The munitions king had just determined the destinies of Europe, at least for a time. He told Lanny a spy story, a regular movie thriller. He had a “man” in Berlin, evidently a very good one indeed; on Friday, the 21st of May, this man had called the Baron out of bed at two o’clock in the morning, to tell him that Charlotte was ill with appendicitis. Those were not the exact words, the financier remarked with a smile, but it was something like that, and it meant that Germany was mobilizing. Furthermore the man said that Doktor Henry and Doktor Schmidt were in disagreement about the case—again those weren’t the right names, but it meant that the British ambassador had had a row with Ribbentrop and accused him of deception, and was now ordering special trains to take British residents out of Berlin—meaning, of course, that he expected war.
“Mon dieu, could I let Hitler have Skoda?” exclaimed the Baron. The answer was, “Jamais,” so he had routed Foreign Minister Bonnet out of bed and told him that France must definitely announce its support of Prague. Said the munitions king: “Ce malin chauve”—that bald-headed malicious one—“thinks about nothing but keeping his job and saving the franc; but what will be the value of all the francs if we lose our eastern alliances?”
Now in Lanny’s presence the moneymaster was assailed by doubt and depression. He couldn’t make up his mind who was his more dangerous enemy, the Brown devil or the Red. “Hitler will never give up, will he?”—and Lanny felt free to say: “Hitler and Pan-Germanism are one and the same.”
He suggested that his friend should read Adi’s book and see what the Führer had to say about himself. Strange to say, that idea had never occurred to the Baron, and he found it most original. Lanny told about the personality of Rudolf Hess, the real author of the volume; at least, he had seen to it that the greater number of Adi’s sentences had a verb in them, and an ending. It did no harm to tell about Hess’s interest in astrology and spiritualism, since all the Fatherland knew it; but nothing about the Führer’s secret visits to Madame Zyszynski.
All this was of importance to Robbie Budd, since his deal with the Baron involved Pilsen and its great Skoda arms plant. The first thing Lanny did on reaching Paris was to type out an account of the munitions king’s distracted state of mind, and mail one copy to his father and the other to Gus Gennerich. He had already warned Robbie that war could not be postponed more than a year or two, and that Robbie’s financial arrangements should be based upon that certainty. It was a sign of the changing times that Robbie now took such advice seriously.
IX
There were going to be great doings in Paris; the newly crowned King and Queen of Britain were coming for a visit of state; they would be banqueted and presented with French orders and decorations, and would confer British equivalents upon French statesmen. But Lanny didn’t care for public spectacles, and Beauty was aching to see her darling Frances, so they drove to the Calais ferry, and direct to Wickthorpe without stopping for any of the delights of London. Beauty and her husband were installed in a two-hundred-year-old cottage on the estate—it had been remodeled, of course, and had all modern conveniences, but still had a thatched roof and low ceilings, and doorways that you had to stoop slightly to pass through. Now, in July, it was delightfully rustic, like camping out; there was a vine-covered summerhouse where Parsifal could say his prayers all day and night if he wanted to. Frances was having a holiday from her tutors, and could come over and spend all her time prattling away to her grandmother, who was so happy that she became a child herself, and neither would bore the other.
Meantime Lanny put up at the castle, a mass of round towers of many sizes, and having crenelations on top; the modern parts were at one side, so as not to spoil the effect. After a brief visit to his daughter, Lanny became absorbed in his own unusual kind of work. He had happened along at a moment of importance, for the Earl of Wickthorpe came back from town, bringing a guest to whom Lanny needed no introduction, having met him at the Berghof at the time of the Schuschnigg visit. He was one of the Führer’s aides-de-camp, and enjoyed a specially favored position because he had commanded the company in which Adi had been a sub-corporal during the World War. Captain Fritz Wiedemann was a large, powerfully built fellow with heavy dark eyebrows and lantern jaws; a fanatical Nazi, but also a suave man of the world. From him Lanny had made certain that he knew exactly what was going to happen to Austria—in fact, he had been one of the military men called in to tell the Austrian Chancellor what was going to happen to him.
