For quite ten minutes she would not permit a word of business to pass his lips. He had to have a drink first—she had his favourite beverage ready in a few seconds—and then there was a variety of sandwiches for his delectation. The old soldier was always ready to eat, and he was feeling particularly pleased with himself, when he suddenly told his hostess that he wished to hand her ten thousand pounds for investment.
He made the announcement as though he were conferring a favour on her, and his amazement was all the greater when with a charming smile she coyly refused to accept his offer, explaining that she had all the capital she required, and that the "dear general" had better leave his money where it was.
He went away profoundly puzzled, little realizing that Frau Kupfer was actually gasping for money. She had run through tens of thousands of pounds. Certain wealthy investors had, much to her disappointment, decided not to reinvest their dividends, and had kept her cheques. Tradespeople, hit by the defalcations of other customers, had insisted upon being paid, and as her weekly expenses were never less than two hundred pounds it had not taken her long to get through a fortune.
Yet with admirable fortitude and a wonderful discernment of human nature, she had refused General von Demidoff's offer, although she was in grave financial and personal danger. But she knew her man. She was aware that he would tell the story to all his friends—and the general mixed only in the very best society—and, better than that, she was willing to stake her life, as she had done her liberty, that within a few days he would be back again with twenty thousand pounds at least, which he would literally thrust into her hands, and insist upon her keeping.
I have given this story in detail because it is typical of the methods of Germany's greatest war swindler. It is taken from the account of the preliminary examination before the judge in Berlin, who at first would scarcely be brought to believe that the general had actually returned to Frau Kupfer's flat, and had compelled her to accept twenty-five thousand pounds for investment in her food trust.
The money came as a godsend, and once more the precious pair of swindlers were rejoicing. Of course, the mother was the brains of the movement. Gertrude Kupfer had nothing to do except to look pretty and wear the most costly clothes.
There were very few young men worth attracting to the flat for her mother to rob, though now and then she was able to relieve monetary pressure by bringing along a wounded officer of family and position who could be tempted to invest a few hundred pounds. Frau Kupfer, however, thought only in thousands, even if she was willing to take any money, however small in amount.
For over eighteen months the merry game continued. The great war increased in intenseness, and the world was topsy-turvy, but Frau Kupfer and Gertrude indulged in every extravagant pleasure, and swindled high and low alike. Some one had to pay for those champagne dinners, and for the clothes they wore. Gertrude Kupfer alone averaged fifty pounds a week on her wardrobe.
Frau Kupfer gave many lavish entertainments to wounded soldiers. Once she took the whole seating capacity of a theatre and filled the building with soldiers, and while mother and daughter were at the zenith of success they must have given tea-parties to thousands of warriors.
The money dribbled through their fingers like water, and fresh dupes had to be found almost daily to pay the interest due to the original investors. The smallest interest promised had been one hundred per cent per annum, and for many months the widow managed to remit the amount owing. It was a wonderful feat considering the circumstances, but she stopped at nothing, and she even swindled the maidservants out of their savings.
One of her brightest ideas was to patronize the small tradespeople, and thus bring them under her influence. In due course they succumbed, and sums from ten to two hundred pounds were obtained from them.
Nothing worried Germany's "Madame Humbert." Berlin was thronged with wounded; the papers were beginning to give hints of defeats; and it was admitted that a complete victory for the Fatherland was out of the question—but Frau Kupfer was unperturbed. She was merry and light-hearted, and she lived so well that her naturally plump face and stout figure expanded, and she was a living testimony to the ineffectiveness of the British blockade. Her circle of friends continued to grow. Her dinner-parties were all the more appreciated. She was one of the most sought after persons in Berlin society, and in the hour of her triumph she never thought of the dark, underground dungeons that are so numerous in Germany. It seemed as though she could never know defeat, no matter what happened to her country.
Christmas Day, 1916, found Berlin a city of gloom, save for the gorgeous flat where Frau Kupfer was entertaining a score of high-born society dames and a few elderly men to a sumptuous repast. It proved to be the last of a long series, for she was taken ill after the dinner, and for the next three weeks was too ill to leave her room, and in those three weeks the Berlin police discovered all about the great swindle. An accident led to the catastrophe.
I have mentioned that Frau Kupfer had two flats, and that she used the smaller one as a storing place for provisions for her own use. One evening a vigilant-eyed policeman, who was feeling hungry, noticed that several large parcels were being delivered at a certain flat near the Wilhelmstrasse. He had been warned to keep a look-out for food hoarders, and he came to the conclusion that this was an attempt to evade the regulations. He therefore forced his way past the carters into the flat, and, having ordered the terrified maid to clear out, examined the place for himself. It did not take him long to discover enough provisions to stock a grocer's shop. There were scores of hams, thousands of preserves neatly stacked against the walls, boxes of cigars, cigarettes, cases of wine, and plenty of flour, sugar, sweets, etc. I fancy the policeman indulged in a good meal before he reported to Police President von Jagow what he had found.
That night Frau Kupfer and her daughter were arrested on a charge of contravening the food regulations, and with their arrest the bubble burst. The "investors," first uneasy, grew alarmed, and began to talk. A few days later they all knew that they had been swindled.
Inside two years Frau Kupfer had robbed them of two hundred thousand pounds, all of which she had managed to dissipate, leaving nothing for them. The Food Trust had had no existence save in her imagination. Mother and daughter are now in damp cells in the Moabit Prison, and when Frau Kupfer leaves that ghastly prison house she will be in her coffin, for in Germany swindling is considered ten times a greater offence than murder, however brutal that murder may have been, and the greatest of Hun food swindlers will spend the remainder of her life in prison.
Gertrude Kupfer, however, will be released in a few years because it has been held that she acted entirely under the influence of her mother, and was in no way an originator of the swindle.
CHAPTER VIII
MADAME GUERIN, MATRIMONIAL AGENT
There have been many matrimonial agency swindlers, but when Madame Guerin, the plump little Frenchwoman with the pleasant and engaging manner, entered that "profession" she introduced new methods into that old form of fraud. She did not hanker after a lot of clients, preferring to find a nice, gullible man with money, scientifically relieve him of it, and then pass on to the next. Her career proved short and exciting, and only by an accident did it fail to wind up with a tragedy. But that was not her fault, for she showed that to obtain a fortune she was capable of running any risk.
It was at Versailles, in the shadow of the old palace, that Madame Guerin, with the assistance of a friend, who was known as Cesbron, but who was really her husband, started her matrimonial agency.
It was no ordinary affair worked from a cheap suite of offices with all the usual appliances of a modern business. Madame Guerin could not be as sordid as that. She was human and sympathetic, and her personality was electric. She had reached that time of life when men found her society agreeable, because a flirtation could not be taken seriously by her. She let them understand that she knew that most men wanted young and pretty wives with fortunes, and that she was in a position to help them to find their ideal.
