“Do you know what is in the agreement?”
“It is a treaty of non-aggression—that is all I have been told.”
“There are no military clauses?”
“That I cannot say. You know how it is—there are secrets and then there are double secrets and triple secrets, Aber—I can tell you this—something you must never breathe, at least not in Germany. The way we convinced the Russians was by letting them have recordings of what went on between our Nummer Eins and the British Prime Minister at the Godesberg conference last year. You remember—just before Munich?”
“Certainly; I was holding my breath all those hours.”
“Well, we had dictaphones planted, and recorded every word that Chamberlain said. He pointed out that the true foe of western civilization is Bolshevism, and hinted pretty plainly that that was the direction in which Die Nummer Eins should turn his attention. I am told that this is what decided the Russians to make a deal.”
As it happened, the genial Hermann Göring had amused himself by playing one of those records on his machine for Lanny Budd not long after the Munich settlement. That had been at Der Dicke’s hunting lodge on the Obersalzberg, where the great man had been sticking pigs. Lanny had been wondering ever since whether it was the actual voice of Neville Chamberlain to which he had been listening, or whether it was a clever imitation, a studio product. He hadn’t the least doubt that an old-style robber baron who had had the Reichstag fire set in order to blame it on the Communists would have been perfectly willing to hire some renegade Englishman to play the part of his country’s Prime Minister. Lanny had never doubted what use they would make of the recording; and here it was! Of course he wouldn’t say anything to the Donnerstein except to thank her for a tidbit of gossip.
That was the way to console her grief; to listen to her stories about important persons and chuckle with delight. Lanny told of his unsuccessful efforts to get hold of the Führer, in the hope of suggesting a little patience to him; somebody was guarding him, probably Ribbentrop. “Oh, that odious Emporkömmling!” exclaimed Hilde, and began right away on his character and his career, his champagne business, his wife, his aunt from whom he had got his “von.” “Rippy,” as she called him, was now lord of the Fuschl Castle, in Austria; that was where he had just been entertaining Ciano—“Oh, remind me, I have a delicious story about that meeting! But first, I was going to say: Did you know that Rippy took that castle from a Jew? Just walked in one day with some SS men and put the Jew out, and that was all there was to it. Juppchen Goebbels got his magnificent place on the Wannsee in the same manner—and have you ever been to one of the entertainments he gives there? Fabelhaft! You would think you were back in the days of the Arabian Nights. Sometimes I wonder if we really aren’t—if some day we won’t wake up and discover that we have been dreaming all this phantasmagoria.”
“You were going to tell me about Rippy and Ciano,” reminded Lanny.
III
The P.A. had taken Monck’s advice and called Laurel Creston on the telephone. “I am about to leave Germany and I don’t want to lose touch with you. I hope that if you leave Berlin you will write me your new address. Juan is the best place to reach me.” That was all, except “Good luck to you!”
Lanny told himself that he wasn’t going to concern himself any further with what happened to her. He had given her fair warning, and now her fate was in her own keeping. He tried to work up a little irritation with a novice who persisted in attempting tasks beyond her powers and in making trouble for two veterans like Monck and himself. Surely he was justified in taking the position that his own work came first, and that he must wash his hands of the future troubles of the lady from Baltimore.
He finished his picture business, and listened to the conversation of various persons who knew what was going on in Naziland. It was time for him to make a run to the border and mail a report. He delayed, because he wanted very much to see Hitler, and his mind was busy with schemes for arranging this. He was sure that if he could see the Führer alone, and especially on top of the Kehlstein, he could get him to talking about the deal with Russia, and to reveal the “triple-secret” clauses in the agreement. But how to get to him?
Lanny felt certain that both Göring and Hess were friendly to him, and enjoyed his conversational displays. But they both knew that the American was listed in the Führer’s mind as among the “appeasers”—that is, the persons who, prior to the Munich compromise of the previous autumn and the Prague raid of the previous spring, had urged him to have patience, to move slowly, to accomplish his objectives without risk of war. Right now, it appeared, the Führer was out of patience with his own patience; he was convinced that his foes did not mean to let him have his way without war, and that he was stronger now, in relation to them, than he would ever be again. He wasn’t quarreling with his appeaser friends, but just didn’t want to be bothered with them in this juncture.
As a matter of fact, Lanny had been having it out with himself, and had decided that he no longer wished to be listed as an appeaser. If he were able to advise Hitler how to get Danzig and the Corridor without war, would he do it? The British appeasers were trying it, but could an American anti-Nazi afford to help them, or even to seem to help them? It would mean that Adi Schicklgruber’s prestige would be stepped up another notch, and by next spring he would be ready to grab Warsaw, as last spring he had grabbed Prague. Horrible as war seemed to Lanny, would it not be better to have it come while there was still some opposition to the Nazis left in Central Europe?
