The Secrets of Potsdam

As soon as I mentioned the Lungtevere Mellini, that rather aristocratic street, which runs parallel with the Tiber on the outskirts of Rome, His Highness started, his face blanched instantly, and he bit his thin lip.

"Himmel!" he gasped. "The fellow knows that I took the name of Nebelthau! Impossible!"

"But he does," I said quietly. "He is undoubtedly in possession of some secret concerning your visit to Rome last December."

In His Highness's eyes I noticed a keen, desperate expression which I had scarcely ever seen there before.

"You are quite certain of this, Heltzendorff, eh?" he asked. "The man's name is Martinez Aranda?"

"Yes. He says he is from Seville. His niece, Lola Serrano, told me to warn you that he means mischief."

"Who is the girl? Do I know her?"

"No."

"Why does she warn me?"

"I cannot say," was my reply. "As you are aware, I have no knowledge of the nature of Your Highness's visit to Rome. I merely report all that I could gather from the pair, who evidently went to Gardone to meet me."

"Where are they now?"

"In Paris – at the Hotel Terminus, Gare St. Lazare. I found out that they had taken tickets to Verona and thence to Paris, therefore I telegraphed to my friend Pinaud, of the Sûreté, who quickly found them and reported to me by wire within twenty-four hours."

"H'm! This is serious, Heltzendorff – infernally serious," declared the Crown-Prince, with knit brows, as he commenced to pace the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

Suddenly he halted in front of me and smoothed his hair – a habit of his when perplexed.

"First, the Emperor must know nothing, and the Crown-Princess must be kept in entire ignorance at all costs," he declared. "I can now foresee a great amount of trouble. Curse the women! I trusted one, and she – ah! I can see it all now."

"Is it very serious?" I asked, still anxious to glean the truth.

"Serious!" he cried, staring at me wildly. "Serious! Why, Heltzendorff, it means everything to me – everything!"

The Crown-Prince was not the kind of man to exhibit fear. Though degenerate in every sense of the word, and without the slightest idea of moral obligations, yet he was, nevertheless, utterly oblivious to danger of any sort, being wildly reckless, with an entire disregard of consequences. Here, however, he saw that the secret, which he had fondly believed to be his alone, was known to this mysterious Spaniard.

"I cannot understand why this girl, Lola – or whatever she calls herself – should warn me. I wonder who she is. What is she like?"

I described her as minutely as I could, more especially the unusual fairness of her hair, and the large, wide-open, blue eyes. She had a tiny mole upon her chin, a little to the left.

The description seemed to recall some memory, for suddenly he exclaimed:

"Really, the girl you describe is very like one that I met about a year ago – a thief-girl in the Montmartre, in Paris, called Lizette Sabin. I came across her one night in one of the cabarets."

As he spoke he went across to a big antique chest of drawers, one of which he unlocked with his key, and after a long search he drew out a cabinet photograph and handed it to me.

I started. It was a picture of the pretty Lola!

He watched my face, and saw that I recognized it.

Then he drew a long sigh, tossed his cigarette away savagely, and throwing back the photograph into the drawer, relocked it.

"Yes," he declared, turning to me again. "The situation is most abnormally disturbing, Heltzendorff. A storm is brewing, without a doubt. But the Emperor must know nothing, remember – not the slightest suspicion. Ah! What an infernal fool I was to believe in that woman. Bah! They are all alike. And yet – " and he paused – "and yet if it were not for the petticoat Germany's secret diplomacy – the preparation for the great 'Day' when we shall stagger the world – could not proceed. This, my dear Heltzendorff, has shown me that you may with advantage use a woman of whatever age as your catspaw, your secret agent, your bait when angling for important information, or your go-between in secret transactions; but never trust one with knowledge of your own personal affairs."

"Then I take it that this girl-thief of the Montmartre whom you met when out for an evening's amusement is the cause of all this trouble? And yet she said that she did not know you!"

"Because it was to her advantage to disclaim knowledge of me. Personally I do not think that the pretty Lizette is my enemy or she would not warn me against this infernal Spaniard, whoever he may be."

"If the matter is so serious, had I not better go to Paris to-morrow and see Pinaud?" I suggested.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed. "Watch must be kept upon them. The one thing to bear in mind, however, is that neither the Emperor nor my wife learn anything. Go to Paris to-morrow, and tell Pinaud from me to do his best on my behalf."

