“Ask him for the address,” Lanny ventured.
“It is difficult to make out,” declared the voice; but finally he gave it, spelling the name of the street. The American gentleman, making notes as best he could in the dim light, did not fail to get this information down. It was the first time the spirits had ever sought to do business with him and he wondered, had somebody offered the Professor a commission on a deal? If so, he was taking a bold chance for a small amount of money, for the communication was certainly not likely to fool the Deputy Führer.
VII
The aged Habsburger faded back into the realm or substance or whatever it was he had come from. They were not sorry to have him go, for his dynasty had never been celebrated for wit or charm. In his stead came a personage who rarely failed Lanny: the Knight Commander of the Bath and Grand Officer of the Legion of Honor. For the first time in his career in this world or the next he addressed Lanny as “Mr. Budd,” and for the first time he reported himself as happily reunited with his duquesa. Apparently King Ottokar I was a dispenser of bliss—he had been extremely dictatorial on earth. Lanny was polite, but inwardly skeptical, until the spirit gave him a message for its earthly successor, Baron Schneider, and then a reference to Sir Basil’s part in finding the gold of the Hampshire.
This was the devilish thing about the business of psychic research; just as you had decided that some medium was a fraud, you would get something that startled you, and then, likely as not, you would think it over and change your mind yet again. Had Robbie Budd’s dealing with the owner of Le Creusot been mentioned in any of the Berlin newspapers? Certainly there were important persons in the city who knew about the matter; and that meant also their secretaries and underlings. The same was true regarding the cruiser Hampshire.’ Lanny had told Pröfenik about Sir Basil, though not about this gold; however, it had been only ten years since the treasure-seekers had set out, and the vessel had been equipped in Germany; it had returned to Hamburg, and Horace Hofman had been dined in Berlin, where he had met prominent persons, including Doktor Horace Greeley Hjalmar Schacht. So, if anybody set out to do a research job on Zaharoff in Germany, that was one of the things he might be expected to come upon.
VIII
All these thoughts were driven suddenly out of Lanny’s mind, for here came the thing that he was waiting for; his heart began to pound uncomfortably, and he was glad the room was not well lighted. Said the thirteenth-century King of Bohemia: “There is a couple here, Germans and rather young; they speak in low voices and seem embarrassed to trouble Herr Budd. They say they troubled him once before, and now they want him to know that they have found each other.”
“What are their names?” inquired Lanny; and really, he could hardly keep from trembling, for suppose this was a genuine medium, and suppose Trudi didn’t know that Hess was present, and should blurt out: “I am your former wife.” It wouldn’t be like the Trudi of the real world, but who could guess what spirits might remember or forget, or how much they might know about the political situation? Truly it was taking a chance to have Hess sitting by—even though the communications might be only constructs of Lanny’s subconscious mind!
He was proceeding upon the guess that Pröfenik was no medium, but a shrewd old scamp, making use of the material Lanny had given him. And apparently this was the case. The voice of Ottokar replied: “It is the man speaking and his voice is low. Bitte, lauter, lieber Herr! The name appears to be Schultz. Do you know any such person?”
“I cannot recall him.”
“He gives the name Ludwig; then he says he is called Ludi. He tries to tell you about the place where he met you. It was in a large drawing-room, many persons present; they served coffee and other refreshments, and his wife was one of those who served as hostesses.”
“Does he give the wife’s name?”
“She was called Gertrud.”
“I cannot recall any Gertrud Schultz.”
“He says she was also known as Mueller. I ask, is that her maiden name, and he says no, she changed her name. I ask if they were divorced, and he does not say; apparently there is something very unhappy in their lives. He wants you to know that they are reunited now, and the pain is forgotten.”
“Can they tell you anything more about the circumstances of their meeting with me?”
“He says they were artists, both of them, and they told you about their work; you showed an interest, very kindly, but they did not follow it up, because at that time they did not know that you were the stepson of Marcel Detaze, or that you were yourself such a distinguished expert.”
“Thank them for me, and say that I wish them well; but I do not understand why they should come to me.”
“They had come before and they feared that they had troubled your mind.”
“Not at all; I have to confess that I had forgotten them. Have they any art works that I could see and might be interested in?”
“No, they are humble about their work. Ludi says that he was a commercial artist, and such work is only for the day.”
“Does he wish to tell me anything about the cause of their unhappiness? Is it a story that I could have heard?”
There was a pause. Then: “The woman is weeping. She says she cannot bear to have it talked about.”
“They aren’t Jews, by any chance?”
“No, Aryans.”
“Jews do not always look like Jews; and they take Aryan names—it is one of their favorite tricks.”
“They say they are not Jews.”
“Could they have been in any political trouble?”
“They don’t want to talk about it; they are turning away; they have their arms about each other, as if they wanted you to know that they love each other deeply.”