Her "business premises" took the shape of a pleasant, secluded Villa, beautifully furnished and delightfully managed. It was an honour to be invited to an intimate little dinner at her home, and her invitations were very seldom declined. When it was tactfully whispered that the fair tenant was in the habit of bringing very eligible girls and handsome bachelors together, she quickly found the sort of clients she required.
One of her first victims was a man of good family, who held a remunerative Government post. He was just the type of man who would rather die than enter into negotiations with the average matrimonial agent, but over a recherché meal at the Villa there seemed to be no loss of dignity in half-carelessly discussing his desire to marry a girl of beauty and fortune.
It was then that Madame Guerin revealed talents of a high order as a swindler. She never lost her pose of the smart society woman who was entertaining a friend and talking about his future amid the soft lights and the restful furniture.
When the Government official mentioned that he had about three hundred a year in addition to his salary of about the same amount, Madame Guerin decided that there must be a way of separating him from some of his fortune by persuading him that she was going to add to it.
"I know a very pretty girl," she said languidly, "a dear girl, too, and one who is anxious to marry. She is an orphan, and is bothered by fortune-hunters. She would like to become a gentleman's wife, and as she has five thousand a year derived from first-class securities, it seems to me, my friend, that she would just about suit you."
Five thousand a year! It made his mouth water.
"Where can I meet this delightful lady?" he asked anxiously.
"As she is my dearest friend I could invite her here," she answered, after a moment's pause. "Her name is Miss Northcliffe."
"She is English then?" said the official, but there was no disapproval in his tone.
"Her mother was French," said Madame Guerin, who had all the time been watching his face. "Her father was an eminent doctor in London. Miss Northcliffe loves France, and she has often told me she would love to be married to a Frenchman and live all her life in Paris."
The bait took, for the fish rose to it greedily. Thereupon Madame Guerin, feeling she had "landed" him, dropped her pose as hostess and became a matrimonial agent. Of course her expenses would be heavy in connection with the visit of Miss Northcliffe. She would have to furnish a suite of rooms specially for the great English heiress. Then, as he would gain five thousand pounds a year by the introduction, it would not be out of place if he paid something in advance. Madame Guerin guaranteed success, and so forth. He believed every word.
"You and my dear girl friend will be thrown together for days," she said, in a confidential tone. "I'll invite no one else here, and it'll be your own fault if you don't win her. But you must send me one of your photographs to-night, and I will show it to her the moment she arrives. She is a very impressionable, impulsive girl, and I am certain she will fall in love with your picture."
Most men will believe a woman's flattery, and in the case of this French official he swallowed Madame Guerin's with avidity. It seemed to him he was on the road to riches, and he scarcely hesitated to send not only the photograph but a preliminary fee of a hundred pounds.
If he was disturbed by doubts during the succeeding days, they were set at rest when an invitation arrived to meet Miss Northcliffe at dinner at the cosy Villa. He was, as he admitted afterwards, almost crazy with delight. The heiress was a reality. Madame Guerin had not been "pulling his leg" after all. Had she asked him for a thousand pounds there and then he would probably have paid it without a murmur.
The dinner was a brilliant success from start to finish. Never before had he met such a charming, unaffected girl. A typical English beauty with fair hair, a peach-like skin and dark grey eyes, who dressed exquisitely, and spoke French with a fascinating accent. Her reserve, too, was perfectly enchanting. She did not gush or chatter, and during the greater part of the dinner she hardly uttered a word, but towards the end she became animated.
"She said she would wait until she had made up her mind about you before becoming friendly," whispered Madame Guerin at the first opportunity.
He thrilled with pleasure and turned to resume his conversation with Miss Northcliffe; and when he left the Villa close on midnight his brain was in a whirl.
Miss Northcliffe had plainly shown her preference for him, and he was in love with her. He was an expert on old engravings and modern poetry, and she had, wonderful to relate, revealed a knowledge of those two subjects which, though not profound, proved that she would be an ideal collaborator when they were married.
And then her dress! It was a dream, an exquisite creation that might have been made out of angels' wings. The pearl necklace the English heiress had worn was worth twenty thousand pounds. At least, Madame Guerin said so, and she ought to know, because she had some famous pearls herself. He lay awake most of the night exulting over his good fortune, and early the following morning rushed off to Versailles to take Miss Northcliffe for a motor drive.
A week later Madame Guerin suggested that he should propose, but she warned him that the girl was suspicious of fortune-hunters and that he must prove to her that he was not a needy vagabond marrying to be kept.
He laughed at the notion, but he took it seriously all the same, and when Miss Northcliffe modestly and blushingly accepted his offer of marriage he impulsively asked to be tested as to his means.
But Miss Northcliffe preferred to leave that to her dear friend and guardian, Madame Guerin, and the latter thereupon suggested that he should realize a couple of thousand pounds and settle it right away on Miss Northcliffe, who was, of course, equally willing to supply evidence that her fortune was not a myth.
The infatuated man declined to doubt his fiancée for a moment, and the two thousand pounds were in the possession of Madame Guerin two days later. She received the money with a congratulatory smile, and told him to call again the following Sunday and fix the date for the wedding.
There were four days to Sunday, and how he passed them he never knew. Certainly he was a very inefficient public servant during that time, for his mind was concentrated on the beauty and fortune of the lovely English girl who was about to become his wife. When Sunday came round he was up at dawn, and two hours before he was due to start for Versailles he was hatted and gloved.
The Villa looked very inviting as he walked up to it and pulled the old-fashioned bell. A long pause ensued, and then the fat cook opened the door and breathlessly informed him that Madame was resting in her room but would be down in a few minutes. He expressed his regrets, but when he was in the drawing-room he began to feel that there was something wrong. The atmosphere depressed him, and he had to reprove himself audibly for being morbid to prevent a fit of pessimism overwhelming him.
He was staring through the window when Madame Guerin entered, very pale and dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. In great alarm he rushed to her side. What had happened? Where was Miss Northcliffe? Was she ill? A dozen questions tumbled over one another, and all the time the plump little widow tried to control her sobs.
"Oh, monsieur," she exclaimed, with a piteous expression, "how shall I break the news? I am distracted, desolate! Miss Northcliffe—she has gone—disappeared. I know not where. She may be kidnapped or she may have run away. I am too distracted to be able to think. It is all dreadful and—" A flood of tears completed the sentence.
In vain he implored her to tell him plainly what had happened. The result was that he left the Villa aware that he had lost his two thousand pounds and dimly suspicious of Madame Guerin, although she had sworn that Miss Northcliffe had taken away every penny of it, and, indeed, owed a goodly sum to her.
