"You are quite certain that you have never heard the name? Try to
recollect whether the Crown-Prince has ever mentioned him in your
presence."
I endeavoured to recall the circumstance, for somehow very gradually I
felt a distinct recollection of having once heard that name before.
"At the moment I fail to recall anything, Your Majesty," was my answer.
The Emperor knit his brows as though annoyed at my reply, and then
grunted deeply in dissatisfaction.
"Remain here in Potsdam," he said. "Telegraph to the Crown-Prince
recalling him at my orders, and I will cancel the inspection at Thorn.
Tell the Crown-Prince that I wish to see him to-night immediately upon
his return."
Then, noticing for the first time that the Emperor held a paper in his
hand, I realized that by its colour it was one of those secret reports
furnished for the Kaiser's eye alone--a report of one of the thousands
of spies of Germany spread everywhere.
Minckwitz! I impressed that name upon my memory, and, being dismissed,
bowed myself out of the Imperial presence.
Returning to the Marmor Palace I sent a long and urgent message over the
private wire to "Willie" at Altona, repeating His Majesty's orders, and
recalling him at once. Quite well I knew that such an unusual message
would arouse His Highness's apprehension that for some offence or other
he was about to receive a paternal castigation. But I could not be
explicit, because I had no knowledge of the reason the Emperor was
cancelling our engagement at Thorn.
At nine o'clock that night the Crown-Prince, gay in his Hussar uniform,
burst into the room wherein I was attending to the correspondence.
"What in the name of Fate does all this mean, Heltzendorff?" he
demanded. "Why did the Emperor fail to reply to my message?"
"I delivered it," I said. And then I described what took place in the
Emperor's private dining-room. When I mentioned the name of Minckwitz
the Crown-Prince started and his cheeks blanched.
"Did he ask you that?" he gasped.
"Yes. I told him the only person I knew of that name was Count von
Minckwitz."
"Ah, that little fat, old Master of the Court. Oh! The Emperor knows him
well enough. It is somebody else he is referring to."
"Do you know him?" I asked eagerly.
"Me? Why--why, of course not!" was "Willie's" quick reply, in a tone
which showed me that he was not telling the truth.
"His Majesty wishes to see you at once," I urged, full of wonder.
I could plainly see that His Imperial Highness had been much upset at
mention of the mysterious person called Minckwitz. What could the
Emperor know of him? Was there some scandal at the root of it all, some
facts which the Crown-Prince feared might be revealed?
Travel-stained, and without changing his tunic, "Willie" went to the
telephone and ordered Knof to bring back the car. And in it he drove
across to the Neues Palais to see the Emperor.
I had an important appointment in Berlin that night, and waited until
quite late for "Willie's" return. As he did not come I left for the
capital, and on arrival at my rooms rang up Wolff's Agency, and gave out
a paragraph to the Press that His Imperial Highness the Crown-Prince had
been compelled to abandon his journey to Thorn, owing to having
contracted a chill. His wife "Cilli"--the contraction for Cecilia--had,
however, gone to visit Princess Henry of Rohnstock at Fuerstenstein.
Several weeks went by, and one day we were at the ancient schloss at
Oels, in far Silesia, the great estate which the Crown-Prince inherited
on coming of age. The castle is a big, prison-like place, surrounded by
wide lands and dense forests, lying between the town of Breslau and the
Polish frontier, a remote, rural place to which "Willie" loved sometimes
to retire with a few kindred spirits in order to look over the estate
and to shoot.
The guests included old Count von Reisenach, Court Chamberlain, of the
Prince of Schombourg-Lippe, who was a noted raconteur and bon-vivant,
with Major von Heidkaemper, of the 4th Bavarian Light Cavalry, a constant
companion of "Willie's," and Karl von Pappenheim, a captain of the
Prussian Guard, who had been educated at Oxford, and who was so English
that it was often difficult for people from London to believe that he
was a Prussian.
Von Pappenheim, a tall, good-looking, fair-moustached man under thirty,
was one of "Willie's" new friends. He was the son of a great landowner
of Erfurt, and the pair had for the past month been inseparable. He was
a shrewd, keen-eyed man, who seemed ever on the alert, but, of course,
obsessed by military dignity, and as full of swagger as any Prussian
officer could be. He had a sister, Margarete, a pretty girl, a year or
so his junior, who had been to the Marmor Palace on one occasion. The
Crown-Princess had received her, but from the fact that she was not
invited a second time I concluded that the inevitable jealousy had
arisen, because in my presence "Willie" had more than once referred to
her beauty.
I sometimes suspected that "Willie's" sudden and close friendship with
Von Pappenheim had some connection with his intense admiration of the
latter's sister. I, however, learnt the truth concerning their intimacy
in a curious way while at the Schloss Oels.
One day I had accompanied the party out after stag, for, being a fair
shot, I frequently snatched a day's sport. Soon after luncheon, which we
took at a forester's house, we went forth again, and I concealed myself
at a point of vantage, lying behind a screen of ferns and branches
specially constructed as cover.
