Prince Feliks Yusupov is twenty-nine and gifted with quick wits and aesthetic tastes; but his dilettantism is rather too prone to perverse imaginings and literary representations of vice and death. So I am afraid that he has regarded the murder of Rasputin mainly as a scenario worthy of his favourite author, Oscar Wilde. In any case his instincts, countenance and manner make him much closer akin to the hero of Dorian Grey than to Brutus or Lorenzaccio

The war with Japan, one of the most terrible blunders made during the reign of Nicholas II, had disastrous consequences and marked the beginning of our misfortunes. Russia was not prepared for war, and those who encouraged the Tsar in his purpose betrayed their Sovereign as well as their country. Russia's enemies took advantage of the general dissatisfaction to set the Government and the masses against each other.

In 1906 strikes broke out almost everywhere; there were several attempts on the lives of members of the Imperial family and of high government officials. The Tsar was forced to compromise and give the country a constitutional government by establishing the Duma. The Tsarina violently opposed this; she did not realize the seriousness of the situation, and would not admit that there was no other solution.

The Duma opened on April 27th, 1906. This was a moment of great anxiety for all, as everyone knew the Duma was a two-edged sword which could prove either helpful or disastrous to Russia, according to the course of events.

If all members of the Duma had been loyal Russians actuated only by patriotic motives, the Assembly might have done great service to the Government; but certain questionable and destructive elements - among which were many Jews - made it a hotbed of revolutionary ideas.

The military campaigns had opened brilliantly by a deep break-through into East Prussia; the offensive was launched prematurely at the demand of the Allies to relieve the congested Western front. At the end of August, through lack of ordnance, General Samsonoff's army corps was surrounded near Tannenberg. The General, not wishing to survive the loss of his army, shot himself.

The offensive was successfully renewed on the Austrian front, but in February 1915 a further offensive in East Prussia ended in the disaster of Augustovo. On May 2nd, the Austro-German army broke through the South-Western Russian front. Our troops were underfed, ill-equipped, and had no ammunition, yet under these appalling conditions they fought against the best-equipped army in the world. Whole regiments were taken prisoner without having a chance to resist, owing to the lack of equipment which failed to arrive in time.

I intended to receive Rasputin in the flat which I was fitting up in the Moika basement: arches divided it in two; the larger half was to be used as a dinning room. From the other half, a staircase... led to my rooms on the floor above. Halfway up was a door opening onto the courtyard... The walls were of grey stone, the flooring of granite. To avoid arousing Rasputin's suspicions - for he might have been surprised at being received in a bare cellar - it was indispensable that the room should be furnished and appeared to be lived in.

When I arrived, I found workmen busy laying down carpets and putting up curtains. Three large red Chinese porcelain vases had already been placed in niches hollowed out of the walls. Various objects which I had selected were being carried in: carved wooden chairs of oak, small tables covered with ancient embroideries, ivory bowels, and a quantity of other curios.

My two servants, Grigorii and Ivan, helped me to arrange the furniture. I asked them to prepare tea for six, to buy biscuits and cakes and to bring wine front the cellar. I told them that I was expecting some friends at eleven that evening, and that they could wait in the servants' hall until I rang for them....

Before going back to dine with my brothers-in-law, I went into the church of Our Lady of Kazan. Deep in prayer, I lost all sense of time. When I left the cathedral after what seemed to me but a few moments, I was astonished to find I had been there almost two hours. I had a strange feeling of lightness, of well-being, almost of happiness. I hurried to my father-in-law's palace where I had a light dinner before returning to the Moika.

By eleven o'clock everything was ready in the basement. Comfortably furnished and well lighted, this underground room had lost its grim look. On the table the samovar smoked, surrounded by plates filled with the cakes and dainties that Rasputin liked so much; an array of bottles and glasses stood on a sideboard. Ancient lanterns of' coloured glass lighted the room from the ceiling; the heavy red damask portieres were lowered. On the granite hearth, a log fire crackled and scattered sparks on the flagstones. One felt isolated from the rest of the world and it seemed as though, no matter what happened, the events of that night would remain forever buried in the silence of those thick walls.

The bell rang, announcing the arrival of Dmitrii Pavlovich Romanov and my other friends. I showed them into the dining room and they stood for a little while, silently examining the spot where Rasputin was to meet his end.

I took from the ebony cabinet a box containing the poison and laid it on the table. Dr Lazovert put on rubber gloves and ground the cyanide of potassium crystals to powder. Then, lifting the top of each cake, he sprinkled the inside with a dose of poison, which; according to him, was sufficient to kill several men instantly. There was an impressive silence. We all followed the doctor's movements with emotion. There remained the glasses into which cyanide was to be poured. It was decided to do this at the last moment so that the poison should not evaporate and lose its potency. We had to give the impression of having just finished supper for I had warned Rasputin that when we had guests we took our meals in the basement and that I sometimes stayed there alone to read or work while my friends went upstairs to smoke in my study. So we disarranged the table, pushed the chairs back and poured tea into the cups. It was agreed that when I went to fetch Rasputin, Dmitrii, Purishkevich and Sukhotin would go upstairs and play the gramophone, choosing lively tunes. I wanted to keep Rasputin in a good humour and remove any distrust that might be lurking in his mind.

