“That might not be easy,” replied the other. “Such information isn’t given out freely—I mean, assuming that he’s in the hands of the authorities.”
“I thought that you, having so many contacts among the better-elements of the party, might be able to make inquiries without attracting too much attention. If you would do me this favor, I would be most happy to pay you for your time—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want any pay, Herr Budd!”
“You would certainly have to have it. The work may call for a lot of time, and there is no other way I can make it up to you. My wife is here, and neither of us can enjoy anything, because of worrying about this poor fellow. I assure you, she would consider a thousand marks a small price to pay for the mental peace she would get from even knowing that Freddi is still alive. If only I can find out where he is and what he’s accused of, I may be able to go to the proper authority and have the matter settled without any disagreeable scandal.”
“If I could be sure that my name wouldn’t be brought into the matter—” began the young official, hesitatingly.
“On that I will give you my word of honor,” said Lanny. “Nothing will induce either my wife or myself to speak your name. You don’t even have to give it when you call me on the phone; just tell me that you have, say, an Arnold Boecklin painting to show me, and tell me some place to meet you, and I’ll come. Be so good as to accept two hundred marks for a start—on the chance that you may have to pay out sums here and there.”
XII
Minister-Präsident Hermann Wilhelm Göring flew to Rome unexpectedly. He had been there once before and hadn’t got along very well with his mentor, the Blessed Little Pouter Pigeon; they were quarreling bitterly over the question of which was to control Austria. But they patched it up somehow, and the newspapers of the world blazed forth a momentous event: the four great European nations had signed a peace pact, agreeing that for a period of ten years they would refrain from aggressive action against one another and would settle all problems by negotiation. Mussolini signed for Italy, Göring for Germany, and the British and French ambassadors to Vienna signed for their governments. Such a relief to the war-weary peoples of the Continent! Göring came home in triumph; and Irma said: “You see, things aren’t nearly as bad as you’ve been thinking.”
The couple went to a reception at the home of the Frau Reichsminister Goebbels, where they met many of the Nazi great ones. Lanny, who had read history, remembered the Visigoths, who had conquered ancient Rome with astonishing ease, and wandered about the splendid city, dazed by the discovery of what they had at their disposal; he remembered Clive, who had been similarly stunned by the treasures of Bengal, and had said afterward that when he considered what his opportunities had been, he was astonished at his own moderation.
So it was now with the members of the N.S.D.A.P.; not the moderation, but the opportunities. Men who a few years ago had been without the price of a meal or a place to lay their heads had suddenly come into possession of all Germany. They wore the finest uniforms that Berlin’s tailors could design, and their women displayed their charms in the latest Paris models. Orders and medals, orchids and sparkling jewels—did they get all that out of party salaries, or the stipends of office in the Deutsches Reich or Preussischer Staat? Or had each one got busy on his own? They wouldn’t have to rob, or even to threaten; they would only have to keep their hands out and the possessors of wealth and privilege would come running to fill them.
Here were the friends and camp followers of Juppchen Goebbels, frustrated journalist from the Rheinland, now master of his country’s intellectual life. His word could make or break anyone in any profession; an invitation to his home was at once a command and the highest of opportunities. Men bowed and fawned, women smiled and flattered—and at the same time they watched warily, for it was a perilous world, in which your place was held only by sleepless vigilance. Jungle cats, all in one cage, circling one another warily, keeping a careful distance; the leopard and the jaguar would have tangled, had not both been afraid of the tiger.
But they were civilized cats, which had learned manners, and applied psychology, pretending to be gentle and harmless, even amiable. The deadliest killers wore the most cordial smiles; the most cunning were the most dignified, the most exalted. They had a great cause, an historic destiny, a patriotic duty, an inspired leader. They said: “We are building a new Germany,” and at the same time they thought: “How can I cut out this fellow’s guts?” They said: “Good evening, Parteigenosse,” and thought: “Schwarzer Lump, I know what lies you have been whispering!” They said: “Guten Abend, Herr Budd,” and thought: “Who is this Emporkömmling, and what is he doing here?” One would whisper: “The Chief thinks he can make use of him,” and the other would be thinking: “The Chief must be plucking him good and plenty!”
XIII
“Seien Sie willkommen, Herr Budd,” said the hostess, with the loveliest of her smiles. “You have been moving up in the world since we last met.”
“Don’t say that, Frau Reichsminister!” pleaded Lanny. “I beg you to believe that what happened was totally unforeseen by me, and unsought.” Would she believe it? Of course she wouldn’t—unless she happened to have inside information.
“Aren’t you going to tell me about it?” A mischievous request, and therefore the way to disguise it was with the most mischievous of smiles. On the same principle that you spoke the truth only when you didn’t wish to be believed.
Lanny, who had learned about intrigue when he was a tiny boy hearing his mother and father discussing the landing of a munitions contract—Lanny Budd, grandson of Budd Gunmakers, knew nothing better to do in a crisis than to be honest. “Liebe Frau Reichsminister,” he said, “I beg you to be kind to a stranger in a strange land. I am in a painful position. I receive orders from those in authority, and I dare do nothing but obey.”
