Paving the New Road

by Sulari Gentill

  “Something very dangerous, Mr. Negus, which is why I can’t believe that they have sent me an untried man!”

  Rowland was getting somewhat fed up with Blanshard’s dissatisfaction.

  “Suppose you just tell me what has to be done, Mr. Blanshard.”

  Blanshard drew so heavily on his cigarette that Rowland half-expected to see the stick disappear entirely. “Among the National Socialists, Hermann Göring’s star is rising. If Campbell manages to ingratiate himself with the man, it could be dangerous, indeed. I have done what I can to stop the meeting but my hands are tied on this. Göring speaks English, so Campbell has no need of a translator.”

  Rowland waited silently until Blanshard continued.

  “Ideally, we would like Göring himself to cancel, or simply fail to attend the meeting.”

  “How on Earth am I supposed to get Göring to cancel a meeting?” Rowland interrupted. Surely Blanshard didn’t expect him to kidnap a minister of the Nazi cabinet.

  “We have one chance.” Blanshard stubbed out his cigarette and lit another immediately. “Göring has a younger brother, who is currently in Munich. Albert Göring is, we believe, a dissident, opposed to the National Socialist Government of which his brother is a part. According to our intelligence, he hates Adolf Hitler and has been actively working against the Third Reich.”

  “But…?” Rowland pre-empted the qualification.

  “But we can’t be sure. He is Hermann Göring’s brother, after all, and we have no evidence of any falling out between the two. Indeed, their relationship appears to be warm.”

  “I see.”

  Once more Blanshard swore, while smiling pleasantly. “I was expecting someone I could send to talk to Albert Göring. Someone of at least the calibre of Bothwell, who could convince Albert to persuade his brother to cancel the meeting.”

  Rowland shrugged. “I speak German, Mr. Blanshard, both High and Bavarian. You can send me.”

  “You do not seem to understand the danger, Mr. Negus. We have no way of knowing what Albert will do…no guarantee that he will not simply turn you in to the Nazis as a spy or an insurgent. If you fail to convince him to manipulate his brother to assist us, it is quite likely that you will be arrested and shot.”

  For a moment Rowland said nothing as the words settled between them.

  “And if this meeting goes ahead?”

  “Campbell could make a very powerful ally. I have already heard some of the Nazis call him Australia’s Hitler.”

  Rowland smiled. “The Germans can call him whatever they want…I doubt Australians will call him anything that remotely resembles Hitler.”

  Blanshard tapped the ash from his cigarette, subtly checking the area around them. There was no one too nearby. “Have you read Mein Kampf, Mr. Negus?”

  “Hitler’s manifesto?” Rowland shrugged. “Only partially…I’m afraid I find fascist insanity more tedious than amusing.”

  “As much as you dismiss it, Mr. Negus, there were many men who were seduced by its ideas. It has sold a quarter of a million copies already, and now every newlywed couple in Germany receives some kind of nuptial edition.”

  Rowland laughed. “Sounds like an intriguing wedding night, Mr. Blanshard.”

  Blanshard refused to share his flippancy. “Eric Campbell has begun drafting his own manifesto, which he plans to release on his return. It will set out what he sees as the path for Australia, much as Mein Kampf set Germany’s road. Campbell already considers that there are similarities between himself and Mr. Hitler. Any encouragement by the hierarchy of the Reich could easily see Campbell’s view become more extreme.”

  Rowland frowned uneasily as he remembered Clyde’s earlier insight on Campbell’s choice of foe. Campbell could well be looking for a new enemy. “Very well, Mr. Blanshard. I’ll try.”

  Blanshard swore at him, though again his face revealed nothing to anyone out of earshot, anyone but Rowland. “You’ll have to do more than try, Mr. Negus,” Blanshard said tightly. “An experienced man would know how to judge Albert Göring—to assess his chances and proceed accordingly. I bloody well hope you’re up to this.”

  Rowland exhaled. “I’ll bloody well have to be,” he said abruptly.