I was alone, at some considerable distance from the others, and had been
there waiting for nearly an hour with my gun in readiness when suddenly
I heard the cracking of dried wood not far away.
Something was moving. I raised my gun in breathless eagerness.
Next moment, however, I heard the voices of two men.--"Willie" and his
friend, Von Pappenheim. They were approaching me, speaking in low,
confidential tones.
"You quite understand," "Willie" was saying. "My position is a terrible
one. I don't know how to extricate myself. If I dare reveal the truth
then I know full well what their vengeance will be."
"But, my dear Caesar," was Karl von Pappenheim's reply, for he was on
such intimate terms that he called His Highness by the name Von Hochberg
had bestowed upon him, "is it not your duty to risk all and tell the
truth?" he suggested seriously.
The pair had halted only a few yards from me and taken cover behind a
dead bush which had been cut down and placed conveniently at the spot,
in case the shooting party were a large one and the screen behind which
I had concealed myself was insufficient. So near were they that I could
hear all that was said.
"The Emperor would neither believe me nor forgive me," "Willie" said.
"Minckwitz is a clever devil. He would bring manufactured evidence which
must implicate me."
Minckwitz! That was the name which the Emperor had uttered, asking me if
I knew him! That incident at the Neues Palais flashed across my memory.
I recollected, too, how, when I had referred to the circumstance, His
Highness had become pale and agitated. Mention of the name had affected
him curiously.
"But can he bring evidence?" asked his companion.
"Yes, curse him!--he can!"
"You can refute it, surely?"
"No, I can't. If I could I should make a clean breast of the whole
matter," "Willie" declared. From the tone of his voice I realized how
utterly bewildered he was.
"But cannot I help you? Cannot I see Minckwitz and bluff him?" his
friend suggested.
"You don't know him," was the reply. "He holds me in the hollow of his
hand."
"Ah! Then you have been horribly indiscreet--eh?"
"I have. I admit I have, Karl; and I do not see any way out of it."
"But, my dear Caesar, think of the danger existing day by day--hour by
hour!" cried Von Pappenheim. "Think what there is at stake! That letter
you showed me this morning reveals only too plainly what is intended."
"It is a letter of defiance, I admit."
"And a catastrophe must inevitably occur if you do not act."
"But how can I act?" cried the Crown-Prince, in despair. "Suggest
something--I cannot. If I utter a syllable Minckwitz will most certainly
carry out his threat against me."
"Contrive to have him arrested upon some charge or other," Karl
suggested.
"If I did he would produce the evidence against me," declared the
Crown-Prince.
A silence then fell between the pair. Suddenly Karl asked:
"Does Von Heltzendorff know?"
"He knows nothing," was "Willie's" answer. "The Emperor questioned him,
but he was in ignorance of Minckwitz's existence. He was naturally
surprised, but I did not regard it as judicious to enlighten him."
"He is your confidential adjutant. If I were you I should tell him the
truth. No time should be lost, remember."
Then, after a few seconds of silence. Von Pappenheim went on:
"Why, I never thought of it! My sister Margarete knows Minckwitz. She
might perhaps be useful to us--eh?"
"Why, yes!" cried "Willie," "a woman can frequently accomplish a thing
where a man would fail. A most excellent idea. Let us leave the others
to their sport and get back to the schloss and discuss a line of
action--eh?"
And in agreement the pair emerged from their ambush, and retraced their
steps along the path they had come.
Still greatly puzzled at the nature of the secret which the Crown-Prince
was withholding from me, I came out of my hiding-place and presently
rejoined the party.
That night we all dined together, as was our habit when at Oels, but I
saw that "Willie" was upset and nervous, and noticed that he drank his
champagne heavily. On the contrary, Von Pappenheim was wary and
watchful.
Next evening Von Pappenheim's sister Margarete, fair-haired, _petite_
and rather doll-like, arrived at the Castle.
During dinner an Imperial courier arrived from Berlin with a letter from
the Emperor, and "Willie" opened it, read it, and then, excusing
himself, left the table. I rose and followed him, as was my duty, but
when outside the room His Highness sent me back, saying in a thick,
husky voice:
"I shall not want you. Von Heltzendorff; I will write the reply myself."
On my return the guests were discussing the effect of the Emperor's
message upon their host, Von Pappenheim being particularly anxious. He
said something in a low voice to his sister, when the latter became at
once thoughtful. Indeed, the remainder of the meal was a very dull
affair, and it was with relief that we rose and went out into the big
ancient hall, with its vaulted ceiling, where coffee was always served.
The courier had left on his return journey to the capital, yet "Willie"
did not again reappear. At eleven o'clock I found him lying in a very
advanced state of intoxication upon the sofa in the room set apart for
me for my writing. Near him stood an empty brandy bottle and an empty
syphon of soda-water.
I called his faithful valet, and together we half carried him to his
room, where he was undressed and put to bed. Hardly had I returned to my
room when Von Pappenheim entered in search of his host.
"His Highness is not well, and has retired to his room," I said. "He
expressed a desire to see nobody to-night."
Von Pappenheim's face changed.
"Oh!" he cried in despair. "Why did he not see me and tell me the truth!