“If I give you orders, will you obey, Herr Budd?” The wife of a Cabinet Minister apparently knew other ways to deal with one in a painful position. “What you call authority has a way of shifting suddenly in times like these. You had better give me an opportunity to advise you.”
“Indeed, Frau Reichsminister, I will avail myself of your kindness.” He had meant to say: “As soon as I am free to do so,” but he decided to leave himself free to think it over.
Irma was being entertained by “Putzi” Hanfstaengl, wealthy art-publisher’s son who played clown to Hitler and staff; half American and a Harvard graduate, he was tall and big and waved his arms like a windmill; for a while he was solemn, and then suddenly he danced, capered, made jokes, and laughed at them so loudly that everybody else laughed at him. The younger men were curious about the famous heiress, and she enjoyed herself as she generally did in company. Elegant, uniformed men bowed attendance and flattered her, bringing food and over-strong drink—many of them had too much of it, but that was nothing new in smart society, and Irma knew how to deal with such men.
Driving home in the small hours of the morning she was a bit fuddled and sleepy. Next morning, or rather much later that same morning, they sat in bed sipping their coffee, and Irma said what she thought of the affair. She had met agreeable people and couldn’t believe they were as bad as they were painted. Lanny had to wait until they were in the car before getting in his side, which was: “I felt as if I were in a rendezvous of pirates.”
Said Irma: “Listen, darling; did you ever meet a company of politicians in the United States?”
He had to admit that he lacked any basis of comparison, and his wife went on:
“They used to come to Father’s house quite often, and he used to talk about them. He said they were natural-born hijackers. He said that no one of them had ever produced anything—all they did was to take it away from business men. He said they wouldn’t stop till they got everything in their clutches.”
“The prophecy has come true in Germany!” said Lanny.
20
Sufferance Is the Badge
I
A long letter from Robbie Budd, telling of the situation resulting from his father’s death. The old gentleman had held on to his power up to the last moment, but had failed to decide the question of who was to be his successor. Long ago he had tried to settle the quarrel between his oldest and his youngest sons; then he had given up, and left them to fight it out—and they were doing so. Each wanted to become head of Budd’s, and each was sure that the other was unfitted for the task. “I suppose,” said Robbie, bitterly, “Father didn’t consider either of us fitted.”
Anyhow, the question was going to be settled by the stockholders. It so happened that an election of directors was due, and for the next sixty days Robbie and Lawford would be lobbying, pulling wires, trying to corral votes. They had been doing this in underground ways for years, and now the fight was in the open. Meanwhile the first vice-president was in charge—“holding the sponge,” as Robbie phrased it. He was Esther Budd’s brother, son of the president of the First. National Bank of Newcastle. “The thing the old gentleman always dreaded,” wrote Robbie; “the banks are taking us over!” Lanny knew this was said playfully, for Robbie and “Chassie” Remsen got along reasonably well, and the two couples played bridge one evening every week.
What really worried Robbie was the possibility of some Wall Street outfit “barging in.” Budd’s had been forced to borrow from one of the big insurance companies; it was either that or the Reconstruction Finance Corporation, which meant putting yourself at the mercy of the politicians. Robbie was in a dither over what the new administration was doing; Roosevelt had had three months in which to show his hand, and apparently the only thing he knew was to borrow money and scatter it like a drunken sailor. Of course that was just putting off the trouble, throwing the country into debt which the future would have to pay; incidentally it meant teaching everybody to come to Washington—“like hogs to the trough,” said the munitions salesman, who chose the most undignified metaphors whenever he referred to his country’s governmental affairs. Everything which gave power to the politicians meant debts, taxes, and troubles.
But Robbie didn’t go into that subject now; he had his own immediate problems. “If only I could raise the cash to buy some Budd stock that I know of, I could settle the matter of control. Tell our friend that I want to hear from him the moment he has time to spare. I can make him a proposition which he will find advantageous.” This had been written before the receipt of an unsigned note in which Lanny conveyed the news that “our friend” was being separated from every dollar he owned in the world. Poor Johannes—and poor Robbie!
The ever-discreet father didn’t need any warning to be careful what he wrote about matters in Germany. His letter was a model of vagueness. He said: “There is a great deal of new business being done in Europe this year, and I ought to be there getting contracts. Once our problems at home are settled, I’ll get busy.” Lanny knew what this meant—the rearmament of Germany was beginning, and what the Nazis couldn’t yet manufacture for themselves they would buy through intermediaries in Holland, Switzerland, Sweden. The factory chimneys of Newcastle would begin to smoke again—and it wouldn’t mean a thing to Robbie Budd that he was putting power into the hands of Hitler, Göring, and Goebbels. It was the salesman’s first axiom that all European nations were equally bad, and that whether the jaguar, the leopard, or the tiger came out on top was of no concern to anybody outside the jungle.
Lanny read this letter to his wife, who said: “Don’t you think it might be a good idea for me to help your father?”
“You know, dear,” he answered, “I have never been willing to exploit my marriage.”
“Yes, but be sensible. I own a lot of stocks and bonds, and why shouldn’t I exchange some of them for Budd’s?”
