Some of the officers now carried lights, while the others followed them with revolvers in their hands. In breathless haste they hurried through the rooms in search of the royal couple. They opened the closets and raised the curtains, but no trace either of the King or of the Queen. At last Queen Draga’s servant was found. He dangerously wounded Captain Dimitrevitch, who discovered him, but his life was spared for a little, because he was needed. It was in fact this servant who indicated to the officers the place where the King and the Queen had gone to hide themselves. Thereupon he was shot. At this moment Colonel Maschin joined the conspirators and took them to the King’s bedroom, where the King’s adjutant tried to prevent their search, but was shot by the Colonel’s companions.
After a long search a small door was discovered leading to an alcove. The door was locked and had to be burst open with an axe. In this alcove the royal couple had taken refuge. Both were in their night robes. The King was standing in the centre, holding the Queen in his arms, as if to protect her. Colonel Maumovitch commenced reading to the King a document which demanded that he should abdicate the throne because he had dishonored Servia by wedding “a public prostitute.” The King answered by shooting Maumovitch through the heart. Another officer renewed the demand for the King’s abdication; but the younger officers had become impatient and now fired their revolvers at the royal couple until both expired. The body of the King showed thirty wounds, while the body of the Queen was so terribly lacerated by pistol-shot and sword wounds that her features could not be recognized, and the wounds could not be counted. Both died heroically, trying to protect each other with their own bodies.
Together with the King and the Queen, two brothers of the latter, and a number of their most prominent adherents were murdered in cold blood. This terrible butchery reveals the semi-savage ferocity of the Balkan population.
When the people of Belgrade awoke from their sleep early in the morning of June 11, there was not, as might have been expected, a manifestation of horror, pity, and sorrow, among them, but, on the contrary, rejoicing and exultation on all sides. Flags were raised, houses were decorated, salutes were fired; a stranger entering the city might have supposed that a great national festival was being commemorated by the enthusiastic crowds of men, women, and children.