Part 18 (2/2)

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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s 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.

SECRET NUMBER SEVEN

THE BRITISH GIRL WHO BAULKED THE KAISER

”How completely we have put to sleep these very dear cousins of ours, the Britis.h.!.+” His Imperial Highness the Crown-Prince made this remark to me as he sat in the corner of a first-cla.s.s compartment of an express that had ten minutes before left Paddington Station for the West of England--that much-advertised train known as the Cornish-Riviera Express.

The Crown-Prince, though not generally known, frequently visited England and Scotland incognito, usually travelling as Count von Grunau, and we were upon one of these flying visits on that bright summer's morning as the express tore through your delightful English scenery of the Thames Valley, with the first stopping-place at Plymouth, our destination.

The real reason for the visit of my young hotheaded Imperial Master was concealed from me.

Four days before he had dashed into my room at the Marmor Palace at Potsdam greatly excited. He had been with the Emperor in Berlin all the morning, and had motored back with all speed. Something had occurred, but what it was I failed to discern. He carried some papers in the pocket of his military tunic. From their colour I saw that they were secret reports--those doc.u.ments prepared solely for the eyes of the Kaiser and those of his precious son.

He took a big linen-lined envelope and, placing the papers in it, carefully sealed it with wax.

”We are going to London, Heltzendorff. Put that in your dispatch-box. I may want it when we are in England.”

”To London--when?” I asked, much surprised at the suddenness of our journey, because I knew that we were due at Weimar in two days' time.

”We leave at six o'clock this evening,” was the Crown-Prince's reply.

”Koehler has ordered the saloon to be attached to the Hook of Holland train. Hardt has already left Berlin to engage rooms for us at the 'Ritz,' in London.”

”And the suite?” I asked, for it was one of my duties to arrange who travelled with His Imperial Highness.

”Oh! we'll leave Eckardt at home,” he said, for he always hated the surveillance of the Commissioner of Secret Police. ”We shall only want Schuler, my valet, and Knof.”

We never travelled anywhere without Knof, the chauffeur, who was an impudent, arrogant young man, intensely disliked by everyone.

And so it was that the four of us duly landed at Harwich and travelled to London, our ident.i.ty unknown to the jostling crowd of Cook's tourists returning from their annual holiday on the Continent.

At the ”Ritz,” too, though we took our meals in the restaurant, that great square white room overlooking the Park, ”Willie” was not recognized, because all photographs of him show him in elegant uniform.

In a tweed suit, or in evening clothes, he presents an unhealthy, weedy and somewhat insignificant figure, save for those slant animal eyes of his which are always so striking in his every mood.

His Imperial Highness had been on the previous day to Carlton House Terrace to a luncheon given by the Amba.s.sador's wife, but to which n.o.body was invited but the Emba.s.sy staff.

And that afternoon in the great dining-room, in full view of St. James's Park and Whitehall, the toast of ”The Day” was drunk enthusiastically--the day of Great Britain's intended downfall.

That same evening an Imperial courier arrived from Berlin and called at the ”Ritz,” where, on being shown into the Crown-Prince's sitting-room, he handed His Highness a sealed letter from his wife.

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