“Your father chose those investments very shrewdly, Irma. Some of them are still paying large dividends, and Budd’s isn’t paying any.”
“Yes, but the prices seem to find their level, according to the earnings.” Irma had been putting her mind on her financial affairs ever since she had got that terrific jolt in the panic. “If we could get Budd stock at its present price, wouldn’t it be safe to hold?”
“It wouldn’t worry you to be financing munitions?”
“Why should it? Somebody’s going to do it.”
So there it was: everybody was “sensible” but Lanny. If the Nazis wanted automatics and machine guns, there were many makes on the market, and why shouldn’t Budd’s get the business as well as Vickers or Bofors or Skoda or Schneider-Creusot? Irma settled the matter. “When we get this business out of the way, we’ll run over to New York and get Robbie and Uncle Joseph together and see what can be worked out.”
Lanny said: “It’s very kind of you.” He knew it would have been unkind of him to say anything else.
II
A letter from Kurt, begging them to drive to Stubendorf in this very lovely season of the year. Kurt had no car, and couldn’t afford the luxury of hopping about; but Seine Hochgeboren had told him that any time Irma and Lanny would come, the Schloss was at their disposal. Lanny hadn’t told Kurt about Freddi. Now he was discussing whether to do it, and what to say, when the telephone rang, and he heard the voice of Oberleutnant Furtwaengler: “Herr Budd, I am happy to inform you that the government is prepared to release Johannes Robin.”
Lanny’s heart gave a thump. “That is certainly good news to me, Herr Oberleutnant.”
“It is still your plan to drive him and his family to Belgium?”
“Whenever I am free to do so.”
“You have the other members of the family with you?”
“I know where they are—at least, all but one of them. I am sorry to report that I have not heard from the son, Freddi, for a long time.”
“You have no idea where he has gone?”
“Not the slightest.”
“Why didn’t you let me know this?”
“I have been thinking that I would surely hear from him, and I didn’t want to bother you or the Minister-Präsident. I was sure that if he was a prisoner of the government, he would be released along with his father.”
“I cannot say anything about it, because I do not know the circumstances. An investigation will have to be made. What do you wish to do about the others in the meantime?”
“I wish to take them out as soon as I am permitted to do so. I can come back for Freddi if you find him.”
“There would be no need for you to come unless you wished. We will surely send him out if we find him.”
“Very well. Shall I call at the Polizeipräsidium for Johannes?”
“That will be satisfactory.”
“You understand that we wish very much to avoid newspaper reporters, especially the foreign correspondents. For that reason it would be wise to leave as quickly as possible.”
“We shall be pleased to co-operate with you to that end. We have the passports and exit permits ready.”
“Does that include the visas for Belgium?”
“Everything has been foreseen. We do things that way in Germany.”
“I know,” said Lanny. “It is one of your great virtues.”
“I bid you farewell, Herr Budd, and hope to have the pleasure of seeing you when you again visit Berlin.”
“The same to you, Herr Oberleutnant. I am grateful for your many courtesies through this somewhat trying affair.”
“Not at all, Herr Budd. Allow me to say that your handling of the matter has been most exemplary, and Seine Exzellenz wishes me to assure you of his sincere appreciation.”
So they buttered each other, and clicked heels and bowed and scraped over the telephone; when Lanny hung up, he turned to his wife and said: “Chuck your things into the bags and we’ll get going!”
He hastened to call the home of Rahel’s parents, and she herself answered. “Good news,” he said. “Papa is to be released at once and I am going to get him at the prison. Is Mama far from you?”
“A ten-minute drive.”
>
“Call a taxi, take the baby and your bags, pick up Mama, and come to the Hotel Adlon as quickly as you can. Irma will be waiting for you. We are leaving at once. Is that all clear?”
“Yes; but what—” He hung up quickly, for he knew she was going to ask about Freddi, and he didn’t care to impart this news. Let Mama have the painful duty!
III
Lanny drove to the great red brick building on the Alexanderplatz. Many who entered there had not come out as quickly as they had hoped; but he with his magical American passport would take a chance. He discovered that the well-known German Ordnung was in operation; the officer at the desk had received full instructions. “Einen Moment, Herr Budd,” he said, politely. “Bitte, setzen Sie sich.”
He gave an order, and in a few minutes Johannes was brought in. Apparently he had been told what was going to happen; he had got a shave, and appeared interested in life again. The odds and ends of property which he had had upon his person were restored to him; he signed a receipt, bade a courteous Lebewohl to his jailers, and walked briskly out to the car.
Lanny had the painful duty of knocking this newborn happiness flat. “Painful news, my friend. Freddi has been missing for two weeks, and we have no idea what has become of him.” The poor father sat in the car with tears streaming down his cheeks while Lanny told about the last meeting with Freddi, the arrangements which had been made, and the dead silence which had fallen. Lanny couldn’t bear to look at him—and had a good excuse, having to drive through busy traffic.
He explained his decisions, and the heartbroken father replied: “You did what was best. I shall never be able to tell you how grateful I am.”
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