A light of interest was growing in the Emperor’s manner, banishing his ill-temper.  Anything novel always appealed to him.

“Well?” he said.

“The ruse was detected, the letter was found and our man was fined twenty pounds at the police court.  It was then that Dr. Grundt decided to send me....”

“You’ve got it with you?” the other exclaimed eagerly.

“No, Your Majesty,” I said.  “I had no means of bringing it away.  Dr. Grundt, on the other hand ...”  And I doubled up my leg and touched my foot.

The Emperor stared at me and the furrow reappeared between his eyes.  Then a smile broke out on his face, a warm, attractive smile, like sunshine after rain, and he burst into a regular guffaw.  I knew His Majesty’s weakness for jokes at the expense of the physical deformities of others, but I had scarcely dared to hope that my subtle reference to Grundt’s clubfoot as a hiding-place for compromising papers would have had such a success.  For the Kaiser fairly revelled in the idea and laughed loud and long, his sides fairly shaking.

“Ach, der Stelze!  Excellent!  Excellent!” he cried.  “Plessen, come and hear how we’ve diddled the Englander again!”

We were in a long room, lofty, with a great window at the far end, where the room seemed to run to the right and left in the shape of a T. From the big writing-desk with its litter of photographs in heavy silver frames, the little bronze busts of the Empress, the water-colour sea-scapes and other little touches, I judged this to be the Emperor’s study.

At the monarch’s call, a white-haired officer emerged from the further end of the room, that part which was hidden from my view.

The Kaiser put his hand on his shoulder.

“A great joke, Plessen!” he said, chuckling.  Then, to me: 

“Tell it again!”

I had warmed to my work now.  I gave as drily humorous an account as I could of Dr. Grundt, fat and massive and podgy, hobbling on board the steamer at Tilbury, under the noses of the British police, with the document stowed away in his boot.

The Kaiser punctuated my story with gusty guffaws, and emphasized the fun of the denouement by poking the General in the ribs.

Plessen laughed very heartily, as indeed he was expected to.  Then he said suavely: 

“But has the stratagem succeeded, Your Majesty?”

The monarch knit his brow and looked at me.

“Well, young man, did it work?”

“...  Because,” Plessen went on, “if so, Grundt must be in Holland.  In that case, why is he not here?”

My heart sank within me.  Above all things, I knew I must keep my countenance.  The least sign of embarrassment and I was lost.  Yet I felt the blood fleeing from my face and I was glad I stood in the shadow.

A knock came to the door.  The elderly chamberlain who had met me outside appeared.

“Your Majesty will excuse me ...  General Baron von Fischer is there to report....”