The Secrets of Potsdam

SECRET NUMBER TEN

HOW THE KAISER ESCAPED ASSASSINATION

"The Emperor commands you to audience at once in the private dining-room," said one of the Imperial servants, entering the Kaiser's study, where I was awaiting him.

It was seven o'clock on a cold, cheerless morning, and I had just arrived at Potsdam from Altona, the bearer of a message from the Crown-Prince to his father.

I knew that the Emperor always rose at five, and that he was breakfasting, as was his habit, alone with the Empress in that coquettish private dining-room of the Sovereigns, a room into which no servant is permitted, Augusta preparing and serving the coffee with her own hands. It was the one hour which the All-Highest before the war devoted to domesticity, when husband and wife could gossip and discuss matters alone and in secret.

As I passed downstairs to the room, to which entrance was forbidden even to the Crown-Prince himself, I naturally wondered why I had been commanded to audience there.

On tapping upon the mahogany door of the little private salon the Empress's hard voice gave permission to enter, whereupon I bowed myself into the cosy little place, hung with reseda silk and with pictures by Loncret, Perne and Watteau. Upon one side of the room was a beautiful buhl cabinet, and at the little round table placed near the window sat the Imperial pair.

The Empress was reading a letter, but His Majesty rose as I entered. He was wearing a grey tweed suit, a well-worn and, no doubt, easy one, in which nobody ever saw him, for he always changed into uniform before he went to his study.

"Have you any knowledge of the contents of the letter which you have brought from the Crown-Prince?" he asked me bluntly, and I saw by his eyes that he seemed somewhat mystified.

I replied in the negative, explaining that I had been with His Imperial Highness to Kiel, and afterwards to Altona, where the Crown-Princess had performed the opening ceremony of a new dock.

"Where are you going now?" he asked suddenly. "There are other engagements, I believe?"

"To Thorn. His Imperial Highness inspects the garrison there on Thursday," I said.

"Ah! of course. I intended to go, but it is impossible."

Then, after a pause, the Emperor looked me straight in the face and suddenly said:

"Heltzendorff, have you any knowledge of any man called Minckwitz?"

I reflected.

"I know Count von Minckwitz, Grand-Master of the Court of the Duke of Saxe-Altenbourg," was my reply.

"No. This is a man, Wilhelm Minckwitz, who poses as a musician."

I shook my head.

"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 Fürstenstein.

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 Heidkämper, 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 Cæsar," 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 Cæsar, 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 Kirchröder 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."

I reflected for a moment. Then I said:

"You appear to fear some action of Minckwitz's. If that is so, I will return to Hanover and watch. If there is any hostile intent, I will endeavour to prevent it. Fortunately, he does not know me."

Next night I was back again in Hanover, having stopped in Berlin to pick up a friend of mine upon whose discretion I could rely implicitly – a retired member of the detective force named Hartwieg. Together we started to watch the movements of the mysterious Polish musician, and to our surprise we found that he had three friends, one of them a furrier living in the Burgstrasse, who visited him regularly each evening. They always arrived at the same hour, and generally left about eleven o'clock. Through five days we kept watch, alternately closely shadowing the man who called himself Sembach, and becoming acquainted with his friends, most of whom seemed of a very queer set.

There was no doubt that Minckwitz and the two young women were associates of some criminal gang, and, further, I was staggered one evening to watch the arrival at the house of a young man whom I recognized as Brosch, an under-valet of the Emperor's at the Neues Palais.

For what reason had he come from Potsdam?

He remained there till noon on the following day. When he emerged, accompanied by Minckwitz, the pair went into the city, and we followed, when, curiously enough, I came face to face with Von Pappenheim's sister, who was apparently there for the same purpose as myself! Happily she was too intent in her conversation with Minckwitz, whom she met as though accidentally, to notice my presence.

Then, at last, the musician raised his hat and left her, rejoining the young man Brosch.

The pair went to a bookshop in the Herschelstrasse, and presently, when they came forth again, Brosch was carrying a good-sized volume wrapped in brown paper.

My curiosity was aroused, therefore I went into the shop, made a purchase, and learned from the shopman that the younger of the pair had purchased a well-known German reference-book, Professor Nebendahl's "Dictionary of Classical Quotations."

Strange that such a book should be purchased by an under-valet!

Leaving the detective Hartwieg to watch, I took the next train back to Potsdam, where I was fortunate enough to find the Emperor giving audience to the Imperial Chancellor. At the conclusion of the audience I sought, and was accorded, a private interview, at which I recalled His Majesty's anxiety to ascertain something regarding the man Minckwitz.