Further reflection convinced him that he had been swindled, and he began to think of appealing to the police, but at forty-five one does not do things in a hurry, and he was not the person to court ridicule. He had walked into the trap open-eyed, and if his colleagues in the Government service heard the story of the "English heiress" they would make his life a misery with their vulgar chaff. So beyond another visit to the Versailles Villa to inquire if Miss Northcliffe had returned he took no steps to recover his losses.
The next exploit was even more subtle. Some one introduced a well-to-do Parisian of the name of Lalère to Madame Guerin along with the information that he was on the look-out for a wealthy wife. As Monsieur Lalère had a comfortable bank balance of his own she enthusiastically agreed to provide him with a bride, and when she learnt that he was partial to an English girl her delight was boundless.
On this occasion the Versailles Villa was not utilized as the stage for the little comedy. She decided to vary her methods, and she started by going to London and putting up at a fashionable hotel. The two thousand pounds extracted from the Government official came in very handy, as even in London one can live quite a long time in an expensive hotel on that amount.
Shortly after her arrival Lalère came at her invitation. Madame Guerin was, of course, fashionably dressed and apparently busy all day calling upon the leading members of the English aristocracy. She could not give him more than a few minutes one afternoon, and when he expressed disappointment she promised to do her best when she had fulfilled her social obligations. She mentioned glibly that she was dining that night with Mrs. Asquith, whose husband was then Chancellor of the Exchequer, and that the day after she was lunching with "the Crewes."
The Frenchman was greatly impressed by these lies, and he therefore appreciated all the more her spontaneous invitation to him to accompany her to the opera the following Monday evening. It seemed that a friend of hers had been called out of town and that her stall was vacant. Madame Guerin added that she hoped to be able to introduce Lalère to some English heiresses between the acts.
Monday night found Madame Guerin and Monsieur Lalère seated in the stalls at the Covent Garden Theatre. Just before the curtain went up the woman indicated a private box wherein three young ladies, beautifully dressed, were sitting.
"Three friends of mine and all rich, monsieur," she said confidentially. "You can have your choice. Let me know the one you prefer. They will be guided entirely by my advice."
Of course after that Lalère had no eyes for the stage, and some of the greatest singers in the world failed to engage his attention. His eyes were always wandering to the box where the three English beauties were, and he studied their appearances carefully. Eventually his choice alighted upon the girl in the centre, whose name was, Madame Guerin informed him, Miss Northcliffe.
Thus once more the mysterious Miss Northcliffe appeared on the scene, and again she found a Frenchman who was mesmerized by her beauty and her reputed fortune. All the acting that night at Covent Garden was not behind the footlights. Both Madame Guerin and Miss Northcliffe could have given points to many of the professionals.
That the girl who acted as the matrimonial agent's decoy was clever and educated there can be no doubt. She could speak French fluently, and she had a first-rate knowledge of the world. She had been able to talk intelligently to the authority on old engravings and modern poetry, and now she charmed Lalère by her acquaintance with the subjects that interested him.
The sequel was that Lalère paid Madame Guerin fifteen hundred pounds on the understanding that she was to bring about a match between himself and Miss Northcliffe. But no sooner had he parted with the money than the "heiress" vanished, greatly to Madame Guerin's distress and Lalère's annoyance; and all he had to show for his expenditure was a cynical and bitter contempt for women-folk in general.
Success made Madame Guerin avaricious. She began to crave for a large fortune, and she believed that she was clever enough to gain it at one stroke. Experience had proved that it was easy enough to open a man's purse with a story of a rich bride, and her victims took their disappointment so calmly that there was no danger of retribution. Perhaps the sight of wealthy London fired her imagination. Anyhow, she immediately began to look round for a suitable dupe there.
It was, however, necessary to have her husband's help. As she pretended to be a widow, she called him her friend, and it was as Monsieur Cesbron that she introduced him to her friends and acquaintances. Hitherto Cesbron had wisely kept in the background, an admiring spectator from afar of his wife's astuteness, and no doubt he shared in the little windfalls from the Government official and Lalère.
He was not averse to taking a leading part in the next big swindle, and it was Cesbron who found the very man for their purpose. Through a friend he had heard that in the West End of London there was a doctor who had saved a considerable sum of money, and who was in every way a very eligible bachelor.
The initial difficulty was how to make themselves known to him, but Madame Guerin solved the problem by planning a pretty little scheme. She might have called on the doctor in the guise of a patient, but she decided not to do this lest he discovered there was nothing the matter with her.
Her final plan was to pretend that she had invented a new method of sterilizing milk, and that she wished to have a doctor's opinion of its merits.
Madame Guerin underrated her abilities, for, as events proved, she need not have bothered about the "invention." The doctor was pleased to make the acquaintance of the charming widow, and she soon had every opportunity for dragging in references to her rich young lady friends who were anxious to find husbands.
The medical man was incredulous at first, then curious, and eventually impressed. Madame Guerin did not look like a swindler or talk in the manner of a professional matrimonial agent. She was too human for that, and there was nothing of the hard-headed business woman about her.
The doctor readily agreed to join her at a dinner-party and meet the young heiresses, and choose which of them he would care to marry.
The meeting took place at an hotel, and on this occasion Miss Northcliffe failed to win his approval. A young lady whose name was given as Miss Smith gained his vote.
Miss Smith was a beauty, vivacious, clever, and fascinating. When he was persuaded to believe that she had a large fortune, the doctor considered himself the luckiest man in the world.
The girl, one of Madame Guerin's cutest confederates, was equally as good an actress as Miss Northcliffe, and, shrewd man of the world as the doctor was, she had no difficulty in persuading him that he had captured her maiden fancy.
Now, as I have said, the doctor was not a penniless adventurer. He was a prosperous professional man, with a good position and a consoling balance at his bankers, the Crédit Lyonnais. Apart from the somewhat unconventional means by which they had become acquainted, the engagement was, on the surface, nothing remarkable. Miss Smith was obviously well educated, and fit to preside over the doctor's home. They were, therefore, of equal social position.
Madame Guerin was, of course, the brains of the affair, and only the "spade work" was left to her husband. It was she who decided when she and Miss Smith should leave London on the plea that they had to keep engagements in France, and it was she who instructed Miss Smith to agree to her fiancé's request that she should name the day.
The two women left for Paris the day before Cesbron, but they only stopped a day at the capital before they proceeded to the Villa the swindler had rented in the vicinity of Fontainebleau. It was situated in a very lonely spot, and Madame Guerin and Cesbron had taken it because they had decided to murder the doctor and obtain his fortune.
