“The strangers left hurriedly.... It is more than probable that they only came to spy if Tisza was at home, because the rumour had spread in town that he had left Pest!” Then followed a remarkably short and cynical account of the details of the murder, every word of which showed clearly that the writer of the article wanted to avoid anything that might raise pity or sympathy in favour of the victim. The report continued: “During the day a thick crowd had gathered in the vicinity of the villa. In the evening about a quarter past six eight infantrymen climbed over the high railings of the garden and crept across the lawn to the house. They entered by the back door. They quietly disarmed the police who were in charge of Tisza’s safety, and penetrated into the hall. The footman tried to stop them. Hearing the noise, Stephen Tisza, his wife, and his niece, the Countess Denise Almássy, came out. Tisza held a revolver in his hand. “The soldiers began by reproaching him: ‘We have been fighting five years because of you.... You are the cause of the destruction of our country!... You were always a scoundrel.’ Then they shouted at him to put his revolver down. “‘I will not,’ said Tisza, ‘you are armed too.’ “‘Put it down,’ a tall, fair young man aged about thirty shouted. “‘I won’t.’ “‘Then let the women stand aside.’ “‘We will not,’ said they. “Tisza retired a few steps and put the revolver down. “‘Now what do you want?’ said he. “‘You are the cause of the war.’ “‘I know what the war has done to us, and I know how much blood has flowed; but I am not the cause of it.’ “‘I have been a soldier for four years. Innumerable families have perished because of your wickedness. Now you must pay for it.’ “‘I am not the cause of it.’ “‘Let the women stand aside!’ No answer. ‘It is you who have brought this awful catastrophe about, and now the day of reckoning has come.’ “Three shots were fired. Tisza fell forward on the carpet. He was hit by two bullets: one in the shoulder, the other in the abdomen. The third grazed the cheek of Denise Almássy. “‘They have killed me,’ said Tisza; ‘God’s will be done.’ “While the victim was writhing in agony the soldiers hurried away. It is not known to what regiment they belonged.” Thus far the reporter’s account. My mother looked at me interrogatively for an instant and then shook her head sadly. “Something has been omitted from that account. It all sounds very improbable. Hungarian soldiers don’t kill in the presence of women.” “It is a psychological impossibility,” I said; “such an account can have sprung only from the imagination of a Budapest reporter. Soldiers from the front would not talk politics if they wanted to kill. They might have rushed in and stabbed Tisza, but such a cold-blooded, cowardly, premeditated murder is not in the nature of Hungarians. It must have been very different.” “However it was,” my mother sighed, “it is terrible to think that it could happen. Poor Countess Tisza!”