William Le Queux - The Secrets of Potsdam

"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 Königsplatz.

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 Fräulein 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.