They had already endeavoured to get the doctor to transfer his account to the Paris bank which they said looked after Miss Smith's immense fortune; but he declined to effect the change. However, they were not disheartened. If they were equal to killing the doctor they were also capable of forging a claim to his money at the Crédit Lyonnais.
The marriage was fixed to take place in the second week in November, 1906, and early in the same month Madame Guerin invited the doctor to spend a few days at her Villa before he became the husband of the heiress. He was very busy just then, but, of course, he was most anxious to see his friends, and he accepted the invitation, and in due course arrived at the isolated house.
If he had not been absorbed in his forthcoming marriage, the doctor would hardly have found the place attractive at that time of the year. Of course, Madame Guerin was always interesting, and she was a perfect hostess. There were good points about her friend Cesbron, too, and, with the excitement of the engagement, the flattery of his hostess, and the attentions of Cesbron, the doctor was never dull.
He could never be expected to believe that the woman with the plump, smiling face and the sympathetic eyes had planned his murder, or that Cesbron, her husband, was merely waiting for the proper moment to "remove" him.
One afternoon Madame Guerin and the doctor were chatting in the front room, when Cesbron drove up in a cart with a huge, iron-bound trunk.
"Is our friend going to be married too?" he asked jocularly.
Madame Guerin's eyes glinted, but her lips parted in a smile.
"Oh, he is always buying clothes," she said indifferently, "and he likes to keep them clean and dry when travelling. He told me yesterday he had ordered a new trunk. It is a hobby of his."
The truth was that that trunk had been purchased to hold the doctor's corpse!
There was quite a little party at the Villa that night, and all the time the huge box was waiting in the next room for its victim. The visitor had no suspicion that anything was wrong. He knew by now that Madame Guerin would expect a commission for having introduced him to the great heiress, but he thought none the less of her for that. Cesbron, too, was respectful and attentive, and all appeared to be looking forward with intense satisfaction to the marriage celebration. Miss Smith was not, of course, at the Villa. She was now in Paris selecting her trousseau, and her fiancé had to be content with a charming little love-letter which came to him every morning.
The day before the one fixed for the tragedy Cesbron and the doctor happened to be in the little garden, when the former playfully started a discussion as to their respective physical conditions, and before long the two men had agreed to a friendly wrestling match to see which of them was the stronger.
To Cesbron's surprise and annoyance, he discovered that the doctor was by far the better of the two. This put him out, for it meant that he would have to resort to fire-arms to achieve his object—the murder of the guest.
Cesbron did not like using a revolver. It made a lot of noise, and, lonely as the Villa was, there was always the danger that some one might be passing at the moment of the crime. However, the risk had to be taken. He knew now for certain that he was quite incapable of seizing the doctor by the throat and strangling him, and that if it came to a fight he would be no match for his opponent.
On November 9, 1906, the doctor was alone writing a letter in the drawing-room. The house was very quiet, and he was under the impression that Madame Guerin and Cesbron had gone out. At this time of the year it was dark at half-past four, and the doctor wrote leisurely, pausing occasionally to improve a phrase before committing it to writing.
Suddenly an explosion seemed to take place in the room, and simultaneously he felt something sting him. The next moment he knew that a bullet had passed into his neck behind his left ear, cutting through the tongue and soft palate, and breaking several teeth.
But the wound was not sufficient to prevent his rising and confronting Cesbron, who was standing near the door with a smoking revolver in his hand. Only for a fraction of a second did the two men pause. Then the injured man made a dash at Cesbron, who, recalling his playful encounter of the day before, took to flight, well aware that he would be helpless if the doctor got his fingers round his throat.
When Cesbron sped into the darkness the doctor made his way out of the house and into the garden, stumbling towards the gate. To his surprise this was locked. Evidently the conspirators had not forgotten anything.
There was nothing for him to do now but to try and climb over the wall, and he succeeded in getting his head above the top, but immediately it was silhouetted against the sky another shot was fired, and for the second time he was hit. He fell back into the garden, where, thanks to the darkness and the shelter of the bushes, he was able to remain concealed until the morning, when he crawled to the police station at Fontainebleau, and told the story of the attack on him at the Villa.
The police took the doctor to the local hospital, and then went in search of Madame Guerin who, when arrested, thought to avenge herself by swearing that the doctor was her accomplice. She lied so skilfully that she persuaded the police to detain him for a time, but in the long run the truth was discovered, and it was proved that the doctor was merely another of her dupes.
A strange feature of the case was the disappearance of Cesbron. The police and detective force of France searched for him everywhere, but he was never seen, and the same lack of success was experienced when the authorities became anxious to make the acquaintance of the English heiresses, Miss Smith and Miss Northcliffe. Not a trace of them could be found, and this was very fortunate for Madame Guerin, because, when she was brought up for trial in July, 1907, she could pose as a poor woman who was being prosecuted whilst her partners were allowed to go free owing to the incompetence of the authorities.
The jury took a lenient view of her swindles, ignoring the charge of attempted murder, because it was undoubtedly Cesbron who had fired the two shots at the doctor, and without his presence in the dock it was impossible to tell exactly what part the female prisoner took in the final tragedy. But that she was a very dangerous adventuress and swindler was obvious, and everybody was surprised when the judge passed sentence of three years' imprisonment only.
Her face lit up with joy. She had been afraid that it would have been at least ten years. Three years! Why, it was worth running such a bogus matrimonial agency if that was the only punishment.
It is the French custom to sentence any accused person who fails to answer the charge in person, and Cesbron was ordered two years' hard labour. He did not, however, oblige the prosecution by appearing and undergoing his punishment, and from that day to this nothing has been seen or heard of him.
CHAPTER IX
THE MURDER OF MADAME HOUET
The annals of French crime are rich in dramatic and extraordinary episodes, but none can excel in breathless interest the story of the murder of Madame Houet and the discovery and punishment of her murderers twelve years after her tragic death.
Madame Houet was a widow with a fortune estimated to exceed two hundred and fifty thousand francs, who lived with her son in a little house in the Rue St. Jacques, Paris. Her only daughter was married to a wine merchant named Robert, who was reputed to be well off. The old lady's son was a big, powerful fellow, whose weak brain prevented him earning more than a precarious livelihood, a fact which annoyed his penurious parent. She scraped and saved and half-starved herself to be able to add a few coins daily to her store. In the circumstances, it is not astonishing that amongst her neighbours she should have had the reputation of being worth a great deal more than she actually was.
The gossips never tired of discussing her hidden wealth, and everybody was prepared to hear of her murder for the sake of her hoard. Even her son-in-law was ignorant of the extent of her savings—the old lady would never discuss the subject with him or anyone else—and, after making allowances for the exaggerations of the neighbours, he came to the conclusion that his wife's share of her inheritance would not be less than a quarter of a million francs. There were times, too, when he comforted himself with the assurance that his wife's brother would not live very long. More than one doctor had hinted that the weak brain would soon affect the body, and that he would suddenly collapse and die.
