Dragon's Teeth

by Sinclair, Upton;

  “Nein, nein! Um Himmel’s Willen!”

  “Then tell us who took that gold out!”

  “I have said a thousand times—if I knew, I would tell you. What more can I say? Have mercy on me! I am a helpless old man!”

  The leader raised his hand again, and the four rods whistled and fell as one. The man shuddered; each time the anguish shook him, he shrieked like a madman. He knew nothing about it, he would tell anything he knew, it had been done by somebody who had told him nothing. His tones grew more piercing; then gradually they began to die, they became a confused babble, the raving of a man in delirium. His words tripped over one another, his sobs choked his cries.

  Of the four beaters, the one who was working on the victim’s shoulders apparently held the post of honor, and it was his duty to keep count. Each time he struck he called aloud, and when he said “Zehn” they all stopped. Forty strokes had been ordered, and the leader signed to the civilian in spectacles, who proved to be a doctor; the high scientific function of this disciple of Hippocrates was to make sure how much the victim could stand. He put a stethoscope to the raw flesh of the old Jew’s back, and listened. Then he nodded and said: “Noch eins.”

  The leader was in the act of moving his finger to give the signal when there came an interruption to the proceedings; a voice speaking loud and clear: “You dirty dogs!” It rushed on: “Ihr dreckigen Schweinehunde, Ihr seid eine Schandfleck der Menschheit!”

  For a moment everybody in the room seemed to be paralyzed. It was utterly unprecedented, unprovided for in any military regulations. But not for long. The officer shouted: “’Rrraus mit ihm!” and the two statues besides Lanny came suddenly to life and led him away. But not until he had repeated loudly and clearly: “I say that you dishonor the form of men!”

  IX

  Back in his cell, Lanny thought: “Now I’ve cooked my goose!” He thought: “They’ll invent something special for me.” He discovered that his frenzy, his inspiration, whatever it was, had passed quickly; in darkness and silence he realized that he had done something very foolish, something that could do no good to the poor old banker and could do great harm to himself. But there was no undoing it, and no good lamenting, no good letting his bones turn to pulp again. He had to get back that mood of rage and determination, and learn to hold it, no matter what might come. It was a psychological exercise, a highly difficult one. Sometimes he thought he was succeeding, but then he would hear with his mind’s ears the whistle of those terrible steel rods, and he would find that a disgraceful trembling seized him.

  Waiting was the worst of all; he actually thought he would feel relief when his cell door was opened. But when he heard the steps coming, he found that he was frightened again, and had to start work all over. He must not let them think that they could cow an American. He clenched his hands tightly, set his teeth, and looked out into the corridor. There in the dim light was the S.S. man to whom he had been handcuffed for a whole night—and behind that man, looking over his shoulder, the deeply concerned face of Oberleutnant Furtwaengler!

  “Well, well, Herr Budd!” said the young staff officer. “What have they been doing to you?”

  Lanny had to change his mood with lightning speed. He was busily hating all the Nazis; but he didn’t hate this naïve and worshipful young social climber. “Herr Oberleutnant!” he exclaimed, with relief that was like a prayer.

  “Come out,” said the other, and looked his friend over as if to see if he showed any signs of damage. “What have they done to you?”

  “They have made me rather uncomfortable,” replied the prisoner, resuming the Anglo-Saxon manner.

  “It is most unfortunate!” exclaimed the officer. “Seine Exzellenz will be distressed.”

  “So was I,” admitted the prisoner.

  “Why did you not let us know?”

  “I did my best to let somebody know; but I was not successful.”

  “This is a disgraceful incident!” exclaimed the other, turning to the S.S. man. “Some one will be severely disciplined.”

  “Zu Befehl, Herr Oberleutnant!” replied the man. It conveyed the impression: “Tell me to shoot myself and I am ready.”

  “Really, Herr Budd, I don’t know how to apologize.”

  “Your presence is apology enough, Herr Oberleutnant. You are, as we say in America, a sight for sore eyes.”

