Robbie sent a car down as usual, and Lanny took his wife driving and showed her the country in the luxurious robes of early summer. The first hot spell had come, and he worried about leaving her to be sometimes parboiled and sometimes baked in a vast stone oven—so impolitely did he describe Manhattan Island. But she assured him that it could be turned into an excellent summer resort for a writer who wanted to be let alone. She had a refrigerator well stocked with fruit juices and a room with an electric fan. In extreme cases she would work in the summer costume which nature had provided for her, and find it most comfortable. In the evenings she and Agnes would stroll on the edge of the park or go to an air-conditioned movie house if there was anything that wouldn’t bore them too greatly. War pictures were dreadful, but Laurel said: “I want to face the facts of my time.”
They drove out together to see the Budds of Newcastle. They were a philoprogenitive tribe and paid all honor to a bride as a guardian of their tribal future. They found it hard to understand that a woman left alone should refuse shelter and protection in Robbie’s commodious villa on a hilltop overlooking the river and the distant Sound. But they had “queer” ones among them, and they accepted the fact that a literary lady might be another; some of them had read her stories and were a bit afraid of her, lest she some day make use of them as “copy.” In this they had good reason.
Lanny hired a stenographer and dictated letters to his various clients. He prepared an elaborate dossier on the subject of the mosaics and the gateway he had purchased, with detail photographs of each and the history so far as he knew it. He drove out and presented these to the delighted Mr. Vernon, and told him the story of his travels, the sights he had seen, and the people he had met. When this wealthy gentleman realized how much trouble Lanny had taken and the expenses he had incurred, he said that ten per cent commission was not enough and insisted upon doubling it. He could not understand how a man had been able to travel to all these places in wartime, and Lanny attributed it to his father’s influence, intimating that he had picked up a little information for his father on the side. It pleased a patron of the arts, of course, to have an expert who was not merely an employee, but a man of means, a social equal. That made it easier to believe what he said, and Mr. Vernon was pleased to put in an order for more art treasures which he could boast of being able to get from two continents at war. His fortune came out of a flour-milling empire, and the money poured in automatically, day and night, like the grain into storage bins and the flour into sacks.
XII
Lanny told his wife that he was expecting a call to Washington and might have to take off on another errand very soon. She did not utter a word of complaint, or even of sorrow; she knew now that men by the millions were going off to war. She was much in love with her man, and frank in showing it, but she would not add her grief to whatever burdens he was carrying. She set her teeth and said: “The job has to be done.” She hated the Nazis almost as much as she loved her husband, and that made it easier for her.
She wanted to be with him every minute of this precious time, so she would dress and go out with him, in spite of being in a condition rather difficult to conceal. He took her to dinner in a chophouse in the theater district, where he knew that good cooking was to be had. It was his duty to feed her, so he ordered a green salad, which the dieticians recommend for her condition, and then she was going to have two freshly broiled lamb chops on buttered toast with green peas, and after that he would try to persuade her to find room for fresh strawberries and ice cream. He was watching over her, entertaining her, doing everything he knew to make her happy. He was going to leave her with the best possible memories, and the same sort of hopes for the future.
He meant to give her a peaceful evening, taking her up Riverside Drive where there would be a pleasant breeze, or at least there would be a breeze while driving. But this was wartime, and things didn’t always happen according to schedule. A man came into the restaurant and took a seat at a table near by, not facing Lanny, but so that they were both facing in the same direction. It was by accident that Lanny happened to turn his head and see him: a well-dressed man in middle years, wearing a palm-beach suit. He had a light-colored mustache and a beard trimmed to a point, not usual in New York. The face was thin and rather dissipated looking, and something about it caught Lanny’s attention in the first flash. He began looking out of the corner of his eye and presently said to Laurel in a low tone: “Don’t turn to look. There’s a man I think I know, and if so it’s important. Go on talking, anything you please, but don’t expect-me to listen.”
Laurel discussed the war news she had heard on the radio, while Lanny kept looking out of the corner of one eye while the man ordered his dinner. Once the man’s eyes turned in Lanny’s direction, and Lanny turned his head quickly. Presently he said: “I am pretty sure this man is an Englishman in the pay of the Nazis. I want to get a look at him from the front. Go on eating and don’t pay any attention to him or to me.”
He got up and went to the restroom. Through the partly open door he took a good look at the man, and when he came out he went down the other side of the room and passed behind the man, some distance away. Rejoining Laurel, he kept his head averted from his quarry and whispered: “Listen, darling, this is very, very urgent. I have to get the government agents to trail this man, and you have to help me.”
“I, Lanny? How?”
“Don’t look at him. Listen carefully. This won’t be pleasant for you, but it may be the most important thing you’ve ever had to do. You have to keep him in this place until I give you a signal that I have him covered. I want you to strike up an acquaintance with him.”
“Good gracious, Lanny! How?”