Next morning I left for Paris, and on arrival spent half an hour with Georges Pinaud in his room at the Sûreté.

"So His Imperial Highness does not wish the arrest of the girl Lizette Sabin?" he exclaimed presently. "I have her dossier here," and he indicated a cardboard portfolio before him. "It is a pretty bad one. Her last sentence was one of twelve months for robbing an English baronet at a dancing-hall in the Rue du Bac."

"His Highness does not wish for her arrest. He only desires the pair to be kept under close observation."

"The man Aranda is, I have discovered, a dangerous person," said the famous detective, leaning back in his chair. "He has served a sentence at Cayenne for the attempted murder of a woman in Lyons. He is, of course, an adventurer of the most expert type."

I longed to reveal to my friend Pinaud the whole facts, but this was against my instructions. I merely asked him as a favour to institute a strict vigilance upon the pair, and to report to me by telegraph if either of them left Paris.

Aranda was still living at the Hotel Terminus, but the pretty Lizette had gone to stay with two girl friends, professional dancers, who lived on the third floor of a house half-way up the Rue Blanche. So having discharged my mission, I returned on the following day to Potsdam, where, on meeting me, the Crown-Prince seemed much relieved.

His only fear – and it was a very serious one – was that to the Emperor there might be revealed the reason of that secret visit of his to Italy. I confess that I myself began to regard that visit with considerable suspicion. Its nature must have been, to say the least, unusual if he had been so aghast at the real truth being discovered.

In the strenuous days that followed, weeks, indeed, I frequently reflected, and found myself much mystified. More than once His Highness had asked me: "Any news from Pinaud?" And when I replied in the negative "Willie's" relief was at once apparent.

One day I had been lunching in Berlin at the "Bristol," in Unter den Linden, at a big party given by the Baroness von Bülow. Among the dozen or so present were Von Ruxeben, the Grand Marshal of the Court of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha; Gertrud, Baroness von Wangenheim, Grand Mistress of the Court of the Duchess; the Minister Dr. Rasch; and, of course, old "Uncle" Zeppelin, full of plans, as always, of new airships and of the destruction of London. Indeed, he sat next me, and bored me to death with his assurances that on "The Day" he would in twenty-four hours lay London in ruins.

The guests around the table, a gay and clever circle, saw that "Uncle" had button-holed me, and knew from my face how utterly bored I was. Truth to tell, I was much relieved when suddenly, when the meal was nearly over, a waiter whispered that somebody wished to see me out in the lounge.

It was a messenger from Potsdam with a telegram that had come over the private wire. It read: "Aranda left Paris two days ago. Destination unknown. – Pinaud."

The information showed that the fellow had cleverly evaded the agents of the Sûreté, a very difficult feat in such circumstances. That very fact went to prove that he was a cunning and elusive person.

Half an hour later I was sitting with Heinrich Wesener, Assistant-Director of the Secret Service of the General Staff. I sought him in preference to the famous detective, Schunke, because, while matters passing through the Secret Service Bureau were always regarded as confidential, those submitted to the Berlin police were known to many subordinates who had access to the dossiers and informations.

I told Wesener but little – merely that His Imperial Highness the Crown-Prince was desirous of knowing at the earliest moment if a Spaniard named Martinez Aranda should arrive in Berlin.

The curiosity of the Assistant-Director was immediately aroused. So many scandals were rife regarding "Willie" that the stout, fair-haired official was hoping to obtain some further details.

"Excuse me for a moment," he said, and, after ringing his bell, a clerk appeared. To the man he gave orders to go across and inspect the police register of strangers, and ascertain if the man Aranda had arrived in the capital.

Ten minutes later the clerk returned, saying that a Spaniard named Aranda had arrived from Paris early that morning with a young lady named Sabin, and that they were staying at the Central Hotel, opposite the Friedrich-Strasse Station.

Upon this information I went to the "Central," and from the hall-porter discovered that Aranda had left the hotel an hour before, but that his supposed niece was upstairs in her room.

Afterwards I hurried back to Potsdam as quickly as possible, only to find that the Crown-Prince was out with Knof motoring somewhere. Of the Crown-Princess I inquired whither he had gone, but, as usual, she had no idea. "Willie" was ever erratic, and ever on the move.