Lanny told himself that the line for him to take was that he shrank from this issue, he didn’t feel his mind capable of a judgment, he left it to a man of destiny who had so much better sources of information than himself. Every time he had met Adi Schicklgruber over a period of a dozen years, Lanny had observed him more easily pleased by flattery, and by now there was no ecstasy of admiration that he would not have accepted from the son of Budd-Erling. But suppose that in his innermost heart he didn’t really know what he wanted to do? Suppose he was a terrified little sub-corporal, confronting an issue of colossal, even cosmic proportions, and trembling in his military boots before it—what then? Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, and surely this applies also to the heads of the courtiers who crowd about the throne.
The crowd at Berchtesgaden was, as such crowds have been all through the ages, numerous, importunate, and jealous; they would not yield easily to an outsider, trying to shove his way in. Should Lanny call the Berghof on the telephone and say, boldly: “I wish to speak to the Führer about a matter of importance”? They knew him well there, and would probably deliver his message. But what if the Führer was busy, or out of sorts? The story would go everywhere, and Herr Budd’s social position would be greatly damaged; there would be many to rejoice. He might call Hess, and would hardly fail to get him; but what should he say? “I am no longer an appeaser, and don’t want to talk politics to the Führer”? Should he say: “I have a painting which I should like to present to him”? But that would sound like an effort at money-making, the worst thing possible in a time of crisis. Should he say: “I have some important information for him”? But what information would it be? Hess would say: “Come and tell it to me”; and Lanny would have to have it!
IV
Every time Lanny thought of the Deputy, there was one idea that took the spotlight in his mind. Spirits! Hess believed in them openly, and Hitler secretly. In this vast underworld of the mind, who could tell what forces might be hidden, what wisdom exceeding that of a humble sub-corporal trembling in his military boots, and of a merchant’s son from Egypt whose education had been interrupted by war, civil conflict, and political responsibility? In a crisis such as this, with the future of the NSDAP and of all Germany at stake, with the whole world hanging on one decision, Rudi would most certainly be consulting mediums and astrologers, readers of palms and tea-leaves and greasy packs of cards. Adi, too, might be doing it, but under cover, with many precautions to keep
the world from getting a hint of it.
That was Lanny’s ticket of admission to the Führer’s retreat; that was his way to the deeps of a mystic’s soul. He would offer to bring Madame from Juan for another series of sittings, and let Tecumseh report what Rudi’s long-dead comrades had to advise about the next step for the Party. Things might go wrong, the spirits might not give acceptable advice—but anyhow, Lanny would get into the Berghof before war broke out, and would have a chance to touch the proper keys on the Schicklgruber organ, and learn what were his latest moods concerning Marianne, Britannia, Herr Rosenfeld, and above all, Josef Dzugashvili, alias Stalin!
Perhaps it might be wise to have something to tell Hess in advance. Lanny took the trouble to pay a visit to the fashionable Berlin mystagogue who called himself “Professor Pröfenik.” Lanny had become convinced that he was a fraud; but then, there are few frauds who have set out in cold blood to make a fortune out of psychic trickery. Most of them had some gifts, and many still mixed what reality they could with their faking. This old gentleman of indeterminate origin knew the occult lore of all the ages, and in all probability he was shrewd enough to suspect that Lanny was mixing some trickery with his arts both social and intellectual. Neither could fathom the other entirely; but then, was that necessary in order for them to co-operate? Lanny had dropped hints in the course of a conversation and had seen Pröfenik pick up these hints and use them in a séance with Hess. The Professor must have guessed that Lanny had some purpose in permitting this, but he had no way to find out what that purpose was; it had served his purpose in impressing the Nummer Drei Nazi.
What had been done once might be done again. So Lanny made an appointment and called at the elegant residence. The old gentleman with the drooping white side-whiskers and the beautiful silk Chinese jacket welcomed him cordially. Lanny had made sure of this by always leaving an envelope with a couple of hundred marks in it. This time, he talked about world affairs, as all the world was doing, and as most of the Professor’s clients wanted to do. So when the Professor retired into his cabinet and went into his trance, his “control,” the one-time King Ottokar I of Bohemia, also talked about politics. His voice was clear and booming, but his words were apocalyptic. He saw four horsemen riding in the sky; he saw cities burning, walls crumbling, planes crashing from the sky—none of which was especially novel, since the newspapers were full of menaces, and Guernica, Madrid and Barcelona had set the pattern.
It was all right, because Germany was coming out on top and Adolf Hitler was going to be the founder of a party and a regime that would last a thousand years. That would serve as background, and Lanny was free to put in any details he pleased. The Professor was supposed to be in a trance and not to know what the spirit of King Ottokar I was saying, so he couldn’t deny anything without admitting that his séance was fraudulent. He wouldn’t want to, when he got two hundred Freimarks for keeping quiet—to say nothing of all the prestige at court.
Lanny took psychic phenomena seriously, and tried never to fool himself; but he took his P.A. job still more seriously, and was willing to fool any Nazi or Fascist at any time and by any means. So now he had a story; he could call Hess on the telephone and say: “I have just had a séance with Pröfenik, dealing with the present situation; really quite extraordinary, and I thought you would want to know about it. I have come to Munich on business, and I’ll see you any time you say.” He could hear Rudi answering: “Good for you! Come as soon as you can and call me when you arrive.”
