During the discussion of these final arrangements a telegram was handed
to the Prince. He scanned it hurriedly, jumped up from his seat, and
apologising for his abruptness, explained that he had been suddenly
called home. He expressed the hope that he would shortly see me in
Russia, where I was promised a fine time, but that he would instruct me
the precise date when to start. Meanwhile I was urged to complete my
purchases of the paraphernalia which we had decided to be imperative for
our purpose, and he handed me sufficient funds to settle all the
accounts in connection therewith. That night the Prince bade me farewell
and hurried off to catch the boat train. My next communication from him
was the brief instruction urging me to start on August 1.[1]

[Footnote 1: I have never heard since from the Prince. A day or
two after the outbreak of war, upon joining the Russian forces,
he, with an observer, ascended in an aeroplane--he was an
enthusiastic and skilled aviator--to conduct a reconnaissance
over the German lines. He was never seen nor heard of again.
Searching enquiries have been made without result, and now it is
presumed that he was lost or killed.--H.C.M.]

Shortly after his departure there were ominous political rumblings, but
I, in common with the great majority, concluded that the storm would
blow over as it had done many times before. Moreover, I was so
pre-occupied with my coming task as to pay scanty attention to the
political barometer. I completed the purchase of the apparatuses, packed
them securely, and arranged for their dispatch to meet me at the train.
Then I remained at home to await developments. I was ready to start at a
moment's notice, having secured my passport, on which I was described,
for want of a better term, as a "Tutor of Photography," and it was duly
viséd by the Russian Embassy.