Six o'clock had already struck when he returned, and the sentry informed him that I was extremely anxious to see him. Therefore, without removing his coat, he ascended to my room, where he burst in breezily.

When I told him what I had discovered in Berlin the light died instantly out of his face.

"Is the fellow really here, Heltzendorff?" he gasped. "I had a letter from him a week ago declaring his intention to come here."

"You did not reply, I hope?"

"No. The letter I found upon my dressing-table, but I have not discovered who placed it there," he said. "The fellow evidently intends to carry out his threat and expose me to the Emperor."

"What can he expose?" I queried.

But "Willie" was not to be caught like that. He merely replied:

"Well – something which must at all hazards be concealed. How this Spaniard can know I cannot in the least imagine – unless that woman gave me away!"

For the next two days I was mostly out with his Highness in the car, and in addition the Kaiser reviewed the Prussian Guard, a ceremony which always gave me much extra work.

On the third day I had in the morning been out to the Wildpark Station, and, passing the sentries, had re-entered the Palace, when one of the footmen approached me, saying:

"Pardon, Count, but there is a gentleman to see his Imperial Highness. He will give no name, and refuses to leave. I called the captain of the guard, who has interrogated him, and he has been put into the blue ante-room until your return."

At that moment I saw the captain of the guard striding down the corridor towards me.

"A bald-headed man is here to see His Highness, and will give no name," he told me. "He is waiting now. Will you see him?"

"No," I said, my suspicions aroused. "I will first see the Crown-Prince."

After some search I found the latter lolling at his ease in his own smoking-room in the private apartments, reading a French novel and consuming cigarettes.

"Hulloa, Heltzendorff! Well, what's the trouble?" he asked. "I see something is wrong from your face."

"The man Aranda is here," I replied.

"Here!" he gasped, starting up and flinging the book aside. "Who let him in?"

"I don't know, but he is below demanding to see you."

"Has he made any statement? Has he told anybody what he knows?" demanded the Crown-Prince, who at that moment presented what might be termed a white-livered appearance, cowed, and even trembling. In his slant eyes showed a look of undisguised terror, and I realized that the truth, whatever it might be, was a damning and most disgraceful one.

"I can't see him, Heltzendorff," he whined to me. "See him; hear what he has to say – and – and you will keep my secret? Promise me."

I promised. And I should have kept that promise were it not for his brutal and blackguardly acts after the outbreak of war – acts which placed him, with his Imperial father, beyond the pale of respectable society.

I was turning to leave the room, when he sprang towards me with that quick agility of his, and, placing his white, manicured hand upon my arm, said:

"Whatever he may say you will not believe – will you?"

"And if he wants money?" I asked.

"Ascertain the amount, and come here to me."

A quarter of an hour later Martinez Aranda sat in my room opposite my table. I had told him that unfortunately His Imperial Highness was engaged, for the Emperor had come over from the Neues Palace for luncheon. Then I inquired the nature of his business.

"Well, Count, you and I are not altogether strangers, are we?" was his reply, as he sat back calmly and crossed his legs, perfectly at his ease. "But my business is only with His Highness, and with nobody else."

"His Highness sees nobody upon business. I am appointed to deal with all his business affairs, and anything told to me is the same as though spoken into his ear."

The Spaniard from Montmartre was silent for a moment.

"If that is the case, then I would be glad if you will obtain his permission for me to speak. He will remember my name."

"I already received orders before I invited you up," I said. "His Highness wishes you to deal with me. He knows that you are here to settle some delicate little piece of business concerning that secret visit of his to Rome – eh?"

"Yes," he answered, after a few seconds' pause. "I am well aware, Count, that for mention of the reason I am here you might call the guard to arrest me for blackmail. But first let me assure His Highness that such action would not be advisable in the interests of either himself or of the Emperor. I have already made arrangements for exposure in case His Highness endeavours to close my mouth by such means."

"Good. We understand each other. What is your complaint?" I inquired.

"I know the truth concerning the mysterious death of the woman, Claudia Ferrona, in Rome last December," he said briefly.