  “I am sorry indeed if your eyes are sore,” declared the staff officer, gravely.

  It was like waking up suddenly from a nightmare, and discovering that all those dreadful things had never happened. Lanny followed his friend up the narrow stone stairway, and discovered that there were no more formalities required for his release than had been required for his arrest. Doubtless the officer’s uniform bore insignia which gave him authority. He said: “I assume responsibility for this gentleman,” and the S.S. man repeated: “At command, Herr Oberleutnant.”

  They went out to the official car which was waiting. Rain was falling, but never had a day seemed more lovely. Lanny had to shut his eyes from the light, but he managed to get inside unassisted. Sinking back in the soft seat he had to struggle to make up his mind which was real—these cushions or that dungeon! Surely both couldn’t exist in the same city, in the same world!

  29

  Too Deep for Tears

  I

  Lanny was living in a kaleidoscope; one of those tubes you look into and observe a pattern, and then you give it a slight jar, and the pattern is gone, and there is an utterly different one. He was prepared for anything, literally anything. But when he heard his friend give the order: “Seine Exzellenz’s residence,” he came to with a start, and became what he had been all his life, a member of the beau monde, to whom the proprieties were instinctive and inescapable. “Surely,” he protested, “you’re not taking me to Seine Exzellenz in this condition! Look at my clothes! And my beard!” Lanny ran his hand over it, wondering again if it was gray.

  “Where are your clothes, Herr Budd?”

  “When last heard from they were in a hotel in Munich.”

  “A most preposterous affair! I will telephone for them this morning.”

  “And my money?” added the other. “That was taken from me in Stadelheim. But if you will drive me to the Adlon, I am sure they will cash my check.”

  The orders were charged, and the young staff officer entered with amusement into the enterprise of making his friend presentable by the magic of modern hotel service. While the guest bathed himself, a valet whisked his clothes away to sponge and press them, and a bellboy sped to the nearest haberdashers for a shirt, tie, and handkerchief. A barber came and shaved him—and collected no gray hairs. In half an hour by the Oberleutnant’s watch—Lanny had none—he was again the picture of a young man of fashion, ready to meet all the world and his wife.

  It was truly comical, when they were motored to the official residence of the Minister-Präsident of Prussia and escorted up to his private apartments. This mighty personage had all the sartorial appurtenances of his office: blue trousers with a broad white stripe; a coat of lighter blue with a white belt and broad white sash from one shoulder crossing his chest; numerous gold cords and stars, epaulets and insignia of his rank—but it was a blazing hot day in mid-July, and all his honorificabilitudinitatibus had become intolerable to a fat man. He had it hung on a chair near-by, and was sitting at his desk in his shorts and that large amount of soft white skin with which nature had endowed him. Beads with perspiration stood out on the skin, and before Lanny’s mind flashed the vision of a Jewish banker. Impossible to keep from imagining this still larger mass of flesh and fat laid out on a blood-soaked and slimy bench, bottom up!

  II

  It was the General’s intention to take Lanny Budd’s misadventure as a comic opera divertissement in the midst of very grave business; and it was up to Lanny to be a good sport and do the same. “Ja aber, mein lieber Herr Budd!” cried Seine Exzellenz, and caught Lanny’s hand in a grip that showed he was by no means all fat “Wa
s ist Ihnen den passiert?”—he insisted upon hearing all about a playboy’s misadventures. “Were you afraid?” he wanted to know and Lanny said: “Wait until your turn comes, Exzellenz, and see if you’re not afraid.”

  That wasn’t so funny. The great man replied: “You had the misfortunate to get caught in the traffic at a very busy hour. We have some wild fellows in our party, and it was necessary to teach them a lesson. I think they have learned it thoroughly.”

