprise.
"In Brussels. The Breitenbachs have gone there to join him, now that the
truth is out and his father is under arrest."
The Emperor's fury was that of a lunatic. It knew no bounds. His mind,
poisoned against the poor old General, he had fixed upon him as the
person responsible for that disgraceful correspondence which for so many
weeks had kept the Court in constant turmoil and anxiety. Though His
Majesty was aware of the actual writer of the letters, he would not
listen to reason, and openly declared that he would make an example of
the silver-haired old Captain-General of the Guard, who, after all, was
perfectly innocent of the deeds committed by his vagabond son.
A prosecution was ordered, and three weeks later it took place _in
camera_, the Baron, Schunke and a number of detectives being ordered to
give evidence. So damning, indeed, was their testimony that the Judge
passed the extreme sentence of twenty years' imprisonment.
And I, who knew and held proofs of the truth, dared not protest!
Where was the General's son--the real culprit and author of the letters?
I made inquiry of Schunke, of the Baron, and of others who had, at the
order of the All-Highest, conspired to ruin poor Von Trautmann. All,
however, declared ignorance, and yet, curiously enough, the fine house
in the Alsenstrasse still remained empty.
Later, I discovered that the Crown-Prince had been the prime mover in
the vile conspiracy to send the elderly Captain-General to prison and to
the grave, for of this his words to me one day--a year afterwards--were
sufficient proof:
"It is a good job, Heltzendorff, that the Emperor rid himself at last of
that canting old pest, Von Trautmann. He is now in a living tomb, and
should have been there four years ago!" and he laughed.
I made no response. Instead, I thought of the quiet, innocent old
courtier languishing in prison because he had somehow incurred the
ill-will of the Emperor's son, and I confess that I ground my teeth at
my own inability to expose the disgraceful truth.
About six months after the secret trial of the unfortunate General I had
accompanied the Crown-Prince on a visit to the Quirinal, and one
afternoon while strolling along the Corso, in Rome, suddenly came face
to face with the dainty little figure of Fraeulein Elise Breitenbach.
In delight I took her into Ronzi's, the noted confectioner's at the
corner of the Piazza Colonna, and there, at one of the little tables,
she explained to me how she and her mother, having become acquainted
with Franz Seeliger--not knowing him to be the General's son--they
suddenly fell under the suspicion of the Berlin Secret Police, and,
though much puzzled, did not again come to Court.
Some weeks later mother and daughter chanced to be in Paris, and one day
called at Seeliger's rooms in the Rue de Provence, but he was out. They,
however, were shown into his room to wait, and there saw upon his table
an abusive and scurrilous typewritten letter in German addressed to the
Emperor. Then it suddenly dawned upon them that the affable young man
might be the actual author of those infamous letters. It was this visit
which, no doubt, revealed to the Baron the young man's hiding-place.
Both mother and daughter, however, kept their own counsel, met Seeliger
next day, and watched, subsequently learning, to their surprise, that he
was the son of General von Trautmann, and, further, that he had as a
friend one of the personal valets of the Emperor, from whom, no doubt,
he obtained his inside information about persons at Court.
"When his poor father was sentenced we knew that the young man was
living in Brussels, and at once went there in order to induce him to
come forward, make confession, and so save the General from disgrace,"
said the pretty girl seated before me. "On arrival we saw him alone, and
told him what we had discovered in the Rue de Provence, whereupon he
admitted to us that he had written all the letters, and announced that
he intended to return to Berlin next day and give himself up to the
police in order to secure his father's release."
"And why did he not do so?" I asked eagerly.
"Because next morning he was found dead in his bed in the hotel."
"Ah, suicide."
"No," was her half-whispered reply. "He had been strangled by an unknown
hand--deliberately murdered, as the Brussels police declared. They were,
of course, much mystified, for they did not know, as we know, that
neither the young man's presence nor his confession were desired in
Berlin."
Fearing the Emperor's wrath, the Breitenbachs, like myself, dare not
reveal what they knew--the truth, which is here set down for the first
time--and, alas! poor General von Trautmann died in prison at Mulheim
last year.