These thoughts induced the wine merchant to sell his business and retire. Robert had always wanted to live the life of a gentleman, as he termed it. He was fond of the theatre and the restaurants, and he had a mania for tempting fortune on the racecourse and on the roulette table. So when he observed signs of decline in his mother-in-law—and his wife often wept as she told him that the old lady was fading away—he found a purchaser for his shop, pocketed the proceeds, and went the pace, confident that before he had spent his capital he would be in possession of Madame Houet's cash.
But Madame Houet was tougher than he thought, and easily outlasted the twenty-five thousand francs Robert had received for his shop. For a few months Monsieur and Madame Robert were seen everywhere, and they became familiar figures in the fashionable restaurants and theatres. When he came to his last thousand-franc note Robert determined to risk it all on a visit to a gambling den. He carried out his intention, and returned home at three in the morning penniless.
He was now not only without resources, but heavily in debt. As the husband of Madame Houet's heiress he had been given extended credit, but the ex-wine merchant knew that if he failed to keep his agreements his creditors would complain to his mother-in-law.
But could he hold his creditors back until the old lady died? Several times a week he called on her and noticed with increasing alarm that she was daily improving in health. Her appetite was prodigious, as he discovered every time he took her out to lunch. Driven desperate, the penniless man tried forgery, and by imitating his mother-in-law's signature on the back of a bill induced the merchant who had purchased his business to advance him twelve thousand five hundred francs for three months.
The weeks passed all too swiftly, and when only a fortnight remained of the three months the forger's position was worse than ever. Fourteen days more and the forged bill would be presented and dishonoured, and Madame Houet would repudiate the signature. Robert went for long walks every night to think over the situation, and eventually he found a solution.
"I have urgent business to attend to," he told his wife one morning, "and I am afraid I shall have to be often away from your side. Why not pay that long-promised visit to your aunt in Marseilles? I should be happier if I knew you were with her."
His wife agreed, and for a month was out of Paris, and during that month the tragedy occurred.
Robert had decided to murder his mother-in-law so that his wife might receive at once her share of the estate. He knew that the old lady had recently made her will bequeathing her fortune in equal shares to her son and her daughter, and, therefore, there was no danger of Julia losing her inheritance. The ex-wine merchant, however, was not capable of carrying out the plan unaided, and he sought an acquaintance, Bastien, a jobbing carpenter, who promised to help in the murder for a fee of twenty thousand francs, to be paid within thirty days of Madame Robert's receipt of her legacy. The terms were agreed to, and they began to make their plans.
There was a big garden attached to a house in the Rue Vaugirard, and Robert rented both for a month, and the night before the murder he and Bastien dug a grave for their intended victim, who at the time they were working was busy counting her savings with a view to sending the money to the bank in the morning. The widow may have been a miser, but she had a great deal of common sense, and she never kept large sums in her home.
Curiously enough, she and her son had of late begun to quarrel fiercely. She had accused him of being lazy, and he had flung reproaches at her, and it was known in the Rue St. Jacques that the Houets were constantly at loggerheads.
"There'll be a tragedy in that house," said the landlord of the inn at the corner. "The police ought to be told. It is not safe to leave the old woman alone with that crazy son of hers."
When the ill-feeling between the mother and son was at its height, Bastien, Robert's confederate, drove up to her residence in a cab, and on being admitted to her presence announced that he came with an invitation to spend the day with her son-in-law. Madame eagerly accepted, for the three meals at his expense would enable her to add at least a franc to her store.
On the journey to the Rue Vaugirard the widow commented on the fact that her strange companion held a coil of rope in his hands.
"Yes," he said, with an impudent grin, "I bought it for a special job. I hope it will prove strong enough."
Again he grinned meaningly; but the old woman was, of course, unconscious of the fact that the "special job" he referred to was her murder by strangulation.
The cab stopped outside the gate at the end of the garden and some distance from the house. With remarkable agility Madame Houet descended, and when Bastien had opened the entrance to the garden passed in. She had not proceeded a dozen paces, however, nor had she had time to notice the newly-made grave, when two strong hands shot out and gripped her by the throat, and before she could utter a sound Bastien's rope was around her neck, and she was swiftly strangled. The next ten minutes was spent by the men filling in the grave, and when that task was over they adjourned to the house and steadied their nerves by imbibing copious draughts of wine.
"The fortune is mine!" Robert cried exultingly. "Bastien, my friend, we have nothing to fear. You have only to keep your mouth shut, and the police are helpless, and ten years hence, even if they discover proofs of our guilt, they won't be able to touch us. That is the law of France. A murderer must be convicted within ten years of the last arrest for the crime or else he goes free without any penalty."
"And the money?" asked Bastien sharply.
"I have been told that it takes about a month to wind up the affairs of a dead woman," said the ex-wine merchant. "My wife will have her mother's fortune by then. Call four weeks from to-day and I will hand you your well-earned reward."
They shook hands on it and parted. Nothing remained except to wait, and that was easy enough.
The instant Madame Houet was missed her son was arrested. On the face of it there seemed to be every justification for that procedure, and the detectives felt that they had the murderer in their power. That the widow had been murdered they had no doubt, and it was only when they were searching for her body that they arrested Robert and Bastien. Following the capture of the latter the son was released, it being admitted that he could have had nothing to do with the disappearance of his mother. It was, however, quite another matter to find the corpse. Madame Houet had simply vanished, and, although the detectives built up a strong case against the two accused, they were compelled to release them because they were unable to produce the body.
It was proved that Bastien had called for the widow and had driven away with her, and it was known that he had fetched her at the instigation of Robert. The two men agreed that they had seen Madame Houet on the day of her disappearance, but swore that she had left them with the intention of going home. The cleverest members of the detective force traced the men's movements on the fatal day, but failed to discover the garden in the Rue Vaugirard, for Robert had, of course, never gone near it since the hasty burial, and, apparently, there was no one to give information to the police about the strange man who had paid the rent for it for a month and had not occupied it for more than a day and that day September 13th, 1821.
When Robert and his confederate walked out of their cells they entered a café and had lunch, and they confined their conversation to denunciations of the authorities for having kept them in gaol so long. Before they separated, however, Robert fixed an appointment with his fellow-assassin to call for the twenty thousand francs and they went their way, animated by feelings of triumph, the ex-wine merchant, especially, scarcely able to suppress his joy.