  Lanny had done a bit of thinking while he was in the bathtub at the hotel. He would never trust any Nazi again. It seemed unlikely that the head of the Prussian state had no information as to what had been happening to one who claimed to be his friend; almost incredible that his efficient secret police had failed to send him any report during the past two weeks. A thousand times more likely that there had been some purpose in what had befallen an American visitor; also in this sudden change of front, this explosion of friendliness and familiarity. Last-minute rescues belong in melodramas, where they are no accidents, but have been carefully contrived. Lanny had begun to suspect this particularly hair-raising dénouement.

  The Minister-Präsident of Prussia didn’t keep him long in suspense. There was a large stack of papers on his desk and he was obviously a busy fat man. “Jawohl, Herr Budd!” he said. “You had the opportunity of studying our penal institutions at first hand; also our methods of dealing with Jew Schieber! You can testify that they are effective.”

  “I had no opportunity to observe the outcome, Exzellenz.”

  “I will see that you are informed about it, if you so desire. Do you have any idea who that Jew was?”

  “It so happens that I had met him in Berlin society.”

  “Indeed? Who was he?”

  “His name is Solomon Hellstein.”

  “Ach! Our weltberühmter Shylock! You will indeed have an interesting story to tell the outside world.”

  Lanny thought he saw a hint. “You will remember, Exzellenz, that you asked me to say nothing to the outside world about the case of Johannes Robin. Fourteen months have passed, and still I have not done so.”

  “I have made a note of the fact, Herr Budd, and appreciate your good judgment. But now there is a quite different set of circumstances. We have a saying in German: Es hängt ganz davon ab.”

  Lanny supplied the English: “It all depends.”

  “Also, Herr Budd! Would you be greatly embarrassed if I should suggest that you narrate the story of what you saw this morning?”

  “I should be somewhat puzzled, Exzellenz.”

  “It is a bright idea which occurs to me. Are you still interested in that Jude Itzig of yours?” This is a German name of jeering derived from the Hebrew word for Isaac, which is Yitzchock.

  “If you mean the son of Johannes Robin, I am still deeply interested, Exzellenz.”

  “I have recently learned that he is in the Lager at Dachau. Would you like to have him turned loose?”

  “Aber natürlich, Exzellenz.”

  “Na, also! I offer him to you in exchange for a small service which you may render me. Go to Paris and tell the members of the Hellstein family what you have seen happening to their Berlin representative. You know them, possibly?”

  “It happens that I know them rather well.”

  “I will explain to you: This Dreck-Jude has succeeded in shipping a fortune out of Germany, and we were not so fortunate as in the case of Robin, we do not know where the money is. The family is scattered all over Europe, as you know. We have no claim to their money, but we intend to have Solomon’s, every mark of it—if we have to flay him alive.”

  “You wish me to tell them that?”

  “They know it already. All you have to tell is what you saw with your own eyes. Make it as realistic as you know how.”

  “Am I to mention that you have asked me to tell them?”

  “If you do that, they may suspect your good faith. It will be better not to refer to me. Simply tell what happened to you and what you saw.”

  “And then, Exzellenz?”

  “Then I will release your pet Jew.”

  “How am I to let you know that I have done my part?”

  “I have my agents, and they will report to me. The story will be all over Paris in a few hours. It will be a good thing, because our rich Schieber have got the idea that we dare not touch them, and they think they can bleed Germany to death.”

  “I get your point, Exzellenz. How will I know where I am to get Freddi Robin?”

  “Leave your Paris address with Furtwaengler, and within a day or two after you have talked with the Hellsteins he will telephone you and arrange to ship your precious Itzig to the French border. Is that according to your wishes?”

  “Quite so, Exzellenz. I can see no reason why I shouldn’t comply with your request.”

  “Abgemacht! It is a deal. It has been a pleasure to meet you, Herr Budd; and if, after you think it over, you wish to do more business with me, come and see me at any time.”

  “Danke schön, Exzellenz. I will bear your suggestion in mind and perhaps avail myself of the opportunity.”