Precious hours are flying, and we must act if the situation is to be
saved."
"What situation?" I asked, in pretended ignorance.
"You know nothing, Von Heltzendorff, eh?" he asked, looking me straight
in the face.
"Nothing," was my reply.
"You have no knowledge of the trap into which the Crown-Prince fell when
he was in Paris with you six months ago, and when he and I first met?"
"A trap! What do you mean?"
"Has he told you nothing?"
"Not a syllable."
"Ah! Then I cannot be frank with you until I obtain His Highness's
permission. He told me that you knew nothing, but I did not believe it.
Knowing well what implicit confidence he places in you, I believed that
you knew the ghastly truth."
"You alarm me," I said. "If the situation is grave, then I may be able
to be of some assistance, more especially if time is pressing."
He hesitated, but refused to reveal a single fact before receiving the
Crown-Prince's permission.
Into what trap had "Willie" fallen during our last visit to Paris I
could not conceive. His wild orgies in the Montmartre, his constant
absences alone, his terrible craving for excitement, his wild and
reckless search for pleasure in the lowest haunts of vice, had ever been
a source of anxiety to me. Times without number had I lifted a warning
finger, only to be derided and ridiculed by the son of the All-Highest
One.
Next day, soon after His Highness was dressed, he entered my room.
"Heltzendorff," he said, "I have been chatting with Von Pappenheim and
his sister upon a little matter of business which closely concerns
myself. I want you to leave in an hour's time and go to Hanover. In the
Kirchroeder Strasse, No. 16, out at Kleefeld there lives a certain man
named Minckwitz--a Pole by birth. He has two nieces--one about twenty
and the other two years older. With them you have no concern. All I want
is that you engage a photographer, or, better, yourself take a snapshot
of this man Minckwitz, and bring it to me. Be discreet and trust no one
with the secret of your journey."
"Exactly. There is a doubt as to the man's identity, eh?"
"Willie" nodded in the affirmative.
Satisfied that I should at last see the mysterious person whose identity
the Emperor had wished to establish, I set out from Oels on my long
journey right across Germany.
In due course I arrived in Hanover, and found the house situate in the
pleasant suburb. Here I found that "Willie's" suspicions were correct,
and the man Minckwitz was living under the name of Sembach and
pretending to be a musician. I watched, and very soon with my own camera
took in secret a snapshot of the mysterious individual as he walked in
the street. With this I left two days later on my return to Oels.
The photograph was that of a thin, narrow-faced, deep-eyed man, with a
scraggy, pointed beard--a typical Pole, and when I handed it to
"Willie" he held his breath.
"Look!" he cried, turning to Von Pappenheim and his sister, who were
both present. "Look! There is no mistake! That is the man. What shall we
do? No time must be lost. How can I act?"
Brother and sister exchanged glances blankly. From inquiries I had made
in Hanover, it seemed that the man was a stranger, a music-master, who
had arrived there about a month ago. I feared to make inquiry through
the police, because my official capacity as personal-adjutant to the
Crown-Prince was too well known, and suspicion might have thus been
aroused.
The trio again held secret counsel, but I was not told the nature of
their deliberations. All I knew was that the Crown-Prince was in some
terrible and most dangerous difficulty.
That afternoon I met the girl Margarete walking alone in the grounds
near the Schloss. The autumn sun was pleasant, though there was a sharp
nip in the air, which told of the coming of the early Silesian winter.
Most of the trees were already bare, and the ground was carpeted with
the gold-brown leaves of the great beeches.
We had walked together for some distance, when I suddenly halted and
asked her point-blank why they were all in such great fear of Herr
Minckwitz.
She started, staring at me with her big blue eyes.
"His Highness has not told you, Count. Therefore, it would ill become me
to reveal his secret," was her cold rebuke.
"But if the situation is so grave, and if I have been entrusted with the
secret mission to Hanover, I may, perhaps, be of service in the matter.
I understand that you are acquainted with Herr Minckwitz, _alias_
Sembach--eh?"
"Who told you that?"
"Nobody. I learnt it myself," I answered, with a smile.
For a second she reflected, then, with a woman's cleverness, she said:
"I can tell you nothing. Ask the Crown-Prince himself." And she refused
to discuss the matter further. Indeed, she left the Castle two hours
later.
That night I went boldly to "Willie," finding him alone in a little
circular room in one of the towers of the Castle, to which he often
retired to smoke and snooze.
I stood before him, and without mincing matters told him what I had
overheard and all I knew.
The effect of my words was almost electrical. He sat up, staring at me
almost dazed at my statement.
"It is true, Heltzendorff. Alas! True!" he replied. But he would even
then give me no inkling of the reason of his fear.
"If this Herr Minckwitz means mischief, then surely it would be easy to
secure his arrest for some offence or other, and you need not appear in
it," I suggested.
"I've thought of all that. But if the police lay hands upon him, then he
will revenge himself on me. He will carry out his threat--and--and,
Heltzendorff, I could never hold up my head again."
"Why?"
"I can't be more explicit. I'm in a hole, and I cannot extricate
myself."