There is a well-known proverb which says that "A little learning is a dangerous thing," and Robert, the murderer, discovered its truth when he sent his wife to claim half her mother's fortune. He had carefully studied the laws relating to murder, and, confident that the police would never find Madame Houet's body, he had willingly accepted the inconveniences of being constantly under suspicion because he believed that the ten years required by the law would soon pass and place him beyond danger. After the tenth year if the corpse and his guilt were brought to light he would not be prosecuted. It was a curious regulation, but it just suited Robert, and he hummed gaily to himself while awaiting his wife's return.
She came back with a long face and whispered the bad news.
"The gentlemen in the Government office told me," she said, between her tears of disappointment, "that under the law they cannot distribute my mother's money until ten years have passed, when, if her body isn't found, she becomes legally dead. At present, according to the law, she is considered to be alive, and, therefore, her estate cannot be touched."
The ex-wine merchant nearly collapsed, and it was some time before he induced his wife to complain that she was practically destitute and extract an allowance of thirty francs a week on account from the State. For that she had to sign a bond guaranteeing to repay the money to her mother if the latter should appear on the scene again.
By dint of desperate appeals to relatives Robert succeeded in getting the money to take up the forged bill, but he had now another danger to face—Bastien, the jobbing carpenter, who, he knew, would make a terrible row when told of the failure to get hold of the widow's money.
The carpenter came with an expectant expression, and left infuriated. Vainly had Robert explained. Bastien bluntly informed him that he did not believe a word.
"You are trying to defraud me!" he had shrieked, shaking his fist and sending Madame Robert into hysterics. "I will be even with you yet, and if to-morrow you have not the money ready, I—" He ceased abruptly and shuffled out of the house.
He did not come back for a fortnight. Then ensued a repetition of the first scene, terminated by Robert handing him two hundred and fifty francs.
It was a couple of months before Bastien believed his explanation of his poverty, but the two murderers continued to quarrel whenever they met. Robert was again hopelessly in debt, and could hardly raise a few francs to give to his fellow-assassin, who was blackmailing him daily. Eventually things became so bad that Bastien in desperation committed a burglary for which he was arrested and sent to penal servitude for seven years.
Then fresh information reached the authorities and Robert was arrested again, whilst Bastien was brought from prison and taken with the ex-wine merchant before the magistrate. They were severely examined, but despite many contradictions and lies they had to be discharged again, Bastien returning to gaol, and Robert to the miserable rooms he called his home. This second arrest, however, meant that still ten years would have to elapse before Madame Houet was considered dead in law and her assassins free from punishment.
When Bastien had served his sentence for burglary he began to blackmail Robert systematically, until another robbery landed him in gaol again. As the years went by he grew jealous of the liberty enjoyed by Robert, and, becoming garrulous, eventually confided in an old convict with whom he worked exactly nine years and eight months from the day of his second arrest. His fellow-prisoner had twelve years to serve, and was, accordingly, not to be feared, but the very week he heard Bastien's story of the tragedy in the Rue Vaugirard he saved a warder's life by an act of bravery, and was rewarded by a free pardon in March, 1833.
The pardon, however, did not include employment, and the ex-convict found the world hard and unsympathetic. No one would have anything to do with a man whose record included a murder and several violent assaults, and he was starving when it occurred to him that he might be able to make something out of Bastien's confession. He, thereupon, called on the chief of police, and offered to tell him where the body of the widow was provided he was given five hundred francs when his statement had been tested.
The chief willingly promised the sum mentioned, for it was a continual source of exasperation to him that two such villains as Robert and Bastien should have outwitted him and his legion of trained detectives.
The ex-convict recounted what Bastien had told him, and for the third time Robert and Bastien were charged together. They were not so confident now, for something seemed to tell them that they were not going to escape again.
It is the French custom to have the accused present at any important discovery bearing upon their case, and Robert and Bastien were, accordingly, handcuffed and taken to the garden at the back of the house in the Rue Vaugirard. Half a dozen detectives were provided with spades, and, whilst the prisoners looked on, they dug as if for their lives. But they met with no reward, and Robert, who had remained motionless throughout, was regarding them with a sneering smile when one of the detectives suddenly turned on him.
"Get out of the way, man!" he cried contemptuously. "One would think that the widow Houet had gripped you by the feet."
On hearing this Robert started as though he had been shot, and it did not surprise the officials in the least when the skeleton of the murdered woman was found exactly under the spot where he had been standing. It was plain that he had hoped to keep the officers away from it and that his ruse would cause them to leave the garden without the corpse. Had they done so, he and Bastien would have had to be released.
The skeleton was in an almost perfect state of preservation and there was not the slightest difficulty in identifying it, for the rope was still around the neck and on one of the fingers of the left hand was a gold ring.
The ex-wine merchant and his confederate were tried before the Paris Criminal Court and found guilty of murder. For some extraordinary reason, however, the jury added "extenuating circumstances" to their verdict and this took away from the judge the power to inflict death. They were, however, consigned to a living death in one of the French convict settlements, and there they existed for a few miserable years before dying of inanition, overwork, and monotony.
Practically the whole of Madame Houet's fortune was inherited by her son, who died in an asylum, and eventually the money which had been the motive for a terrible crime passed into the coffers of the state, the widow's son leaving no heirs.
CHAPTER X
THE BOOTMAKER'S ROYAL WOOING
When the Essen doctor advised Maria Hussmann, Frederick Krupp's "lady housekeeper," to try a course of thermal baths at Aix-la-Chapelle she was only too glad to do so. Maria was a typical German woman, heavy, solid, and, as she was in the late thirties, fond of boasting of her respectability. She styled herself "a noble lady," and she was in the habit of explaining to her acquaintances that she only "condescended" to manage Herr Krupp's domestic staff for him, having been tempted by an enormous salary, the latter being a tribute to her excellence and her social position. She always carried herself with great dignity, and Krupp, who had a comic admiration for what in Germany passes for good breeding, was rather proud of his employée's pride.
Of course, he readily granted her permission to make the journey to the favourite resort, and to stay there for at least a month. Maria, therefore, packed up her trunks, and started for Aix-la-Chapelle. The woman had a fairly large sum of money saved, and, anxious to meet the best people, she put up at a first-class hotel, and placed herself under the care of a physician with a European reputation. In this way she acquired position at once in the hotel, and while carefully suppressing the fact that she was the Cannon King's housekeeper she let it be known that she derived her means from him.
Everybody thereupon assumed that she was a relation of Krupp's, and after that expressed no surprise that she should be so rich.
