Of course, many in Bad Lobenstein knew about the prince’s crude views, about the strange meetings in his hunting lodge. But no one claims to have noticed that a group around him was planning a kind of putsch. That’s part of the problem.
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Christoph Koopmann, Bad Lobenstein
Of course they’ve all seen something, heard something. What you get in a town like Bad Lobenstein. The prince’s car, for example, in the parking lot in front of the supermarket, easily recognizable by the number plate: PR 13, for Prince Reuss, the thirteenth, whom everyone calls the prince. Him in line at the checkout, always wearing a jacket and slicking his hair back. Or when he had guests in his hunting lodge over in Saaldorf with license plates who weren’t from here, who simply parked their cars in the yard across from the painting company. Ah, they said, the prince and his friends are back.