Gerald Albany had just returned from a highly confidential visit to Hitler, Ribbentrop, and Göring; undoubtedly he had taken some important proposals of the British government, and now in all probability Wiedemann had come with the answers. Lanny had read of the Hauptmann’s arrival in the London morning papers, together with the official denial that he had any diplomatic errand, or had talked with anyone of Cabinet rank. That, of course, meant the opposite of what it said, for British diplomatists proceeded upon the formula that a lie was an untruth told to a person who had a right to know the truth, and the British public was not included in that sacred roster. Before that evening was over Lanny heard from Wiedemann’s own lips that he had had an interview with Lord Halifax, the British Foreign Minister, on the previous day. Halifax was accompanying the royal visit to Paris, so Lanny could guess that he was carrying the German proposals to the French.
X
Here was a presidential agent, in the very heart of the intrigue which; was to determine the fate of Europe for a long time to come. Never had he had to step more warily, not even on that hair-raising night when he had been helping to burglarize the Château de Belcour. He judged that neither Ceddy nor the discreet Gerald would discuss these ultra-secret affairs in the presence of other guests or of servants; Lanny’s problem was to get some one of the group alone, and contrive to have the subject brought up by this person and not by Lanny. Often a man would drop hints without realizing the full significance of his words.
The first thing was to establish Lanny’s sociopolitical position, as it might be called. Exercising his privilege to bring up a new subject of conversation, he said: “By the way, Wiedemann, you remember that you expressed skepticism on the subject of psychic phenomena. Have you had any chance to talk with Hess since he tried his experiments with me at the Berghof?”
“No,” said the German. “How did they turn out?”
“One thing that might be of interest to a military man: Rudolf got what purported to be a communication from a soldier who had been in the trenches with him at Verdun, and had been killed a few minutes after Rudolf himself was wounded. Several details were given which Rudi confirmed, and he told the Führer about them in my presence. It made a great impression on both.” Then, turning to Irma: “That was Madame, our old Polish medium. I took her to Berchtesgaden for Hess to try his luck.”
They talked for a while on a subject which was fascinating and at the same time entirely safe—since the spirits had never been political, at least not so far as Irma or Lanny knew. She told of communications which were supposed to have come from her father; Ceddy told about a ghost which was reputed to appear now and then in the oldest tower of this castle, but which had possibly been disturbed by Irma’s recent alterations, since it hadn’t shown up of late. This conversation served two purposes of a subtle intriguer. It would enable the Hauptmann to go back to the Berghof and report that the son of Budd-Erling was an intimate of the earl and the countess as he had claimed; and, no less important, it settled in the minds of Ceddy and Gerald any doubts as to the truth of Lanny’s claims that he had been in the Berghof at the time of the Schuschnigg visit.
XI
After the coffee and cigars the Foreign Office men excused themselves and took their guest into his lordship’s study. That left Lanny alone with Irma, something which might have been awkward for some “ex’s,” but not for this socially trained pair.
“You have changed your opinions very greatly of late, Lanny,” the woman remarked. “It’s hard for me to real
ize it.”
“Well, I had to grow up sooner or later,” he said.
“If you had made it a little sooner, we might not have had our breakup.”
That was kind of her, and Lanny wanted to be no less so. “Then you wouldn’t have had this grand old castle,” he countered, with a smile.
Irma was enceinte, as the polite word had it, and had reached the stage where she moved slowly. “Shall we pay a call on Beauty?” she suggested, and of course Lanny offered to accompany her. They strolled across the grounds through lovely English twilight, which comes late in the month of July. Frances had been taken to bed, for she lived on a strict schedule. It was quite like old times, with Beauty and her husband, and Irma and her “ex.” They talked about the child for a while, and then Beauty, most tactful of guests, suggested that Frances’ other grandmother might like to share the conversation. Mrs. Fanny Barnes occupied a villa on the estate, where she lived with her brother, the elderly retired stockbroker whom Lanny had learned to call “Uncle Horace.” To Lanny he was the world’s worst bore, but fortunately he had a touch of the gout and couldn’t come.