The tall woman with the red face, who looked so grotesque in her fashionable clothes, was most assiduous in following her doctor's orders, and she was soon a well-known figure amongst the patients, who came from all parts of the world. When the scores of impecunious German officers heard that she was actually related to the millionaire Krupp they crowded round her, and the widow took their admiration as due entirely to her personal charm! Every day she had more invitations to lunch than she could accept, and there was keen competition for the honour of escorting her to the theatre or opera. This was, indeed, life, and, large as was Frederick Krupp's monthly cheque, she began to look forward to the time when she would be independent of it, and would have an officer husband—the ambition of every German woman—and a home of her own to manage.
Then suddenly she met, purely by accident, a man who raised her ambitions even higher. Hitherto she had considered it bliss to hear a young officer of the Prussian Guards whisper insincerities into her ear, but once she became acquainted with a future King she forgot all other men.
It was a very hot afternoon in mid-August, 1897, when Maria, walking slowly between an avenue of trees, slipped on a piece of orange-peel, and she would have met with a serious accident had not a gentleman caught her in time. The shock, however, gravely affected her, and her rescuer had to escort her to a friendly seat to give her time to recover. There he waited politely until she signified that she was better, and it was only then that she took notice of him. She saw a man above medium height with a saturnine countenance, dark eyes and a black moustache. She noticed that the expression of his mouth hovered between a sneer and a scowl, and somehow his grey suit and light Homburg hat failed to give a touch of relief to an exterior not at all pleasing. However, Maria was too great a "perfect lady" not to feel grateful for the service he had rendered her, and she thanked him, ending up by revealing her identity.
"I am charmed, madame," said the stranger, speaking in French. "My name is—but, no, I must respect my incognito. I am Count d'Este. You can know me by that." A profound bow followed, and the next moment the count had disappeared.
Marie went back to her hotel with the words "incognito" and "count" ringing in her ears. She was sure that the stranger had been impressed by her, and she was equally certain that he was a great man, for only monarchs and their heirs talked of travelling "incognito." He was undoubtedly something better than a count, although Maria had an exaggerated veneration for any title of nobility.
Of course, the "lady housekeeper from Essen" procured an Almanach de Gotha at the hotel, but as it was not illustrated, she could not identify the mysterious gentleman, and she might have given up the task had she not met him again at the same place the following day. On this occasion he came straight up to her, and in the most charming and natural manner entered into conversation, carefully inquiring first if she had suffered any ill-consequences from the previous day's mishap, and expressing the greatest delight when she declared that she was quite well again.
They parted after half an hour, the count in a sad voice informing her that owing to fear of being recognized and his incognito not being respected he could not ask her to be his guest at a restaurant. The remark fired her curiosity, and she went at once to the public library, and within a quarter of an hour was surrounded by a score of books on the royal families of Europe. It took her, however, nearly two hours to solve the mystery, and it was a bound volume of the Paris Figaro that gave her the clue she was seeking.
"He's the Archduke Francis Ferdinand," she whispered to herself, and her body vibrated. "The heir to the throne! And we're such good friends! Now I'll have no difficulty in being received into the society that I've always longed to enter."
When she reached her hotel there was a retired German colonel waiting to take her for a promenade, and at any other time Maria would have given half her fortune to be seen in his company, but now she almost condescendingly begged him to excuse her, and as she lumbered up the stairs the colonel could only stand in the hall, stare after her, and mutter curses expressive of his surprise and anger. He had planned to marry the wealthy relative of Frederick Krupp, and so save himself from bankruptcy. But Frau Hussmann had no use for common colonels now. She could think only of her august friend, the heir to the throne of Austria; no one else mattered.
It was her intention to keep her discovery to herself, but when on the third day she found the "count" obviously waiting for her she could not restrain herself when after five minutes' promenading together she had yet to hear a word from him. The "count" was in one of his melancholy moods, but since seeing him last she had read in several papers how addicted he was to pessimism, and she had already come to the conclusion that her mission in life was to save him from melancholia, and give him a new interest in life.
"Your Imperial and Royal Highness"—she began.
But he started convulsively, and laid a warning hand on her arm.
"Ah, I see you have discovered my secret," he said with a most anxious expression. "Trust a woman's wit to get to the truth. You pierced my incognito, madame. But I am not angry. It is proof that you take an interest in an unhappy man. I thank you for it."
"Unhappy?" she echoed in amazement. "Your Royal Highness——"
"My name is Franz—to my friends," he said, looking at her steadily, "and we are friends, are we not?"
Maria could scarcely speak, so excited was she by the honour. The Archduke Francis Ferdinand was so natural and such a delightful companion! That very day he told her how his uncle, the Emperor, was trying to force him to marry an archduchess he did not love, and he recounted scenes in the Hofburg at Vienna which simply enthralled Krupp's lady housekeeper, who felt that she was, indeed, taking a peep into the most exclusive Court in Europe.
"I can go nowhere without being pestered," said the melancholy archduke. "I have no real friends. The Czar and the Kaiser only invite me to their palaces to introduce me to princesses. I am considered merely a pawn on the chessboard of Europe, and they never seem to think that I have a heart like other men, and that I long for a sweet, sympathetic wife."
He pressed her hand and looked into her eyes, and Maria Hussmann had difficulty in keeping on her feet, so overcome was she by emotion as she walked in that shady avenue and knew that she was being made love to by the future Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary.
"You understand now why I am in Aix-la-Chapelle," he resumed after a pause. "I can experience a little liberty here, and by paying cash for everything I have no need to reveal my identity. Of course I dare not draw cheques on my bankers, for that would give me away completely. Oh, madame, I am thankful that I came here, for I have never been so happy since I met you."
The courtship was not a long one: indeed, it was much too short for the romantic woman. Nearly every afternoon she met the archduke, and he always had some fresh story to tell her of the Hofburg—the Kaiser's secret visits there, the drawing up of important treaties at midnight, the "removing" of political enemies, and the real meaning of various public actions of the emperor's. Incidentally he enlightened Marie as to the real character of Frederick Krupp. He was, of course, very sorry to have to draw the line at the millionaire, he said, even if Madame was a relative of the Cannon King's; but Marie hastened to dissociate herself from her "relation," explaining that she had a fortune independent of him, and that if ever she married she would not want to see too much of the Kaiser's friend.
A fortnight after the accident the archduke formally asked Marie to be his wife. She had been expecting the proposal for days, but she was surprised almost into hysterics when he actually made the offer. It seemed too good to be true. Aix-la-Chapelle was then crowded with beauties of all sorts and conditions. Some of the loveliest heiresses in Europe were to be seen daily in the town. The archduke had only to reveal himself to be flattered and courted by them, and yet he had chosen her! It was undoubtedly the greatest compliment she could possibly receive.
In the faintest of tones she said "Yes," and the archduke bowed over her hand, and impressed a respectful kiss upon it. "Just like one would expect from a prince," said the lady housekeeper later when describing that moment of blissful triumph.