"Oh!" I exclaimed. "Perhaps you will tell me next that the Crown-Prince is an assassin? Come, that will be really interesting," I laughed. "Perhaps you will tell me how it all happened – the extent of your knowledge."

"Why should I do that? Go to the Crown-Prince and tell him what I allege – tell him that the girl, Lizette Sabin, whom he knows, was a witness."

"Well, let us come to business," I said. "How much do you want for your silence?"

"I want nothing – not a sou!" was the hard reply. "All I want is to reveal to the Emperor that his son is responsible for a woman's death. And that is what I intend doing. You hear that! Well, Count von Heltzendorff, please go and tell him so."

Quickly realizing the extreme gravity of the situation, I returned to the Crown-Prince and told him the startling allegation made against him.

His face went as white as paper.

"We must pay the fellow off. Close his mouth somehow. Help me, Heltzendorff," he implored. "What can I do? He must not reveal the truth to the Emperor!"

"Then it really is the truth!" I exclaimed, astounded.

The Crown-Prince hung his head, and in a low, hoarse voice replied:

"It is my accursed luck! The woman must have told the truth to this scoundrel of a Spaniard before – before she died!"

"And Lizette?" I asked. "She is a witness, the fellow says."

"No, no!" cried His Highness wildly, covering his white face with his hands as though to hide the guilt written upon his countenance. "Say no more! Ask the fellow's price, and pay him. We must not allow him to go to the Emperor."

Three minutes later I went back to my room, but it was empty. The Spaniard had walked out, and would, no doubt, be wandering somewhere in the private apartments.

At that instant the telephone rang, and, answering it, I heard that His Majesty had just arrived by car, and was on his way up to the room wherein I stood – the room in which he generally met his son.

For a moment I was perplexed, but a few seconds later I held my breath when I saw coming down the corridor the Emperor, and walking with him the adventurer, who had apparently met him on his way downstairs.

I confess that at that most dramatic moment I was entirely nonplussed. I saw how cleverly Aranda had timed his visit, and how, by some means, he knew of the internal arrangements of the Marmor Palace.

"Yes," the Emperor exclaimed to the Spaniard. "You wish to have audience. Well?"

In a second I broke in.

"May I be permitted to say a word, Your Majesty?" I said. "There is a little business matter pending between this gentleman and His Imperial Highness the Crown-Prince – a little dispute over money. I regret that Your Majesty should be disturbed by it. The matter is in course of settlement."

"Oh, money matters!" exclaimed the Emperor, who always hated mention of them, believing himself to be far too important a person to trouble about them. "Of course, you will see to a settlement, Count." And the Emperor turned his back deliberately upon the man who accosted him.

"It is not money that I want," shouted the adventurer from Paris, "but I – "

I did not allow him to conclude his sentence, but hustled him into an adjoining room, closing the door after him.

"Now, Monsieur Aranda, you want money, I know. How much?" I asked determinedly.

"Two hundred thousand marks," was his prompt reply, "and also fifty thousand for Lola."

I pretended to reflect. He saw my hesitation, and then added:

"For that sum, and not a sou less, I am prepared to sign a statement that I have lied, and that there is no truth in the allegation."

"Of what? Tell me the facts, as you know them, and I will then repeat them to His Imperial Highness."

For a few seconds he was silent, then in a cold, hard voice he revealed to me what was evidently the truth of the Crown-Prince's secret visit to Rome. I listened to his statement utterly dumbfounded.

The allegations were terrible. It seemed that a popular Spanish variety actress, whom the populace of Rome knew as "La Bella," but whose real name was Claudia Ferrona, lived in a pretty apartment on the Lungtevere Mellini, facing the Tiber. His Highness had met her in Coblenz, where she had been singing. "La Bella" had as her particular friend a certain high official in the Italian Ministry of War, and through him she was enabled to furnish the Crown-Prince with certain important information. The General Staff in the Wilhelmstrasse were eager to obtain some very definite facts regarding Italy's new armaments, and His Highness had taken upon himself the task of obtaining it.

As Herr Nebelthau he went in secret to Rome as guest of the vivacious Claudia, whose maid was none other than the thief-girl of the Montmartre, Lizette Sabin. This girl, whose intellect had become weakened, was entirely under the influence of the clever adventurer Aranda. On the second night after the arrival of the Crown-Prince in Rome, he and the actress had taken supper together in her apartment, after which a fierce quarrel had arisen between them.

