The Ludwig Conspiracy(132)

Dr. von Gudden sighed and gingerly made his way into the water, which was far too cold for June. After taking a few steps, he had reached the agent. The body of Ludwig, face-down, bobbed in the water beside them like a buoy.

Paralyzed by shock, I crouched behind the bush. I ought to have gone running along the lakeside path, calling for help. By this time, however, I was no longer sure exactly who was involved in the plot. I decided to leave my hiding place and steal back to the promontory beyond which the boat was still waiting. But I had hardly stepped out on the path, which was bordered by tall reeds at this point, before I heard the doctor’s voice again. Looking past the reeds, I could easily see the two figures now standing in the lake, some sixteen feet from the bank.

“And I’m not sure that we’ll be believed when we say it was suicide,” whined Dr. Gudden. “There will always be doubts. The king has been too reasonable for a potential suicide these last two days. He even said we were trying to kill him.”

“You’re right,” replied Carl von Strelitz calmly. “There will indeed always be doubts. Unless the king had done something shortly before his death to make him look deranged in the eyes of one and all.”

The psychiatrist looked at von Strelitz, baffled. In his wet coat, which was swirling around him in the knee-deep water like mourning ribbons, he resembled an overgrown, agitated coot. “I . . . I’m afraid I don’t entirely understand you.”

Carl von Strelitz carelessly pushed the floating corpse aside and waded toward Gudden. “You really don’t? I thought you were cleverer than that, Doctor. Au revoir.”

With these words, the agent put his strong fingers around Gudden’s throat and tightened them. The small, frail doctor had not the slightest chance. He grunted and panted for breath, tugging at his attacker’s arms, but von Strelitz simply kicked his legs out from under him and held him down below the surface of the water like a puppy. At first Gudden struck out wildly; then he began thrashing his limbs about so that the water foamed up around him in white jets. Those movements changed to twitching, and finally his body went limp.

Von Strelitz held Gudden under the surface for a little longer and then gave the corpse a slight push. Like a piece of driftwood, it floated toward the middle of the lake.

At that very moment my friends’ boat appeared on the choppy water. They had obviously suspected that something was happening. I could see Hornig and Kaulbach, both rowing against the wind as hard as they could. Dr. Schleiss von Loewenfeld sat in the bow, his hair blowing around his head. When he saw the Prussian agent, and the two corpses in the water, he cried out in horror.

“My God, the king!” he cried. “Hornig, look!”

Without hesitation, Loewenfeld leaped into the waist-high water and waded toward Ludwig. Meanwhile, Richard Hornig had thrown down his oar to dive straight into the water, and now he plowed his way through the lake like an ocean-going steamer. He soon reached Carl von Strelitz, who was waiting for him with his fists raised.

The two men were soon engaged in a life-or-death struggle, each vying in turn to push the other under the water. Hornig punched von Strelitz with a right hook to his chin, so that he staggered back and fell on top of Gudden’s corpse. Von Strelitz struggled up again and flung himself on the royal equerry with a piercing cry. Richard Hornig was a fit, muscular man, but he was no match for the sheer malice of the Prussian agent. Von Strelitz spread the fingers of his right hand like a tiger’s claws, digging them into his adversary’s face, and at the same time thrusting his knee forward to strike Hornig between the loins. The equerry doubled up with pain, and Carl von Strelitz struck the back of his head with all his might. Hornig sank into the waters of the lake with a gurgling cry.

“Kaulbach, do something!”

It was Dr. Schleiss von Loewenfeld who had called out to the painter. With almost superhuman strength, Loewenfeld was tugging at the king’s body, trying to drag it to land. Meanwhile, Hermann von Kaulbach was still sitting in the boat, his hands clutching the rail, rigid with horror and incapable of any movement. No one yet seemed to have noticed me behind the tall reeds.

While von Strelitz held the royal equerry down underwater, I looked desperately around. For a moment I was tempted to call for help at the top of my voice, but then my eye fell on the air rifle lying only a few paces away from me. I ran to it, snatched it up, and took aim.

In my time as a student in Strasbourg, I had been considered a good marksman, and I had also twice acted as a man’s second in a duel. But this weapon was new to me, and I had no idea whether I could fire it with precision. The steel was cold against my cheek. I loaded another ball from the magazine and aligned the sights on my target. Von Strelitz was only fifteen paces away and did not appear to have seen me. He was still holding Richard Hornig down under the surface of the lake, where white foaming bubbles were rising. Now Dr. Loewenfeld caught sight of me.