On returning to the hotel I found the Crown-Prince arranging with Knof a motor run along the Surrey hills on the following day. He had a large map spread before him—a German military map, the curious marks upon which would have no doubt astonished any of your War Office officials. The map indicated certain spots which had been secretly prepared by Germany in view of the projected invasion.
To those spots we motored on the following day. His Imperial Highness, at the instigation of the Emperor, actually made a tour of inspection of those cunningly-concealed points of vantage which the Imperial General Staff had, with their marvellous forethought and bold enterprise, already prepared right beneath the very nose of the sleeping British lion.
From the Crown-Prince's jaunty manner and good spirits I felt assured that by the subtle persuasive powers he possessed towards women—nearly all of whom admired his corseted figure and his gay nonchalance—he had brought the mysterious Miss King into line with his own cunningly-conceived plans—whatever they might be.
We lunched at the Burford Bridge Hotel, that pretty old-fashioned house beneath Box Hill, not far from Dorking.
After our meal in the long public room, newly built as an annexe, we strolled into the grounds for a smoke.
"Well, Heltzendorff," he said presently, as we strolled together along the gravelled walks, "we will return to the Continent to-morrow. Our visit has not been altogether abortive. We will remain a few days in Ostend, before we return to Potsdam."
Next afternoon we had taken up our quarters at a small but very select hotel on the Digue at Ostend, a place called the "Beau Séjour." It was patronized by old-fashioned folk, and "Herr Richter" was well known there. There may have been some who suspected that Richter was not the visitor's real name, but they were few, and it always surprised me how well the Crown-Prince succeeded in preserving his incognito—though, of course, the authorities knew of the Imperial visit.
Whenever "Willie" went to Ostend his conduct became anything but that of the exemplary husband. Ostend in the season was assuredly a gay place, and the Crown-Prince had a small and select coterie of friends there who drank, gambled and enjoyed themselves even more than they did at Nice in winter.
But his mind was always obsessed by the coming war. Indeed, on that very evening of our arrival, as we strolled along the gaily-illuminated Digue towards the big, bright Kursaal, he turned to me suddenly and said:
"When the hour comes, and Prussia in her greatness strikes them, this place will soon become German territory. I shall make that building yonder my headquarters," and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the summer palace of the King of the Belgians.