Seized by a fit of remorse, the variety singer blankly refused to further betray the man to whom her advancement in her profession was due, whereupon His Highness grew furious at being thwarted at the last moment. After listening to his insults, "La Bella" openly declared that she intended to reveal the whole truth to the Italian official in question. Then the Crown-Prince became seized by one of those mad, frenzied fits of uncontrollable anger to which he is at times, like all the Hohenzollerns, subject, and with his innate brutality he took up a bottle from the table and struck the poor girl heavily upon the skull, felling her like a log. Afterwards with an imprecation on his lips, he walked out. So terribly injured was the girl that she expired just before noon next day. Not, however, before she had related the whole circumstances to the maid, Lizette, and to the man Aranda, who, truth to tell, had placed the maid in the actress's service with a view of robbing her of her jewels. He saw, however, that, with the death of Claudia Ferrona, blackmail would be much more profitable.

Having heard this amazing story, I was careful to lock the Spaniard in the room, and then returned to where the Crown-Prince was so anxiously awaiting me.

Half an hour later the adventurer left the Palace, bearing in his pocket a draft upon the private banking house of Mendelsohn, in the Jägerstrasse in Berlin, for two hundred and fifty thousand marks.

In return for that draft the wily Spaniard signed a declaration that he had invented the whole story, and that there was not a word of truth in it.

It was only, however, when I placed that document into the hands of the Crown-Prince that His Imperial Highness breathed freely again.

SECRET NUMBER NINE

THE CROWN-PRINCE'S ESCAPADE IN LONDON

It was five o'clock on a bright September morning when His Imperial Highness climbed with unsteady gait the three flights of stairs leading to the handsome flat which he sometimes rented in a big block of buildings half-way along Jermyn Street when he made secret visits to London.

As his personal-adjutant and keeper of his secrets I had been awaiting him for hours.

I heard him fumbling with the latch-key, and, rising, went along the hall and opened the door.

"Hulloa, Heltzendorff!" he exclaimed in a thick, husky voice. "Himmel! I'm very glad to be back."

"And I am glad to see Your Highness back," I said. "I was beginning to fear that something unpleasant had happened. I tell you frankly, I do not like you going out like this alone in London. Somebody is certain to discover you one day."

"Oh, bosh! my dear Heltzendorff. You are just like a pastor – always preaching." And as he tossed his crush hat upon the table and divested himself of his evening overcoat he gave vent to a half-drunken laugh, and then, just as he was, in his dress-coat and crumpled shirt-front, with the stains of overnight wine upon it, he curled himself upon the couch, saying:

"Tell that idiot of a valet not to disturb me. I'm tired."

"But don't you think you ought to go to bed?" I queried.

"Too tired to undress, Heltzendorff – too tired," he declared with an inane grin. "Oh, I've had a time – phew! my head – such a time! Oh, old Lung Ching is a real old sport!"

And then he settled himself and closed his eyes – surely a fine spectacle for the German nation if he could then have been publicly exhibited.

His mention of Lung Ching caused me to hold my breath. That wily Chinaman kept an establishment in the underworld of Limehouse, an opium den of the worst description, frequented by yellow men and white women of the most debased class.

A year before one of the Crown-Prince's friends, an attaché at the Embassy on Carlton House Terrace, had introduced him to the place. The fascinations of the opium pipe had attracted him, and he had been there many times to smoke and to dream, but always accompanied by others. The night before, however, he had declared his intention to go out alone, as he had been invited to dine by a great German financier living in Park Lane. It was now evident, however, that he had not been there, but had gone alone to that terrible den kept by Lung Ching.

There, in the grey light of dawn, I stood gazing down upon the be-drugged son of the Emperor, feeling relief that he was back again, and that no trouble had resulted from his escapade.

I called the valet, and, having handed his master over to him, I went out, and, finding a taxi, drove out to Lung Ching's place in Limehouse. I knew the sign, and was soon admitted into the close, sickly-smelling place, which reeked with opium. The villainous Chinaman, with a face like parchment, came forward, and instantly recognized me as the companion of the young German millionaire, Herr Lehnhardt. Of him I inquired what my master had been doing during the night.