They were part of the charade; how could they then recognize its hollow ring? The distant kettledrums of history were beating a faintly discernible cadence, though few of the Berliners in attendance that afternoon were aware of it. All the others—enjoying the quartet’s rendition of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik and the tinkling of champagne glasses, the laughter of gaiety and the faces full of smiles—basked in the self-satisfying glow of importance, feeling the flush all the more after two or three glasses of the expensive wines Otto von Dortmann had brought in for the occasion.

The host, at the moment, was engaged in the perfunctory process of welcoming one with whom he bore a striking resemblance yet whom he seemed altogether nonchalant to see.

“So, Heinrich,” Otto was saying, “Your field hands are, ah, able to carry on without you.”

“Of course,” answered the other with an imperceptible smile. “As well, I’m certain, as your bank without you.”

“Ah, but farming and banking are too different to be compared, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You are right, Otto, which is why I am content to be a farmer.”

Otto forced a smile. “Well, Heinrich, I am glad your fields and cows could spare you long enough to come to the city…. But, now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to greet my other guests.”

Heinrich nodded and watched Otto walk away.

The tight smile was still spread across Otto’s face. To him it had been an awkward exchange despite its brevity. In truth, he did not like it known that Heinrich was his brother. But the state of the family finances demanded that he show him at least the respect of an occasional invitation to such affairs.

The man with whom he had been speaking watched him leave with what almost looked like a twinge of compassionate sadness in his eye. Gradually the sounds of the string quartet and tinkling glasses intruded once more into his hearing.

The “country brother” of the host, however, as Otto referred to him in his absence, Baron Heinrich von Dortmann, was aware of a different strain of music that day than that which emanated from the two violins, the viola, and the cello. And it sent shivers up his spine. As it also did to the few foreign diplomats who were in attendance.

“Ah, Herr Baron, es freut mich sehr Ihnen noch einmal zu sehen,” said a man to Heinrich in flawless German.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. McCallum,” returned Dortmann. “You must let me return your favor and speak to you in your native tongue!”

“Favor granted then,” replied the other as the two men shook hands.

“And let me add that it is a pleasure to see you once again as well. How are things in the embassy?”