  Chapter Ten

  MR. ERIC CAMPBELL

  AND THE NAZIS

  PROTESTS AGAINST HIS ADDRESS

  TO UNIVERSITY STUDENTS

  SYDNEY, October 17

  In the Legislative Assembly today, Mr. Heffron (Lab.) directed the attention of the Minister for Education (Mr. Drummond) to a speech made by Mr. Eric Campbell, leader of the New Guard. Mr. Heffron asked, “Has the Minister’s attention been drawn to a statement in the press reporting a speech of Mr. Eric Campbell, delivered to a meeting of undergraduates at the University, in which he is reported to have said that if there was a great Nazi demonstration in Sydney today, the University would be represented by its most distinguished professors; and, further, that the racial hatred in Germany today was due to the cleverness of the Jews?”

  —The Advertiser, 1933

  Rowland walked slowly back towards the Vier Jahreszeiten, his collar turned up and his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his overcoat. The weather had closed in suddenly and it was now overcast and cold. As much as he’d concluded that Blanshard was unnecessarily alarmist, Rowland was understandably preoccupied. He might not have even noticed her had she not run into him.

  “Entschuldigung sie, bitte…Fräulein Eva? Hello.” Rowland’s speech slipped automatically into German.

  “Herr Negus.” The young woman they’d encountered at Hoffman’s studio clutched his arm to regain her balance. “I’m so sorry…I wasn’t watching…”

  “You’re crying,” Rowland said, startled, as he noticed the tears still wet on her cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, no, I’m not.” She blushed. “I’ve had a little disappointment, you see.” She turned her face away from him as she tried to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Rowland passed her his handkerchief and waited until she’d composed herself. “Is it anything I can help you with, Fräulein?”

  Eva laughed. “You are kind, Herr Negus, but no. Unless, of course, you have a dachshund in your pocket?”

  “A dachshund?” Rowland smiled. “Do you have a particular reason for needing a dachshund?”

  “Oh, I don’t suppose I need a dachshund, but I would like one more than anything in the world. I had hoped a certain person would make me a present of one…but he has not.” Her eyes brimmed again.

  “I’m sorry for that,” Rowland said, amused and somehow touched by her childlike desperation for a puppy. “I, too, like dogs.”

  “Oh…do you own a dog, Herr Negus?”

  “At home, yes.”

  Eva smiled. It lit her face. “A dachshund?”

  Rowland laughed. “No, Len pretends to be a greyhound.”

  She slapped his arm playfully and giggled. “You must think me silly, Herr Negus,” she said wistfully.

  Rowland regarded her kindly. “Not at all. If I should come across a dachshund, I shall keep you in mind, Fräulein Eva, but in the meantime would you care to join me for lunch at my hotel?”

  She gasped excitedly and then stopped. “I am afraid Herr Wolf would not approve of my dining with another gentleman. He would not deem it proper.”

  “We won’t be alone—my friends, whom you met yesterday, will be joining us. I’m sure your Herr Wolf would have no objection…if you would care to join us, that is.”

  Eva clasped her hands together. “Oh, yes, I would, please. Herr Hoffman, my employer, is closing the shop for a week, so he has let me go home early. I am free to do as I please just as soon as I post these.” She pulled a sheaf of envelopes from her bag to show him.

  “I’d best walk you to the post office, then,” he said, offering her his arm.


  The others had not yet returned when Rowland and his guest arrived at the Vier Jahreszeiten. And so he took the young lady to wait in the hotel’s famous Walterspiel Restaurant.

  “Will you have something to drink?” Rowland asked as he called for the waiter.

  Eva hesitated.

  “You are old enough to drink, aren’t you?” he asked, looking at her carefully. She was wearing rather a lot of makeup…perhaps she was younger than she looked.

  “I was twenty-one on my last birthday,” she replied. “May I have champagne?”

  “Of course.” Rowland smiled, relieved that he hadn’t accidentally invited a child to lunch. He asked a waiter to bring a bottle of the hotel’s best.

  Eva took a cigarette from the case in her handbag and moved so that Rowland could light it. As she leaned towards him, he glimpsed the scar on her neck.