V
Lanny’s program was to drive to the nearest point in Switzerland, write and mail a report, and then come to Munich and call Hess. At about nine in the morning he packed his bags, paid his bill, left his forwarding address, and stepped into his car. Then occurred one of those incidents which reveal how the destiny of a man hangs upon what seems to be blind chance. Says Goethe, in Hermann und Dorothea: “The moment decides as to the life of the man and as to his whole fate.” Lanny had lifted his foot and was about to put it down on the starter of his car when he recollected that he had overlooked to telegraph his change of address to his mother. He left the car in care of the hotel doorman and went inside to a writing desk; he was in the act of penning the words, “Vier Jahreszeiten Hotel Munich,” when one of the Adlon bellboys came to him. “Telephone for you, Herr Budd.”
Lanny slipped the partly written message into his pocket and went to a booth. A woman’s voice said: “Please answer Yes or No, nothing else. Do you recognize my voice?” When he answered, “Yes,” the voice continued: “You gave me some advice from my grandmother. The favor I am asking has to do with that. I urgently need to see you.”
Now Lanny hadn’t been carrying on secret intrigues for years without learning to take hints. “I understand,” he replied, instantly. “Where can I meet you?”
“You remember where we sat and talked last time—in the open?”
“I remember.”
“Can you find the place again?”
“I am sure I can.”
“Would it be possible for you to borrow or rent an automobile—I mean one that you would drive yourself?”
He had never told her that he had a car of his own. Now he said: “It can be arranged.”
“How soon can you be there?”
“In five minutes, if you wish.”
“Make it fifteen, please.”
“O.K.”
So Lanny didn’t finish his telegram, and when, he got into his car, he did not take the way to the south, but drove into the Tiergarten and began circling the spot where he had sat on a bench and told Laurel Creston about Madame and Teoumseh and the spirit of Marjorie Kennan. From the woman’s tone and manner he had become certain that this was a serious matter, and he looked out for any pedestrian or car which might appear suspicious. When he saw her walking fast, he did not join her at once, but drove around behind her, scanning the drives and walks. This was one time when he didn’t mean to make any mistake, and he waited until she was seated on the bench. Then he stopped his car on the drive in front of where she sat. She saw him and came; he opened the door to the rear seats, and the moment she got in he started away.
“Is somebody looking for you?” he asked, and when she told him “Yes,” he said: “Lie on the seat and you will be out of sight.” He had folded his overcoat to make a pillow for her.
VI
Lanny watched carefully, and made certain that no car was following. They were safe for the moment, at any rate. “Now!” he said. “Tell me what has happened.”
She narrated: “There is a little square near the pension. It has trees, and benches in the shade, and I have sometimes gone there to sit and read, while my room is being made up in the morning. In the pension is a maid, a simple country girl who has become fond of me; I have given her little presents, and she has told me about life in her village. This morning she came running to the square, breathless: ‘Ach, liebe Miss, die Polizei!’ Three men in uniform had come and demanded to know where I was; they were searching everything in my room. I must not come back to the pension. That was all; the maid had to run back at once so that she would not be missed. I got away from the place as quickly as possible. I couldn’t think what to do. I know no one in the city I could appeal to for help, or that I could trust if I did. I have no right whatever to trouble you, but I need advice so badly, and while I know how you disagree with my ideas—”
“Don’t worry about that, Miss Creston. I will give you whatever advice I can. First, I must know what you have been doing.”
“I have done nothing but what you know, and what you warned me about. I meant to take your advice, but I delayed. I was planning to leave next week.”
“You have manuscripts in your room?”
“Quite a number.”
“Things dealing with Germany?”
“Naturally. Things of the sort which you have already read.”
“You must understand, dear lady, this country is on the verge of war, and they will take this so
rt of thing very seriously.”
“You warned me, and I should have heeded you. I am terribly ashamed of being in this position.”
“Don’t worry too much. What I want is for you to be frank, so that I can form a correct idea of your position and be able to give you useful advice. You have letters in your room?”
“A few from friends.”
“Inside Germany or out?”
“All of them outside. I have no friends in Germany, unless there be some tourists traveling.”
“Have you copies of letters you wrote to friends?”
“A few, when I used a typewriter.”
“You expressed opinions of Germany, and of the Nazis?”
“I wrote pretty freely.”
“What else have you in your room that might interest the Gestapo?”
“Well, I have the books that I told you about.”
“And others? Anti-Nazi books?”
“I have Konrad Heiden’s book about Hitler, and George Seldes’ Sawdust Cæsar—that is about Mussolini. I kept them all locked up in my trunk and I thought no one would ever see them.”
“Someone is seeing them now, you may be sure, and is drawing conclusions that will do you no good. What else have you in your trunk, besides clothing and the things that ladies usually have?”
“Well, I have a considerable supply of typewriter paper. I use some of that every day.”
“How much have you?”
“I am not sure; two dozen reams, I should say.”
“You brought that from London?”
“No, I bought it all in Berlin.”
“But why so much?”
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