"Of course, we'll be married at once," said Franz Ferdinand, who was the most attentive and enthusiastic of lovers. "Until you are my wife I shall not know a moment's peace, for if the Emperor got to know of my matrimonial plans he would have you kidnapped, Maria, and I should be left to mourn your loss."
The idea of the Emperor abducting this sixteen stone of solid German flesh would have struck anyone but Maria as comic. She, however, was too great an admirer of herself and too romantic to see anything absurd in the idea.
"I am ready for you at any time, Franz," she said in a flutter. "You know I am yours for ever now."
How delightful it was to meet the archduke every day after dusk and discuss the question of immediate marriage! They made plans, only to unmake them at their next meeting. Once for a period of three days Krupp's housekeeper had to live without seeing her fiancé, but, as he explained on his return to Aix-la-Chapelle, he had been unexpectedly recalled to Vienna to take part in a Council of State at the Hofburg.
"Again the Emperor talked of my marrying one of my cousins," he said with a scowl. "He little realizes that I am about to wed the girl of my heart, and one whom I mean to make my Empress when the right time comes."
Once more they fell to discussing the best place to get married in. Various Continental cities were mentioned, but rejected, and eventually the archduke's suggestion that they should travel to London at once, go through the marriage ceremony at a register office, and then in the presence of a priest, and afterwards return to Aix-la-Chapelle, was adopted. From there Francis Ferdinand was to inform his uncle as to what had happened, and prepare for his entry into Austria with his bride by his side.
"Once you are mine, even the Emperor will not be able to separate us," he assured her confidently, "and you can always rely upon my love and protection. I am sure the Austrians and Hungarians will take my lovely bride to their hearts."
With the venue settled upon there was only one thing more to do, and that was for the archduke to send for "a few thousand marks" for the expenses of their wedding and subsequent honeymoon. He spoke so glibly of his immense fortune that poor Maria did not dare to refer to the fifty thousand marks she had in the bank at Essen. However, he spared her any embarrassment by laughingly advising her to take whatever money she had out of the German banks in case "the Emperor, my uncle, should try to deprive you of it." Maria accordingly sent instructions to her bankers, and shortly she had two thousand five hundred pounds in her possession, but only for a short time, for she handed it over to "Franz" for safe keeping on his suggestion.
The portly housekeeper and the melancholy archduke stole out of Aix-la-Chapelle late one night, and, travelling by a circuitous route, reached London two days later. They were both dead tired, but nevertheless very happy, and for the time being the Austrian heir seemed to have become another man. He could laugh and joke and talk rapturously of the love he bore his bride, and he was all impatience for their brief journey to the register office in the neighbourhood of the Strand.
London was crowded at the time. In the previous June Queen Victoria had celebrated her Diamond Jubilee, and if all the royalties had departed there were sufficient notable sight-seers from all corners of the earth to make the great city more than usually interesting.
"It is the best time for us," said the archduke, beaming upon Maria as they prepared to leave the hotel for the register office. "These Londoners have had so much royalty in their midst lately that they won't trouble to bother about me."
The dingy register office seemed to Maria Hussmann a veritable Fairyland setting for her romance when she stood beside Francis Ferdinand, and the wheezy official turned them into man and wife in the most matter-of-fact manner. She regretted that they had to give false names, but she was well aware that that small fraud would not invalidate the marriage.
A couple of clerks, called in, and rewarded with half a sovereign each, officiated as witnesses, and then Maria and her princely husband went out into the sunshine and tried to realize that the wonderful event had happened.
They had a merry little lunch for two at the Savoy Hotel, and in the afternoon they went for a drive through London. At night they had a box at one of the principal theatres, and Francis Ferdinand talked of taking her down to Windsor to see the Queen.
"Her Majesty has a womanly heart, and she will sympathize with us," he declared. How Maria's heart beat when she listened to him talking so familiarly of the crowned heads of Europe! "She'll stand by us, and she's the most powerful woman in the world. I know Wilhelm will bluster and Nicholas shed tears over my supposed loss of dignity, but I don't care."
Maria had agreed to keep their marriage a secret until her husband had chosen the right moment to break the news to his uncle, the Emperor Francis Joseph, and what with daily drives, visits to the theatres, and exciting plans for a tour of the Courts of Europe, she let a whole week go by in London without having broken her promise. Yet she wished that she could tell some of the people at the Savoy, especially those fashionable dames who were in the habit of regarding her with unfavourable looks. It would make them treat her respectfully. It was all very well for Francis Ferdinand to wish for privacy, but she was crazy with anxiety to astonish Europe with news of her exploit.
She must have dropped hints in the hearing of her maid, for between lunch and afternoon tea at the Savoy one mild September day she found a pleasant-mannered gentleman beside her, who opened a conversation, and deftly extracted a statement from her concerning her husband. This person happened to be a journalist, and, the same day, the wires were busy conveying the startling information that the heir to the throne of Austria had married Maria Hussmann, Frederick Krupp's lady housekeeper!
Meanwhile the bridegroom had also read the statement in a London paper, and without a trace of annoyance had questioned his wife. Maria confessed that she had been unable to resist the temptation to proclaim her pride and happiness, and he did not reprove her harshly. It was only human, after all, he said, for girls do not marry archdukes every day, so he kissed her and went downstairs, and she never saw him again.
A third person read about the affair with, perhaps, more interest than anybody else, and he was the real Francis Ferdinand. He was staying at his palace in Hungary, and the announcement of his marriage tickled even his dormant sense of humour. Three years were to elapse before he was to become the husband of the Countess Sophy Chotek, later Duchess of Hohenberg, and seventeen ere their double murder was to precipitate the greatest of all wars.
There was no difficulty in exposing the fraud, but when a detective from Scotland Yard called at the hotel he found only a weeping bride. Her husband had disappeared, and she was desolate. The truth was broken to her, and a benevolent lady in London made arrangements for her to return to Essen. The authorities had no use for her now. Their energies were concentrated on discovering the retreat of the impostor.
His history was a peculiar one. Johann Schmidt—his real name—was the son of a Berlin bookmaker, who after numerous terms of imprisonment had become an inmate of a criminal lunatic asylum. He escaped from this prison by impersonating one of the doctors, and, having made his way to Aix-la-Chapelle, wooed and won the impressionable lady housekeeper from Essen.
The impostor was not, however, brought to trial, as Maria would not prosecute him. All she wished was to be allowed to bury herself in obscurity. But she was scarcely more annoyed than the Chauvinistic German journalists that her husband was not the real Simon Pure.
"No wonder he could pose so successfully as Francis Ferdinand," one of them wrote, "he was for six years in a lunatic asylum."