  Perhaps sensing he’d noticed it, Eva moved her hand to cover the penny-sized dent in the skin of her throat. “You don’t smoke, Herr Negus?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Herr Wolf doesn’t smoke either. He doesn’t approve of this bad habit of mine.”

  “I see.”

  Eva’s eyes moistened again. “Perhaps that is why I see him so little…” She shook her head. “No, I am being silly. He has so many demands upon him…I must just learn to be patient, to share him.”

  Rowland was struck by the loneliness in her voice. “Perhaps, if Herr Wolf is currently unavailable, you will be able to join us on occasion,” he said. “I should like to take my companions to the lakes for a few days. I spent some time at Königsee years ago…I have heard that Starnberger See, near here, is quite as beautiful.”

  Eva cheered visibly at the invitation and spoke happily of swimming in the Starnberger See with her sisters.

  “Will you go soon?” Her eyes shone hopefully. “I do not have to return to Hoffman’s for a week, and Herr Wolf is too busy to see me. I will be miserable if I do not find a distraction.”

  “I suppose we could go soon,” Rowland said awkwardly. “I have a spot of business I must attend to, but perhaps we could all set off in a day or two.”

  “Oh, yes, please…that would be wonderful. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had such an outing.”

  “I’ll organise something and be in touch,” Rowland promised. “Where can I reach you?”

  Eva’s face fell so dramatically that Rowland was startled.

  “It’s better if I contact you,” she said hastily. “Shall I phone you here tomorrow evening?”

  Rowland was admittedly caught a little off guard. “I suppose I could organise something by then,” he said, though he was not at all sure that was the case.

  Impulsively, Eva took his hand. “Thank you, Herr Negus. I’m sure I would die of loneliness if I had to spend the next week just wishing Herr Wolf would call.”

  “Well, that would indeed be unfortunate, Fräulein Eva.”

  Eva smiled, looking at him with undisguised warmth and gratitude as she chatted of little things.

  Rowland listened quietly. He found her easy company, girlish and open. There was something lost about Eva that elicited his sympathy. She spoke passionately of photography, but otherwise her thoughts were of clothes and parties and of how much she would like a puppy. And she did seem to like champagne.

  Edna, Clyde, and Milton also brought a guest to lunch. Edna introduced him enthusiastically when they arrived. “Rowly, darling, I have brought you the most extraordinary…Why, hello Eva. How lovely to see you again.”

  Rowland translated quickly, possibly unnecessarily, for the welcome of the sculptress’ words was apparent in her tone.

  Edna returned then to introducing the gentleman who stood somewhat stiffly by her side: Hans von Eidelsöhn. It seemed they had met at a nearby gallery where von Eidelsöhn’s work was hung. Rowland offered the artist his hand. The artist bowed as he took it. He seemed about thirty, but there was an intensity to his face, a gravitas in his demeanour. He addressed Rowland in English. “Mr. Negus, how do you do? Fräulein Greenway has said much of you.”

  “How do you do, Mr. von Eidelsöhn.” He introduced Eva in German.

  “I must say, Mr. Negus, you speak German very well,” von Eidelsöhn noted, after greeting Eva.

  “Oh, Robbie can speak just about anything,” Edna said, as she sat down. “It’s handy, you know. We travel so much in search of undiscovered masterpieces.”

  Rowland smiled. Apparently the sculptress had settled into the role of art dealer. He had never known Edna to do anything with half her heart.

  Von Eidelsöhn shifted uncomfortably. “I do not create masterpieces,” he said. “For who can say such a thing exists? I create pieces which, like the world, have no meaning.”

  “Of course, Hans,” Edna said brightly. “Champagne?” She beamed as the waiter rushed over to charge her glass. “You’re clairvoyant, Robbie. We must celebrate our discovery of Mr. von Eidelsöhn.”

  “He’s a Dadaist,” Clyde whispered into Rowland’s ear as the gentlemen sat and Milton called for more champagne.

  Rowland’s left brow rose slightly. Dada was a movement born of the human horror of the Great War, its adherents rejecting society and all its traditions. Their artwork was unconventional, to say the least. It often offended the general public, and it infuriated the Nazis. He glanced at Edna and she met his eye and laughed.