IX
The rest of the séance didn’t amount to much. It was Hess’s turn, and the spirit of Horst Wessel announced itself. The Nazi hero-martyr spoke of the song he had written, and was proud of this service to the cause. He told some of the circumstances of his earthly life, but did not mention that he had been a pimp. He made predictions as to the future triumphs of the Party and in general spoke in a way to warm the heart of a Party Führer. His last sentences were a triumphant prophecy that Austria would soon be joined to the Fatherland. He had studied for a year at the University of Vienna, and knew that frivolous people, he declared.
The wizard came out of his trance and emerged from the cabinet. He did not ask anything about what happened, but perhaps he could feel in the atmosphere that he had not scored a hit. He offered to cast the Deputy’s horoscope, but Hess said that had been done many times, and he had more important business. Lanny asked if the Professor had tried to send his astral body to the Berghof, and the old man said that he had done so, and had seen Lanny and Hess gazing out over the mountains, and also at something which looked like playing cards—which they hadn’t done. No mention of French wrestling!
As they went out, Lanny left an envelope on the table; he noticed that Hess failed to do the same, and wondered if Party chieftains enjoyed the privilege of free séance tickets. When they were in the car, the Deputy said: “That seemed to me pretty thin stuff.”
“I agree,” replied the other.
“All that about Horst Wessel—he could have got it out of a pamphlet which the Party sells for five pfennigs.”
“Zaharoff always called me Lanny; never ‘mister’ in his life.”
“That King Ottokar is a new one to me. Did you ever hear of him?”
“He was a king of Bohemia when it was one of the German states. Grillparzer wrote a play about him.”
“No sense in any of it that I can see. We wasted an evening.” There was a pause; Lanny waiting to let his companion bring up the crucial subject. He thought it would come, and it did.
“And all that about the Schultz couple. Did you make anything out of that?”
“Not very much. But one thing comes back to my memory—I believe those same people appeared in a séance I had nearly a year a
go with a woman medium here in Berlin. There was a spirit who called himself Ludi Schultz, and he was wandering around trying to find his wife who was called Trudi.”
“Did you tell Pröfenik about that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to get clear in my mind. You see, I had a long talk with him, two or three hours. I mentioned the fact that a number of times I had had reports of spirits who seemed to be just drifting in and then out again. They insisted they had met me somewhere, though I couldn’t recall them. It is possible that I may have given the names of the Schultzs; I can’t feel sure.”
“It makes all the difference,” declared Hess. “If you told him, he could easily have made up the rest.”
“You know how it is when something seems to be just hanging on the edge of your mind, and you think you’ve got hold of it but you can’t quite. There’s that business about women serving coffee and refreshments; there were several places where I was asked to give a talk on art, and of course I met no end of art people, and heard a lot of names.”
“Pröfenik could guess that without trouble,” insisted the Deputy.
“I know; but I keep reminding myself of this: If a man gets certain facts consciously, those facts are in his subconscious mind also, and they are just as apt to come out in a genuine trance as anything else. Suppose Pröfenik had read a five-pfennig pamphlet about Horst Wessel, his subconsciousness might weave those facts into a personality without the least dishonesty.”
“I never thought of that, Mr. Budd. Few people realize how complicated this subject is.”
“You bet! It’s a whole universe, whose laws we are only beginning to guess at. Every now and then I have an impulse to follow up some clue. Perhaps you can advise me: would there be any chance of finding a list of commercial artists in Berlin during the last few years? Do they have an association or anything like that?”
“I don’t happen to know, but I can find out. There are no associations in Germany that we don’t know about.”
“It seems to me that would be a good way to check upon Pröfenik. He gave a number of details; and certainly not many Ludis have married Trudis.”
Again Lanny waited, and again the trap he had set was sprung. “By the way,” said Hess, “didn’t the old rascal say the woman was called Mueller also?”
“Yes, I recall that.”
“Why should she have two names?”
“That is one of the things we may find out. Often artists take brush names, of course.”
“That might be. But a man in my business thinks of another possibility. A lot of artists and people of that sort have been opposing our Regierung, and we’ve had to be rough with them. Maybe we might find that she has some sort of police record.”
“By heck! There’s an idea! Could you have it looked up, do you suppose?”
“Of course I could. We have a master cardfile.”
“I don’t want to put you to a lot of bother—”
“No bother at all. I’ll tell my secretary to call up the police in the morning, and if there are or were any such persons I’ll have the data within an hour.”
“I never expected to have the help of the Gestapo in my psychic researches!” chuckled the son of Budd-Erling.
X
Lanny walked into the Hotel Adlon with his feet hardly touching the floor of the lobby. He didn’t want to sleep; he wanted to lie on his back in the dark and whisper silently: “Trudi! Trudi!” Once more he felt that she was close to him, and that if he reached out a little farther he would make contact with her. He would say: “Are you there?”—and then argue: “Why should I have to wait on the Gestapo?” He thought of some of the phantasms he had read about, phantasms of the living as well as of the dead. Such stories went back as far as recorded history; also, you would hardly mention the subject in any company without finding some person who had had such an experience, often while refusing to believe it. Lanny had told Trudi a lot about it; she had never known whether to believe it or not, but surely now she would be thinking about it and trying it as he was.
