They came. I had been sitting for an hour I suppose, sipping vermouth and lazily regarding my neighbors, when the sound of a voice came to my ears. It was the voice of a man speaking French, with the soft accent of the Spaniard; the tone loud and unsteady and full of the boisterous emphasis of a man in his cups. But it was the words he spoke that commanded my attention. “Our two comrades,” he was saying, “will soon arrive from the center in Buenos Ayres.” “Yes,” another voice assented—a harsher voice, this, to whose owner French was obviously also a foreign tongue. “In the spring, we hope.” [Illustration: The Brevet promoting Senior Captain von der Goltz to the rank of Major of Cavalry in the Mexican Constitutionalist Army. It will be noted that the commission bears the signature of Raul Madero and General Villa.] The Spaniard laughed. “An excellent business! So simple. _Boom!_ And our dear Alfonso....” Some element of caution must have come over him, for his voice sank so that I could no longer hear his words. But I had heard enough to make me assume a good deal. Some one was to be assassinated! And that some one? It was a guess, of course, but the name and the accent of the speaker were more than enough to lead me to believe that the proposed victim must be King Alfonso of Spain. I sat there, undecided for the moment. It was really no affair of mine. I was on another mission, and, after all, my theory was merely a supposition. On the other hand, the situation presented interesting possibilities—and as I happened to know, Alfonso’s seemingly pro-German leanings and made him an object of friendly interest at that time to my government. I decided to look into the matter. It had been difficult to keep from stealing a glance at my talkative neighbors but I restrained myself. I must not turn around and yet it was vitally necessary that I see their faces. All I could do was to hope that they would leave before I finished my vermouth; for I had no mind to risk my clear-headedness with more than the glass I had already had. They did leave shortly afterward. As they passed my table I took care to study their faces, and my intention to keep them in sight was immensely strengthened. The Spaniard I did not know, but his companion I recognized as a Russian—_and one of the very men I was after_. I had been in Geneva long enough to know where I could get information when I needed it. It was only a day or two, therefore, before I had in my hands sufficient facts to justify me in reporting the matter to my government. Alfonso was in England at the time and presumably safe; for I had gathered that no attempt would be made upon his life until he returned to Spain. So I wrote to Berlin reporting what I had learned. A telegram reached me next day. I was ordered to Brussels to communicate my information to the Spanish Minister there.