I looked at my victim with dread, as he stood before me, quiet and trusting. What had become of his second-sight? What good did his gift of foretelling the future do him? Of what use was his faculty for reading the thoughts of others, if he was blind to the dreadful trap that was laid for him? It seemed as though fate had clouded his mind. But suddenly, in a lightening flash of memory, I seemed to recall every stage of Rasputin's infamous life. My qualms of conscience disappeared, making room for a firm determination to complete my task.

"Gregory Yefimovich," I said, "you'd better look at the crucifix and say a prayer." Rasputin cast a surprised, almost frightened glance at me. I read in it an expression which I had never known him to have: it was at once gentle and submissive. He came quite close to me and looked me full in the face.

I realized that the hour had come. "O Lord," I prayed, "give me the strength to finish it." Rasputin stood before me motionless, his head bent and his eyes on the crucifix. I slowly raised the crucifix. I slowly raised the revolver. Where should I aim, at the temple or at the heart? A shudder swept over me; my arm grew rigid, I aimed at his heart and pulled the trigger. Rasputin gave a wild scream and crumpled up on the bearskin. For a moment I was appalled to discover how easy it was to kill a man. A flick of a finger and what had been a living, breathing man only a second before, now lay on the floor like a broken doll.

On hearing the shot my friends rushed in. Rasputin lay on his back. His features twitched in nervous spasms; his hands were clenched, his eyes closed. A bloodstain was spreading on his silk blouse. A few minutes later all movement ceased. We bent over his body to examine it. The doctor declared that the bullet had struck him in the region of the heart. There was no possibility of doubt: Rasputin was dead. We turned off the light and went up to my room, after locking the basement door.

Our hearts were full of hope, for we were convinced that what had just taken place would save Russia and the dynasty from ruin and dishonour. As we talked I was suddenly filled with a vague misgiving; an irresistible impulse forced me to go down to the basement.

Rasputin lay exactly where we had left him. I felt his pulse: not a beat, he was dead. All of a sudden, I saw the left eye open. A few seconds later his right eyelid began to quiver, then opened. I then saw both eyes - the green eyes of a viper - staring at me with an expression of diabolical hatred. The blood ran cold in my veins. My muscles turned to stone.

Then a terrible thing happened: with a sudden violent effort Rasputin leapt to his feet, foaming at the mouth. A wild roar echoed through the vaulted rooms, and his hands convulsively thrashed the air. He rushed at me, trying to get at my throat, and sank his fingers into my shoulder like steel claws. His eyes were bursting from their sockets. By a superhuman effort I succeeded in freeing myself from his grasp.

"Quick, quick, come down!" I cried, "He's still alive." He was crawling on hands and knees, grasping and roaring like a wounded animal. He gave a desperate leap and managed to reach the secret door which led into the courtyard. Knowing that the door was locked, I waited on the landing above grasping my rubber club. To my horror I saw the door open and Rasputin disappear. Purishkevich sprang after him. Two shots echoed through the night. I heard a third shot, then a fourth. I saw Rasputin totter and fall beside a heap of snow.

At the same moment, the Grand Duke Dmitrii's car drew up at the little gate of the garden. Assisted by a servant on whom they could rely, the conspirators wrapped Rasputin in his cloak and even put on his overshoes, so that nothing incriminating should he left in the palace. They lifted the body into the car, in which the Grand Duke Dmitrii, Dr de Lazovert and Sukhotin quickly took their places. Then the car made for Krestovskii Island at full speed, Lazovert showing the way. Captain Sukhotin had explored the banks on the previous evening. On a signal from him, the car stopped by a small bridge below which the swift current had produced a mass of ice-floes with holes between them. Not without difficulty, the three accomplices carried their heavy victim to the edge of a hole and threw it in the water.

While this sinister task was in progress on Krestovskii Island, something happened at the palace on the Moika where Prince Feliks and Purishkevich had been left alone, and were occupied in feverishly obliterating all traces of the murder.

I spent hours painstakingly comparing the two alleged murderers' published versions of his demise and established numerous and significant discrepancies in what they said. I had to doubt whether they had been present at the same event or whether either of them had been present at all. Next I worked through the forensics and quickly dismantled the existing myths around his death. I found he was not poisoned, he did not drown and he was shot three times at close range, none of which fitted with the existing stories.

Gradually I was fed more information, including the 1993 assessment of the original post mortem by Professor Vladimir Iharov, head of the Forensic Medical Analysis Bureau and as such Russia's leading pathologist, together with two other esteemed pathologists. I then received the files from the Russian State Archive (GARF) about his death, including witness statements, and finally, while filming in St Petersburg, gained access to the original scene-of-crime photographs. I was given some information about British involvement and, just as I was about to do a piece to camera in the Astoria Hotel, was shown a letter from a SIS officer that implied British involvement in the murder.