The large and important widow of the American utilities king summoned her chauffeur and was driven a quarter of a mile or so to “Glavis,” as the cottage was called—for some reason that was buried under the debris of time. She proposed a rubber of bridge, and politeness required Lanny to oblige. In former days the two elderly ladies had played against Irma and Lanny, but now Fanny’s sense of propriety brought it about that mother and daughter played against mother and son, and won handily. Truth to be told, it was hard for Lanny to keep his mind on his mother’s signals, when it wanted to speculate on what the three conspirators over at the castle might be deciding as to the fate of Czechoslovakia. And anyhow, it was always tactful to let Fanny Barnes win.
XII
Luck was kind to Lanny, for when he got back to the castle he found that Gerald Albany was taking Wiedemann back to London that night, and Ceddy was staying on. That meant that after the important guest had departed, the lord of the castle sat in the library with his wife’s former husband, and rang for whisky and sodas and a bite before retiring. Did he fear that he might have seemed discourteous in excluding an old friend from a conference? Or was there something that he wanted to get out of Lanny without Lanny’s knowing it?
The art expert had thought out his plan of attack while dealing bridge hands, and now he went right to it. “Ceddy,” he began, “may I talk to you frankly for a minute or two?”
“Certainly, Lanny—always.”
“Why doesn’t the British government make up its mind and do something to settle this miserable wrangle that is making every sort of progress impossible in Europe?”
“It doesn’t rest entirely with us, Lanny.”
“That’s where you are making your mistake. You don’t realize the position of Britain at the present time, or how much depends upon your decisions. The French simply don’t know their own minds; they are staggering around like a lot of drunken men, knocking one another over. I had a talk with Schneider only three or four days ago. Honestly, it is tragic; the man can’t keep his mind made up through an hour’s conversation.”
“Tell me what he says, Lanny.”
Was that what the British Foreign Office wanted to know on this critical evening? If so, Lanny would be happy to favor them, in consideration of a fair return. He told what he had heard at La Verrerie, and what he knew about French opinion from other sources. “The French ought to be told what to do and made to do it, and they’ll be relieved to get it off their minds.”
“It is the most complicated situation we have ever faced, Lanny—perhaps in the whole of England’s history.”
“I agree with you; but no decision can be so bad as indecision. That means leaving everything at loose ends, and helps nobody but the forces of disorder. I don’t feel myself a stranger to Europe, and I suffer from the confusion like all the others, rich and poor. Everybody I know keeps asking: why doesn’t England make up her mind? Either say to Hitler: ‘Stay where you are or it means war’; or else say: ‘We blundered at Versailles, and you can have your border territories back, and let’s start over again and be friends.’”
“If it were only that simple, Lanny! But here are all these nations and tribes, like so many wild beasts in a cage, ready to fly at one another’s throats. We confronted the possibility of a general war two months ago. And our people don’t want war; we aren’t ready for it and we don’t want to have to get ready.”
“All right then, make up your minds to a settlement. Decide what territories you are willing to let Hitler have. Put your cards on the table and say: ‘You can have this, and this, and no more.’ Put it before the French, not for squabbling over, but as an ultimatum: ‘This is the settlement, and you can come in or we make a deal with Hitler instead.’ Say to Czechoslovakia and Poland: ‘This is our decision, and you have to take it or wage a war by yourselves.’”