“After I’m gone, tell the waiter to bring you pencil and paper and write a note to the man. Ask him if you can have the pleasure of his company. Tell him you are in trouble. Offer to pay for his help—anything at all. Fold it up and tell the waiter to take it to him. Give the waiter a five-dollar bill at the same time and he won’t find it too strange. When the man reads the note, give him your most heavenly smile. Don’t be afraid, he can’t carry you off.”
“Does my figure look heavenly, Lanny?”
“He won’t notice it, certainly not so long as you sit at the table. Once you have him here, keep him listening, entertained. Make up a story—your husband has just left you, he’s no gentleman, you want to teach him a lesson. If I’m any judge of character, he’s proud of his conquests and won’t object to making another. Anything so long as you keep him busy.”
“And then what?”
“When I’ve arranged for him to be trailed, I’ll come back and stand in the door of the restroom until you see me. Then I’ll step back out of sight, and you turn the whole thing into a joke—tell the man your nerve fails you, you’re afraid your husband might be violent, arrange to meet him later in a park. When he’s gone, you go to the women’s room for a while and wait. Give me time to make sure the coast is clear. Then I’ll tip the waiter again and he can take us out through the back door of the restaurant.”
“Suppose the man doesn’t accept my company.”
“Keep after him. Use your wits and your sense of humor. At any cost, don’t let him get away. If necessary, take his arm and go along with him. I’ll be on watch outside, and I’ll follow you at a distance. Don’t let him take you in a cab, of course.”
“Are you planning to have him arrested?”
“Only as a last resort. What I want is to have him followed and find out where he lives and what his connections are. For all we can know, he might be planning to have all the bridges around New York blown up tonight.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said. She was a game person.
“You have what it takes,” he answered gallantly. He got up quietly and slipped out, in the direction away from the bearded Englishman.
XIII
Outside the restaurant Lanny hurried to a near-by telephone booth and put in a call to, the F.B.I. To the ag
ent in charge he said: “My name is Lanning Prescott Budd. My father is Robert Budd, president of Budd-Erling Aircraft. I have been doing confidential work for the government, and am speaking on the basis of knowledge so acquired. Tonight, dining in Brown’s Chophouse, I recognized a man whom I know to be a German agent. I can’t go into details over the phone; he was connected with the flight of Rudolf Hess to Britain, and he is either a top man, or he deals with such. In London he was going by the name of Branscome. My wife is trying to hold him until your men come. Don’t arrest him, but trail him and find out where he lives and what he is doing. It may lead to something of first-rate importance.”
“O.K., Mr. Budd. We have a station in that neighborhood and should be able to get a couple of men there in a few minutes.”
“This Branscome knows me, and I have to keep out of his sight. I will wait outside the restaurant, a little west of the entrance. I am wearing a panama hat with a black band. I will set it back on my head a little.”
“Very good, Mr. Budd. Thanks a million. Will you drop in and see us in the morning?”
Lanny promised, and then hung up and hurried back to the restaurant. He was wise to the ways of the world and knew that establishments which aim at respectability do not relish having ladies “pick up” gentlemen at their meals; they might well invite such a lady to leave. Lanny put a dollar into the doorman’s hand and instructed him to inform the head waiter that a gentleman outside wanted to speak to him about an urgent matter. To the head waiter Lanny quickly explained the situation and added: “It is possible that the F.B.I. may lose this man, so take a good look at him, and if you see him again, call the F.B.I. at once. He may be the most dangerous of enemies.”
Lanny took up his post at one side, watching the restaurant door, prepared to turn away quickly if the suspect should emerge. After what seemed a long time but was less than a quarter of an hour, a young man who looked as if he had just come out of college approached him and said: “My name is Tulliver.” Lanny replied: “Mine is Budd.” The man flashed his badge, and Lanny described Branscome, also his wife, and told of the arrangements he had made. “I have told the head waiter the situation, and if you give him the high sign he will place you so that you can study this man.”
“Very good, sir. There should be another man here any minute. Tell him how this man looks and tell him to wait here. Five minutes should be time enough for me to get the man fixed in mind; then you can come in and signal to your wife.”
Lanny waited. Presently another man arrived, slightly older but equally dapper. Lanny told the story again, and after another while went into the restaurant. His wife was engaged in a vivacious conversation with the blond-bearded Englishman. Keeping as far away from them as he could, Lanny made his way to the men’s room and stood in the doorway until Laurel’s eyes met his; then he drew back into the room and stayed there for a considerable interval. When he took another peek he saw that Laurel was gone, Mr. Branscome was gone, and Mr. Tulliver was gone.
In a minute or two Laurel emerged from the women’s room. She was flushed and excited, and didn’t want any more dinner. She wanted to get out into the fresh air and away from a place where she had been making herself conspicuous, something most painful to ladies of her upbringing. She went outside to make sure the coast was clear. Meanwhile Lanny paid his bill and thanked the head waiter, warning him not to talk about the matter. The man said: “That party has been here several times before. I’ll know him if he comes again.”
