right side pocket, where my
prisoner couldn't reach, I put a little leaded bludgeon, and also
a brace of pocket pistols. Hartenstein was going to furnish me a
guard as well as a driver, but I said that I would take a servant,
who could act as guard. The servant, of course, was my orderly,
old Johann; I gave him my double hunting gun to carry, with a big
charge of boar shot in one barrel and an ounce ball in the other.

In addition, I armed myself with a big bottle of cognac. I thought
that if I could shoot my prisoner often enough with that, he would
give me no trouble.

As it happened, he didn't, and none of my precautions--except
the cognac--were needed. The man didn't look like a lunatic to
me. He was a rather stout gentleman, of past middle age, with a
ruddy complexion and an intelligent face. The only unusual thing
about him was his hat, which was a peculiar contraption, looking
like a pot. I put him in the carriage, and then offered him a
drink out of my bottle, taking one about half as big myself. He
smacked his lips over it and said, "Well, that's real brandy;
whatever we think of their detestable politics, we can't
criticize the French for their liquor." Then, he said, "I'm glad
they're sending me in the custody of a military gentleman,
instead of a confounded gendarme. Tell me the truth, lieutenant;
am I under arrest for anything?"

"Why," I said, "Captain Hartenstein should have told you about
that. All I know is that I have orders to take you to the Ministry
of Police, in Berlin, and not to let you escape on the way. These
orders I will carry out; I hope you don't hold that against me."

He assured me that he did not, and we had another drink on
it--I made sure, again, that he got twice as much as I did--and
then the coachman cracked his whip and we were off for Berlin.

Now, I thought, I am going to see just what sort of a madman this
is, and why Hartenstein is making a State affair out of a squabble
at an inn. So I decided to explore his unrealistic beliefs about
the state of affairs in Europe.

After guiding the conversation to where I wanted it, I asked him:

"What, _Herr_ Bathurst, in your belief, is the real, underlying
cause of the present tragic situation in Europe?"

That, I thought, was safe enough. Name me one year, since the
days of Julius Caesar, when the situation in Europe hasn't been
tragic! And it worked, to perfection.

"In my belief," says this Englishman, "the whole mess is th