He kept staring ahead of him into the darkness at the foot of his bed, but he saw nothing, he heard nothing, and at last he dropped off to sleep. Then he dreamed about Trudi. Did that mean that she was dreaming about him? Men had been wondering about dreams since the beginning of time, and weaving all sorts of fantasies on the subject. Now came the Freudians, with an explanation which they called scientific; but what would become of their theories if you admitted telepathy into the psyche? A bull in a china shop could do no more damage. Lanny had heard that of late Freud had become convinced of the reality of telepathy, but how could he explain dreams when they might have hopped in from the mind of any other person on earth? Lanny thought about this while he was shaving, and wished that while in Vienna he had called upon the learned Jewish doctor and asked for the answer to that question.
Lanny looked over the morning papers, full of denunciations of the treacherous Austrian government, with demands for immediate action by the insulted Reich. Lanny knew that no Nazi editor ever clamored for action until Dr. Goebbels had tipped him off that action was coming soon. He tried to read on, but could hardly think about Austria’s troubles this morning; he thought only of the telephone. What time did Hess reach his office? The Gestapo, of course, would be open all night; its agents came and went, and its favorite time for pouncing upon its victims was at three or four in the morning.
The mail was brought to his room; also a cablegram, which proved to be mysterious and puzzling. It was from New York, and read: “Honored relative will call”; the signature was: “Bessie Budd Host.” Lanny didn’t have to figure long to realize that this was code for Johannes Robin, who wouldn’t risk embarrassing Lanny by signing a name so notorious in Germany. Lanny had taken many agreeable trips on the yacht Bessie Budd, and had not forgotten who had invited him and paid the bills. If Johannes had signed the message “Bessie Budd Owner” or “Bessie Budd Proprietor,” that might have sounded phony; but “Host” was an inconspicuous word and might be a name indeed, Lanny had once met a man who bore it, and if he had married Lanny’s half-sister, her name would have been Bessie Budd Host!
Any relative of Johannes was, of course, a Jew; and all Jewish relatives were honored, that their days might be long in the land. Alas, their days promised to be short in Germany, and also in Austria! This would be some person in trouble, of course. Lanny felt a sinking of the heart, for he couldn’t help any Jews now, he had another job—and how could he explain matters to his old friend? It might be that all the caller would want was money, and that would be easy enough. But usually what Jews wanted was to get out of Germany, and that might take a lot of money, more than Lanny had in Naziland. Also, they wanted passports to America; and Lanny was one of a hundred and three persons who could make no move along that line.
XI
The telephone rang; the secretary of Herr Reichminister Hess, desiring to know if Herr Budd could call this morning at the Herr Reichminister’s office. It was then eleven, and Lanny said he had an engagement to lunch with General Göring, but would come at once and hoped that he could have the interview without delay. He stepped into a taxi, and gave his destination, the headquarters of the NSDAP; then he leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes to the traffic and the signals. Silently, and without movement of the lips, he read himself a lecture and taught himself a role. “Now! You’re going to get bad news, and how are you going to take it? You might as well make up your mind that she’s dead! There’s not a chance of anything else; and what are you going to say? You’ve got to talk telepathy, or spirits, and not show any feelings—not have any feelings, because if you do Hess will know it. Watch every movement, every word, every thought; for this is dynamite.”
Silently and without motion of the lips, Lanny practiced what he was going to feel and say if Hess told him that Trudi was dead; then—a still harder task, because less expected—what he would say if Hess told him that she was in a concentration camp. This went on a
ll the way to the large building over which the Deputy and Party Führer presided; all the way up in the elevator; all the way through the closely guarded anterooms and into the great man’s presence.
Hess wore the simple brownshirt uniform, probably the same he had worn the night before. He looked stern and impressive at his large flat-topped desk with several telephones and many buttons, the symbols of authority in the modern world. Lanny was treading in one of the centers of the most cruel authority in centuries; this dark, tightlipped man with the bushy eyebrows meeting over the bridge of his nose might cause serious trouble for a presidential agent unmasked. Or would he do any unmasking? If he had penetrated Lanny’s secret, would he not be more apt to keep it to himself and his dread organization, and give Lanny rope with which to hang himself? Treason within treason, and treachery piled on treachery!
The Deputy got down to business, having been told that his visitor had no time to spare. Open before him was a portfolio with many papers and one hand was resting upon them as he spoke. “Mr. Budd, we have uncovered something interesting here. It looks as if the spirits knew more than we gave them credit for.”
“Is that so, Herr Reichsminister?”
“I find we have a long record on these people, and of the blackest sort. They were Social-Democratic agitators, Marxists of the reddest dye, over a period of ten years or so.”
“Oh, my God!” said the well-rehearsed visitor.
“The man was caught early, and committed suicide in Oranienburg. The woman got away, and caused us trouble for three years or more. She was center of a well-organized seditious group. She took the name of Mueller, and several other aliases—I won’t tell them to you, because it might be interesting to see if you can get them through Madame or any other medium.”
“By all means! What happened to the woman?”
“She fled to France; but recently she made the mistake of coming back into Germany. She died in Dachau two or three months ago.”
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