XIV
Outside; there was nothing to be seen of either the man or his “shadows.” Lanny took his wife to his car, and when they were under way she could at last relax. “I never did anything like that in all my life before!” she exclaimed; and Lanny had to stop his chuckling and assure her with all seriousness that he accepted her word on the point.
“Tell me all that happened,” he said; “it may give us some clue.” She told him that Branscome was a man of education, and what she would have considered a gentleman if she had met him under normal circumstances. He had moved over to her table at once and showed himself ready to play the gallant. Laurel had exercised upon him those arts of pleasing which every lady in Baltimore acquires as second nature. He had ordered a bottle of wine and had pressed her to drink; he had asked her name and address and other questions about herself. She had stated that she was an actress out of employment at the moment, giving the names of a couple of plays in which she had had minor roles. “I don’t know whether he believed me or not. He told me he was here with a mission from the British government. Do you suppose that could be true?”
“It might be, of course. A traitor may be deceiving his own government; he could hardly get here otherwise in wartime. I promised the F.B.I. man to come down in the morning and tell them what I know about him. They may never tell me what they learn—they don’t do any superfluous talking. I’m not supposed to talk either, but I will tell you this much: when I met that man in London he had received a message from Rudolf Hess concerning Hess’s intention to fly to Britain, and he was sending an answer back.”
“Are you sure he’s the right man, Lanny?”
“I only had a brief talk with him, but I made note of him for future reference. He has grown whiskers, but his eyes haven’t changed. He was extremely nervous when he met me, and I suspected that he had been drinking, perhaps to keep his courage up. I suppose that with you he was at ease.”
“He was greatly disappointed when I told him that I had made a mistake, that he was not the gentleman I had met. He said: ‘You have met me now, so it’s all right.’ I had a hard time extricating myself. I told him that I had become frightened; that my husband might come back and that he was a very violent man.”
“You did all right,” the husband assured her. “If you weren’t so worth-while a writer, I would introduce you to Colonel Donovan and let you take up a career with his organization.”
“God forbid!” exclaimed the lady from Baltimore. “I am so exhausted from the strain of it, I believe I’d rather serve in the infantry!”
8
Much Depends on Dinner
I
In the morning Lanny went down to the offices of the Federal Bureau of Investigation and told them what he knew about the Englishman called Branscome. They revealed to him that they had followed the man to his apartment, and would keep after him and do a thorough job. They said also that they would get in touch with the British; so Lanny knew that they would learn that he himself had been blacklisted by the British because of his dealings with the Nazis. He told them to call the President’s man, Baker, who would give him an O.K. They assured him that they were not unfamiliar with complications of this sort.
When the P.A. got back to his home there was a call for him from Washington, and when he called back he was told that he was invited to dinner at the White House that evening: “Seven-thirty, black tie.” He answered that he would be on hand. His white evening jacket was hanging in his closet, freshly laundered, and now it was taken down and laid in a suitcase, all by itself. While he ate his lunch he told Laurel what the F.B.I. men had-said; then he packed his bags, kissed her good-by, and went down to his car. Laurel herself would doubtless have been invited, but she had told the “First Lady” that she did not care to attend evening affairs in her present condition.
Across the park to the highway that runs alongside the Hudson, then by the tunnel which runs under the great river, then by the Skyway to Newark—that is the fast route out of the crowded metropolis. Highway Number I was crowded with wartime traffic; great heavy trucks loaded with oil, with pipe, with lumber, or mysterious crated boxes, were bringing supplies to the factories and taking finished products to the ports. Newark and Trenton and Philadelphia and Baltimore—Lanny was familiar with these cities and their fast-growing suburbs. He was a careful driver and enjoyed few things more. He watched the speedometer and the clock on his dashboard, and knew where he was and how long it would take him.
A room had been e
ngaged, and he had time to bathe and put on his light-weight black trousers and cool white jacket. He took a taxi to the White House, so as not to be bothered with the problem of parking his car. When he told the driver “Pennsylvania entrance,” he reflected that it was the first time that he had approached by that customary door. Since taxis were not admitted to the grounds in wartime, he got out by the curb. Soldiers with fixed bayonets were walking post in front of the fence that encircles the grounds. Inside the gate was a wooden sentry box, and in front of it stood a young Navy officer with a tommy gun over his arm. A second officer appeared as the visitor approached the gate.
“Good evening,” said the visitor. “My name is Lanning Prescott. I am invited for dinner.” They gave him a long look, then one of them said: “Proceed.”
He walked up the curving drive to the portico of the mansion, where two Secret Service men stepped out from behind the tall columns and closed together in front of him. They were burly, tough-looking customers, with straw hats pulled low over their eyes. Lanny felt a bit uncomfortable, but said “Good evening” again. He could guess they had telephone connection with the gate, so he kept on coming and they kept on looking him over. Only when he was almost close enough to touch them did they step aside, and one signed for him to enter. Lanny knew that protecting the President’s life was a Secret Service job both in war and peace, and he wished them success. He didn’t think they were strict enough in his case.
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