“I wish I were free to talk to you about these confidential matters, Lanny—”
“That’s all right, old man—it doesn’t make any difference, because I’m going back to Paris in a few days, and whatever Halifax is saying to Bonnet, Schneider will tell it all to me in ten minutes. The old gentleman’s nerve seems to be broken; he is possessed by the horrid idea that if Hitler gets Pilsen, he will refuse to recognize those pieces of paper which guarantee title to the Skoda plant. So he wants some of my father’s fighter planes to protect his property; also he wants somebody to let him cry on his shoulder. Instead of trying to keep secrets from me, Ceddy, it would be more sensible to tell me what you people want and let me help you get it. All I want is to see peace in Europe, so that people can have time to think about paintings again.”
“You really do know a lot of the key people, don’t you, Lanny.”
“It’s my blind luck that Budd-Erling is tops right now in the race for speed and maneuverability. Robbie has proudly demonstrated it at several military airfields; so, when I go to Berlin, Der Dicke invites me to Karinhall and tells me the most shocking things—I mean, diplomatically speaking. And as for Hitler, when he gets started he tells everybody what he’s going to do for the next thousand years. I think it’s a calculated indiscretion with him—he’s working a gigantic game of bluff.” Lanny paused for a moment and added, with a grin: “Would you like me to take a plane to Berlin and send you back a complete report of what Gerald offered to the champagne salesman?”
The Earl of Wickthorpe couldn’t keep from smiling in return; it was very disarming. “I don’t mind telling you, Lanny, that we’ve come to be of very much the same mind as yourself. It appears that we have no choice but to let Hitler have a readjustment of his entire eastern boundary.”
“And Wiedemann is here to tell you what they demand; and Halifax is taking it to Paris. He is a man of the most upright character, but can he pound the table hard enough to impress those French buccaneers?”
“Many of them require no persuading, Lanny; and Halifax can be stiff-necked when he wants to.”
“I hope so. Would you like me to call on Schneider and try to convince him that it’s to his best interest to accede to your proposals?”
“I haven’t any authority to suggest such a thing, Lanny—”
“Of course not! You don’t have to talk protocol to me, Ceddy—that’s our Washington slang, as you may know. I’m talking off the record, as one friend of peace to another. I’m not asking for state secrets—there’ll be plenty of leaks in the next few days and I don’t want to be a possible source. But if I’m to talk to Schneider to any purpose I have to be able to say this and have it straight: Is Britain going to help him preserve his title to Skoda, or is she not?”
The handsome and dignified nobleman looked at his guest with a steady gaze and delayed replying. So presently Lanny added: “I think I ought to make you acquainted with one set of facts, Ceddy. My father has a deal with Schneider, by which Schneider has the right to build Budd-Erlin
g planes in a new plant in or near Skoda. It was a cash deal and my father has no interest in the concern. It would be all the same to him if the Nazis were to grab the plant, for he also has a deal with Göring; thus Göring wouldn’t gain anything he hasn’t already got, and Robbie wouldn’t lose anything he hasn’t already sold. I think you ought to know that, so that when we talk about these delicate matters, you won’t have the thought that I may be concerned about some family interest.”
“I’m glad to have that knowledge, Lanny,—though I had no such thought. You understand, my lips are sealed as to what is going on at the moment, and I would prefer that you didn’t mention to anybody that you have talked to me. But, as one friend to another, it can do no harm for me to tell you that Baron Eugène will have to take his chances along with the rest of us. The British government is certainly not prepared to go to war to protect his titles to Skoda, and if France holds out from the settlement we are working out with Hitler, France will have to do her own fighting, and find whatever way she can to help the Czechs. We, unfortunately, lack the means to get there.”
“That is plain enough, and I’ll tell him,” replied the secret agent. “It will have a pacifying effect, I am sure.”
Said his lordship: “We can only hope and pray that Hitler means what he tells us, that this will satisfy him, and that he will settle down and reorganize his economy on a peace instead of a war basis.”
So Lanny drove up to town next morning and got a room in a hotel, set up his little portable, and hammered out a report to President Roosevelt, setting forth the fact that the republic of Masaryk and Beneš was the next chunk of appeasement that was going to be fed to the Nazi wolves.
Presidential Agent (The Lanny Budd Novels) Page 71