  Milton and Clyde sat in the generous armchairs of the Hindenberg suite, papers spread out on the coffee table between them. They looked up as Rowland walked in, after seeing Eva home.

  “What are you chaps reading?” Rowland asked, removing his coat and hanging it and his hat on the hooks by the door.

  “We’re not actually reading anything,” Milton said, raising his glass. “Clyde got it into his head that we should have a look at that police report Richter gave us.”

  Rowland sat down. “It’s in German.”

  “Yes, we worked that out.”

  Rowland picked up the police report and scanned it. “It says that Bothwell drowned while swimming at dusk in the Starnberger See…”

  “So it was an accident. Hardy’s imagining things,” said Clyde.

  Rowland frowned. “It does seem a bizarre time to go for a swim.” He stopped, scrutinising the report again for a moment before he added, “And without swimming trunks.”

  “What?”

  “Says here, he was naked. His clothes were neatly folded on the bank, but he was naked.”

  Clyde folded his arms. “That’s odd.”

  “And rather cold, I would imagine.”

  “If you’re alone...” Milton murmured. He upended the envelope and let the contents fall out onto the table: a platinum signet ring bearing a Masonic rule and compass, and a watch. “These must be Bothwell’s.”

  Rowland picked up the watch. A Rolex. An inscription on the back identified it as a wedding gift from Bothwell’s wife. He shook his head, turning it over to look at the face. The glass was misted. Rowland tried to wind it, but the winder seemed to have seized. “Look at this,” he said, handing the watch to Clyde.

  Clyde held it up to the light, and then, after using a pocket knife to open the case, he examined the workings. “It’s rusted.”

  “That’s rather peculiar, don’t you think?” Rowland said. “That Bothwell would fold his clothes on the bank and wear his watch swimming.”

  Clyde agreed. “You would have thought the police would notice that.”

  Rowland looked again at the police report. “They didn’t.”

  “There are two reasons why he might not have taken off his watch, Rowly,” Milton cautioned. “Maybe someone killed him, or perhaps the poor bloke had his own problems.”

  “But, in either case, why would he take off his clothes?” Clyde said, as he put the watch back toget
her.

  Rowland rubbed his hair. “We might just see if we can find out what Bothwell was doing when he died. He was staying at Richter’s house. We’ll start with him…after I talk to Göring?”

  “Who’s Göring?”

  Rowland told them then of his meeting with Blanshard and what the Old Guard agent wished him to do.

  For a moment they both gaped at him. “Rowly, you did tell him to go to hell, didn’t you?”

  “No, I said I’d do it.”

  “Are you insane?” Clyde slammed down his drink. “You’re going to walk up to the brother of one of Hitler’s henchmen and tell him you’re a spy, and then ask for his help?”

  Rowland replied calmly. “Apparently, Albert Göring is not a Nazi. According to Blanshard, he despises Hitler and has been speaking out against the regime. They think he might be sympathetic.”

  “And if they’re wrong?”

  “I’m not asking Albert Göring to betray his country…just to help me stop Nazism from infecting mine.”

  Clyde dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, Rowly.”

  Reaching into his jacket, Rowland pulled out the copy of Der Stürmer he had taken to his meeting with Blanshard. He tossed it onto the table between his friends. “Look at that,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to read German to understand the illustrations. And that’s just the tip of it.”

  As Clyde and Milton bent over Der Stürmer, both incredulous of and repelled by the depictions of Jews in its caricatures, Rowland translated the vile headlines. And he recounted Blanshard’s concern over Campbell’s proposed manuscript.

  “Australia’s got no problem with Jews,” Milton said angrily. “The flaming Governor General’s a Jew. We aren’t like the Germans…there’s no way we’d buy into this.”

  Rowland ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Milt. Perhaps Campbell won’t use the Jews…perhaps he’ll decide to blame the Catholics, or the trade unions or the artists. For all we know, he could decide the Chinese are responsible for the bloody Depression.”