"But, Sir Winston, why would that have been so? Granted, the Ballantines were well liked by the Royal Family and a source of national pride having won the International Trapeze Tournament in 1930, but nonetheless, why would the acquittal of the Felluchis have been such a significant matter to the British rulers?"
Churchill waved the centenarian historian closer, and though none but they were present, whispered in the one hundred six year old historian's ear.
"You must vow to take this secret to the grave, Trumpleflush. Do you give me your word on that?"
Trumpleflush agreed and Churchill went on.
"None but a handful of insiders know of this, but Luther Ballantine was the product of a passionate encounter between Queen Victoria and Lord Nathan von Rothschild."
"My word!" the Noble Prize recipient gasped as small details which had never quite made sense began to fall into place. "So that's why Queen Victoria was rarely seen for a full six months in 1895. It was said she was suffering from severe bloating due to her nightly consumption of hickleberry root, her favorite dessert and highly addictive, and which when overindulged in can precipitate grievous gas production and water retention resulting in the most obscene bloating imaginable. But this is surely preposterous, Sir Winston: Victoria was in her seventies at the time. How could she have possibly conceived let alone borne a child?"
With a sly devilish smile, Churchill revealed, "Hickleberry root."
"Hickleberry root?" Trumpleflush was reeling.
"Indeed. It was the very same hickleberry root which was the source of it all, Trumpleflush. You see, not only is hickleberry root addictive and the cause of grievous gas production and water retention resulting in the most obscene bloating imaginable, but in sufficiently high doses it is also an extremely potent aphrodisiac and can turn a barren woman fertile, and dare I say, an old woman into a young tart. When the Queen met privately in her chambers with Baron von Rothschild, who himself was approaching sixty, to discuss vital financial matters, they both consumed massive quantities of hickleberry root and... Well, I need not spell out the ensuing effects, need I?"
Trumpleflush was astounded and sat quietly absorbing what he had heard. He finally asked, "But what of the child? What happened to it?"
"The child, a boy, was placed with a responsible family to be properly raised, but as a teenager he rebelled and ran away and joined the circus, where he met and later married Rachel Ballantine and became part of the family trapeze act."
"But, Sir Winston, did the Germans know of this, that Luther Ballantine was the son of Queen Victoria and Lord Rothschild?"
"Ah, Trumpleflush, you don't miss a trick, do you? Still sharp as a buzzard's beak at one hundred and six. So, now we draw nearer to the crux of the whole affair."
Churchill waved Trumpleflush to come even closer, which the historian found extremely unpleasant as he was now practically sitting in Sir Winston's lap with his ear pressed up against the man's mouth and being sprayed with brandy scented laudanum tainted spittle with every crusty syllable. But Trumpleflush put up with the revolting proximity to Churchill's vile saliva as he was now about to be entrusted with one of the great secrets of modern British history.
"You see, old boy, the Felluchis were not the true culprits behind the dastardly crime, the wombat greased trapeze bar murder of Luther Ballantine and his in-laws. Do you think those dumb as stones Felluchis could have concocted such a clever and fiendish plot on their own? Certainly not!"
The emphasis with which the last two words were exclaimed was like a gale force gust which sent the five-foot tall Trumpleflush flying off Churchill's lap and rolling onto the heavily carpeted floor and into the fireplace headfirst, in which a roaring fire was roaring. Though suffering third degree burns over most of his head and face, nothing could deter Sir Trumpleflush from hearing the long hidden secrets of the Ballantine affair and the true origins of World War II.