My name is Matryona Grigoryevna Rasputina. I am nineteen years of age, and of Christian religion....

In response to the questions I state the following: on 16 December 1916 I left our apartment at 7 p.m. and returned around 11 p.m. When I was going to go to sleep my father told me that at night he was going to visit "the little one". My father meant Prince Yusupov; he always called him that. Later I went to sleep and did not see whether "the little one" arrived and whether he and my father left together. When my father told me about this visit to Yusupov he ordered me not to mention anything about it to Mariya Yevgenyevna Golovina (one of Rasputin's "admirers"). My father explained me that she might tag along with them and Yusupov did not want her to visit him.

In the morning of 17 December secret political police agents arrived at our apartment and started to ask where my father was. We became anxious and called Mariya Yevgenyevna. She told us that there was nothing to worry about if my father left with "the little one": they must be still asleep and Grigorii Yefimovich would return home soon. Mariya Yevgenyevna came to our place at 11 a.m., and there were many - visitors at our apartment by then. Not to make my father's disappearance public, Mariya Yevgenyevna and I went to a fruit shop and called Prince Yusupov from there, but he had left home already. About 12 noon or I p.m. Prince Yusupov telephoned our apartment. I recognised his voice. Mariya Yevgenyevna spoke to him in English. After that conversation she became extremely anxious and went home, telling us that the prince was going to visit her. In an hour my sister and I went to Mariya Yevgenyevna's apartment, where she told us that Prince Yusupov had sworn to her that he had not picked my father up and that my father had not visited him during the night of 17 December. Later she came to our apartment with her mother and they both cried.

I saw Prince Yusupov at our apartment only once - about five or six days ago, that must be around 12 December this year. The prince has the following distinctive features: taller than average, skinny, pale, long face, large circles under the eves, brown hair. I can't remember whether he has a moustache or a beard.

Mv name is Fyodor Antonovich Korshunov. I am thirty wars of age, and of Christian religion.... I reside at 64 Gorokhovaya Street, where I am employed as a yard keeper.

In response to the questions I state the following: on the night of 16-17 December I was on duty and was outside by the gates of the building. Soon alter 1 a.m. a large car arrived at the gates. The car was khaki in colour, had it canvas top and safety glass windows, and there was a spare tyre on the back. The car, which had come from the direction of the Fontanka River, reversed and stopped. A person unknown to me got out and went straight to the wicket gate. I asked who he was visiting and he responded, "Rasputin." I opened the gate and said to him, "Here is the front door," but the stranger said that he was going to go in through the back entrance. Then he swiftly went straight to that entrance. It was obvious that the person as familiar with the layout of the building. About thirty minutes later the stranger came out together with Rasputin. They got into the car and drove off towards the Fontanka. I had not seen that person before.

Distinctive features of the stranger: above average height, medium build, about thirty years of age, small black moustache, no beard, I think no glasses, was wearing a long expensive fur coat, with fur outside, and a black hat, which I did not see well. He was wearing high boots. The driver looked slightly older than the stranger, about thirty-five years of age, had a black rnedium-size moustache, no beard, was wearing a black coat with lambskin collar, fur hat and long red gloves. Having left, Rasputin has not returned home.

During the march an orderly came to inform me that General Krymov, who was marching at the head of our column, wanted me. I found him with our General Staff busily reading a letter which had just come. Whilst I was still some way off he called out to me: "Great news! At last they have killed that scoundrel Rasputin.!"

The newspapers announced the bare facts, letters from the capital gave the details. Of the three assassins, I knew two intimately. What had been their motive? Why, having killed a man whom they regarded as a menace to the country, had they not admitted their action before everyone? Why had they not admitted their action before everyone? Why had they not relied on justice and public opinion instead of trying to hide all trace of the murder by burying the body under the ice? we thought over the news with great anxiety.

The day after I arrived, the Provisional Government collapsed and the Bolshevik party, with Lenin and Trotsky at its head, assumed power. All government posts were instantly occupied by Jewish commissaries, more or less camouflaged under Russian names. Indescribable confusion reigned in the capital; bands of soldiers and sailors broke into people's houses, pillaging and murdering. The town was in the hands of a frenzied, bloodthirsty populace, eager for destruction.

One day a detachment of soldiers came to occupy my house. I showed them over it, and tried to make them understand that it was more fitted to be a museum than a barracks. They went away without pressing the point, but obviously meaning to come back.

A few days later, on leaving my room I stumbled over the bodies of some soldiers sleeping, fully armed, and on the marble floor. An officer came up to me and said that he had been ordered to guard my house. I did not like this at all; it meant that the Bolsheviks considered me a sympathizer, which was a compliment I did not appreciate in the least. I decided to leave immediately for the Crimea.