  “Dem mutigen ist das Glück hold!” The fat commander had risen from his chair to speed his parting guest, and now favored him with a staggering slap upon the back, and a burst of merriment which left the visitor uncertain whether he was being laughed with or at.

  III

  So Lanny went out from the presence of this half-naked freebooter, and was courteously driven back to his hotel by the young staff officer. Evidently Lanny’s papers had been brought along on the trip from Munich, for Furtwaengler put his passport and his six thousand marks into his hands; also an exit permit. He promised to have Lanny’s clothes and other belongings forwarded to Juan. The American didn’t lay any claim to the money which had been found on the body of Hugo Behr!

  His car had been delivered to the hotel, and the Oberleutnant assured him that it had been properly serviced and supplied with a tank full of petrol. They parted warm friends; and Lanny stayed in Berlin only long enough to pay his hotel bill and send telegrams to Rahel in Juan, to his father in Newcastle, to his mother and his wife in England: “Leaving for Crillon Paris hopeful of success notify friends all well.” He dared say no more, except to ask Irma to meet him in Paris. He knew that they must have been in an agony of dread about him, but he wouldn’t make any explanations until he was out of Germany and had got Freddi out. There would be a chance that an old-style Teutonic freebooter might get some additional information and change his mind. The Hellstein family in Paris might “come across,” or the Gestapo in Munich might unearth the story of the attempted jailbreak.

  Or had they already done so, and had the Minister-Präsident of Prussia tactfully refrained from mentioning the subject? No chance to fathom the mind of that master of intrigue, that wholesale killer of men! At some time in the course of the past two weeks of madness and murder he had found time to take note that he had an American playboy in his clutches, and to figure out a way to make use of him. Lanny shook with horror every time he recalled those minutes in the torture-chamber; nor was the experience a particle less dreadful because he now perceived that it had been a piece of stageplay, designed to get his help in extorting some millions of marks, possibly some scores of millions of marks, from a family of Jewish bankers.

  IV

  Lanny didn’t feel very much like driving, but he didn’t want to leave his car to the Nazis, so he stuck it out, and drove steadily, with a mind full of horrors, not much relieved by hope. The Nazi General, who had cheated him several times, might do it again; and anyhow, Lanny had come to a state of mind where he wasn’t satisfied to get one Jewish friend out of the clutches of the terror. He wanted to save all the Jews; he wanted to wake up Europe to the meaning of this moral insanity which had broken out in its midst. The gemütliche German Volk had fallen into the hands of gangsters, the most terrible in all history because they were armed with modern science. Lanny echoed the feelings of the “simple S.A. man” o
f whom Goebbels had told, who had wanted the walls of Röhm’s bedroom to fall down, so that the German people might see. Lanny wanted the walls of that torture chamber to fall down, so that all the world might see.

  He crossed the border into Belgium in the small hours of the morning and went to a hotel and had a sleep, full of tormenting dreams. But when he awakened and had some breakfast, he felt better, and went to the telephone. There was one person he simply couldn’t wait to hear from, and that was Jerry Pendleton in Cannes—if he was in Cannes. Lanny’s guess proved correct, and his friend’s voice was the most welcome of sounds.

  “I am in Belgium,” said the younger man. “I’m all right, and I just want a few questions answered—with no names.”

  “O.K.,” sang Jerry.

  “Did you see our friend that evening?”

  “I saw him brought out; but nobody came for him.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I suppose he was taken back; I had no way to make sure. There was nothing I could do about it. I was tempted to try, but I didn’t see how I could get away without a car.”

  “I was afraid you might have tried. It’s all right. I have a promise and have some hopes.”

  “I was worried to death about you. I went to the American authority and reported your absence. I went again and again, and I think he did everything he could, but he was put off with evasions.”

  “It was serious, but it’s all right now. What did you do then?”

  “I couldn’t think of anything to do for you, so I came out to report to the family. They told me to come home and wait for orders, and I did that. Gee, kid, but I’m glad to hear your voice! Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Not a scratch on me. I’m leaving for Paris.”