The Ludwig Conspiracy(130)

At last, when I hardly believed it would ever happen, I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel path from the castle. After a short time, I saw Ludwig and Dr. von Gudden walking down the path. They both carried furled umbrellas; Gudden wore a top hat and a black coat, as if he were going to a funeral, while the king had on a pale summer coat, unbuttoned at the front, and a fashionable bowler. I waited a little longer while the king and his doctor came closer to me. There were no guards in sight.

Was it possible? I had expected to see the attendants following at a suitable distance. But now it looked very much as if they had been left behind in the castle on purpose, along with the gendarmes.

I watched in suspense as the mismatched couple came closer and closer to my bush. Sixty feet, thirty feet . . . To my horror, they stopped right in front of me. What was I to do? This was the moment when I ought to be giving the agreed signal. But by doing that, I would have given away my hiding place. If I did that, Dr. von Gudden would certainly recognize me and report me to the authorities.

While I was hesitating, the king began to speak. To the day of my death I shall never forget the minutes that followed; every second of them is branded on my memory forever.

“You know that you have made a mistake,” began the king quietly but firmly. “Out of pure vanity, you have let the ministers make use of you for their own purposes, and now your good reputation is endangered. Retract your diagnosis, Dr. von Gudden, and I promise that you will live on as a man of high position and authority.”

“Your Majesty, I really do not know what you are talking about,” replied the doctor. His voice sounded strangely hoarse, almost panic-stricken. At close quarters, I could also see that his face was ashen gray. Something seemed to be terrifying him. “I have already told you several times that no closer observation was necessary,” he managed to get out. “The evidence is convincing. In addition, it is very common for the mentally sick to appear normal at first after their committal to an asylum. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. My medical opinion is incontestable.”

“Who’s behind this?” Ludwig’s tone of voice was more aggressive now, and he stepped up to the little man, towering over him. “Is it Lutz, or Count Holnstein? Prince Luitpold himself? Tell me! It must be clear to you that all of those here are trying to kill me. I have seen it in your face, Gudden. Just now, at supper. I saw the light of naked fear in your eyes.”

“Your Majesty, I swear . . .”

Ludwig had now taken the frail little doctor by his collar, and he began shaking him. Gudden went as red in the face as a turkey cock.

“Don’t swear, Gudden!” growled the king. “You lie as soon as you open your mouth. You realize that you can’t lock me up here forever. I will telegraph Bismarck; I still have influential friends. I am not a slobbering idiot like my brother, Otto; I am the king. And when I get out of here, then . . .”

At that moment a shot rang out in the gray twilight, and directly after it another. Neither made a loud sound; the reports were muted like a paper bag exploding. All the same, my blood froze in my veins.

I saw Ludwig open his eyes wide in surprise. For a moment he stayed on his feet, supporting himself on Gudden; then he slumped like a sack of coal and fell to the ground. The doctor let out small, shrill sounds of fear that almost reminded me of a child crying. He stepped aside in horror and stared at the king’s body. There were two black holes on the back of his white coat, and bright blood was trickling out of them.

“I seem to have arrived just in the nick of time.”

Instinctively, I started at the sound of that grating voice. It had come from a bush not far from my own hiding place. Now a lean figure rose from behind the bush and stepped onto the lakeside path. In his right hand, the new arrival held a gun of unusual appearance, with a club-shaped stock. At the sight of the assassin, I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from crying his name out loud.

It was Carl von Strelitz.

“Maybe the king was crazier than we assumed after all,” said the Prussian agent, putting his gun aside. “What a violent-tempered giant.” With practiced movements, he turned Ludwig’s heavy body over and felt for any pulse in his carotid artery. Then he nodded, satisfied.

“Mission accomplished. He’s dead.” Smiling, von Strelitz stood up and turned to the psychiatrist. “Do you know what I should have done?” he said, his voice expressionless. “I should simply have sat in that bush waiting. Probably the king would have throttled you and then waded out into the water in despair. A nice, clean job. On the other hand”—he looked out at the lake—“the water is only waist-high here. Drowning himself probably wouldn’t have worked. Well, this way was safer, at least.”