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you from paying the money and then not getting your man."

XII

Lanny went back to his hotel and waited until early afternoon, on pins and needles. At last

came a telephone call; Jerry Pendleton was at the hotel in Munich to which Lanny had told him to

come. "Evervthing hunkydory, not a scratch."

Lanny said: "Be out on the street; I'll pick you up."

"Give me ten minutes to shave and change my shirt," countered the ex-lieutenant from

Kansas.

Delightful indeed to set eyes on somebody from home; somebody who could be trusted, and

who didn't say "Heil Hitler!" The ex-lieutenant was over forty, his red hair was losing its sheen

and he had put on some weight; but to Lanny he was still America, prompt, efficient, and full of

what it called "pep," "zip," and "ginger." A lady's man all his life, Lanny was still impressed by

the masculine type, with hair on its chest. Though he would have died before admitting it, he

was both lonely and scared in Naziland.

Driving in the traffic of the Ludwigstrasse, he couldn't look at his ex-tutor, but he said: "Gee

whiz, Jerry, you're a sight for sore eyes!"

"The same to you, kid!"

"You won't be so glad of my company when you hear what I'm in this town for."

"Why, what's the matter? I thought you were buying pictures."

"I am buying Freddi Robin out of the Dachau concentration camp."

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Jerry.

He's to be delivered to me at ten o'clock tonight, and you've got to help me smuggle him out

of this goddam Nazi country!"

27

A Deed of Dreadful Note

I

JERRY had known that Freddi Robin was a prisoner in Germany, but hadn't known where

or why or how. Now, in the car, safe from eavesdroppers, Lanny told the story and expounded

his plan. He was proposing to take his own photograph from his passport and substitute that of

Freddi Robin which he had brought with him. Then he would pick up Freddi in Dachau, drive to

some other part of the town and get Jerry, and let Jerry drive Freddi out of Germany under

the name of Lanning Prescott Budd. Such was the genial scheme.

"At first," Lanny explained, "I had the idea of fixing up your passport for Freddi to use, and I

would drive him out. But I realized, there's very little danger in the driving part—the passports

will be all right, and once you get clear of Dachau everything will be O.K. But the fellow

who's left behind without a passport may have a bit of trouble; so that's why I'm offering you

the driving part."

"But, my God!" cried the bewildered Kansan. "Just what do you expect to do about getting

out?"

"I'll go to the American consul and tell him my passport has been stolen. I have made

friends with him and he'll probably give me some sort of duplicate. If he won't, it'll be up to

me to find a way to sneak out by some of the mountain passes."

"But, Lanny, you're out of your mind! In the first place, the moment Freddi's escape is

discovered they'll know he's heading for the Austrian border, and they'll block the passes."

"It'll take you only an hour or two to get to the border from Dachau, and you'll be over and

gone. You're to drive my car, understand, not the camion."

"But there will be the record of the Lanny Budd passport and of mine at the border."

"What then? They'll draw the conclusion that you are the man who stole my passport. But it's

not an extraditable offense."

"They'll know it was a put-up job! You're the brother-in-law of Freddi's brother and you've

been trying to get him released. It'll be obvious that you gave me your papers."

"They won't have a particle of evidence to prove it."

"They'll sweat it out of you, Lanny. I tell you, it's a bum steer! I could never look your

mother or your father or your wife in the face if I let you put your foot into such a trap." As

ex-tutor, Jerry spoke for the family.

"But I have to get Freddi out of Germany!" insisted the ex-pupil. "I've been a year making up

my mind to that."

"All right, kid; but go back to your original idea. You steal my passport and drive Freddi out."

"And leave you in the hole?"

"That's not nearly so bad, because I'm not related to the prisoner and I'm not known. I'm a

fellow you hired to get your paintings, and you played a dirty trick on me and left me stuck. I

can put up a howl about it and stick to my story."

"They'd sweat you instead of me, Jerry."

So the two argued back and forth; an "Alphonse and Gaston" scene, but deadly serious.

Meanwhile the precious time was passing in which exit permits and visas had to be got. There

appeared to be a deadlock—until suddenly an inspiration came to the ex- tutor. "Let's both go

out with Freddi, and leave Cyprien to face the music. I'll steal his passport in earnest."

"That would be a rotten deal, Jerry."

"Not so bad as it seems. Cyprien's a French peasant, who obviously wouldn't have the brains

to think up anything. He'll be in a rage with us, and put on a fine act. I'll get him loaded up

with good Munich beer and he'll be smelling of it when the police come for him. When we get to

France you can telegraph some money to the French consul here and tell him to look after his

own. When Cyprien gets home with his truck you can give him a few thousand francs and he'll

think it was the great adventure of his life."

Lanny didn't like that plan, but his friend settled it with an argument which Lanny hadn't

thought of. "Believe me, Freddi Robin looks a lot more like the name Cyprien Santoze than like

the name Lanning Prescott Budd!" Then, seeing Lanny weakening: "Come on! Let's get going!"

II

Jerry took the truckman to get their exit permits and to have their passports "visaed" for

Switzerland—he thought it better not to trust themselves in Mussolini's land. Lanny went

separately and did the same, while Jerry treated Cyprien to a square meal, in eluding plenty

of good Munich beer. The Frenchman, who hadn't grown up as saintly as his mother had

named him, drank everything that was put before him, and then wanted to go out and inspect

the girls of thirteen years and up who were offering themselves in such numbers on the streets

of Munich. His escort said: "Those girls sometimes pick your pockets, so you'd better give me

your papers to keep." The other accepted this as a reasonable precaution.

Lanny drove his friend out to Dachau to study the lay of the land. He pointed out the spot

where the prisoner was to be delivered, and made certain that Jerry knew the street names

and landmarks. It was the Kansan's intention to "scout around," so he said; he would find a

place from which he could watch the spot and see that everything went off according to

schedule. Hugo would be doing the same thing, and Lanny wasn't at liberty to tell Jerry

about Hugo or Hugo about Jerry. It sufficed to warn his friend that there would be a Nazi officer

watching, and -Jerry said: "I'll watch him, too!"

One serious difficulty, so far as concerned the ex-tutor, and that was, he knew only a few

words of German. He said: "Tell me, how do you say: 'Hands up!'?"

Lanny answered: "What are you thinking about, idiot? Have you got a gun?"

"Who? Me? Who ever heard of me carrying a gun?" This from one who had been all through

the Meuse-Argonne in the autumn of 1918!

"You mustn't try any rough stuff, Jerry. Remember, murder is an extraditable offense."

"Sure, I know," responded the other. "They extradited a couple of million of us. You

remember, the A.E.F., the American Extraditable Force!" It was the old doughboy spirit.

Lanny knew that Jerry owned a Budd automatic, and it was likely he had brought it along

with him in the truck. But he wouldn't say any more about it; he just wanted to learn to say:

"Hande hoch!"

They studied the map. They would drive north out of Dachau, then make a circle and head

south, skirt the city of Munich and streak for the border. When they had got the maps fixed in

mind, they went over the streets of Dachau, noting the landmarks, so as to make no mistake in

the dark. All this done, they drove back to Munich and had a late supper in a quiet tavern, and

then Jerry went to his hotel. There were a few things he didn't want to leave behind, and one

or two letters he wanted to destroy. "I didn't know I was embarking upon a criminal career,"

he said, with a grin.

At the proper hour he met his pal on the street and was motored out to Dachau and dropped

there. It was dark by then, a lovely summer evening, and the people of this workingclass district

were sitting in front of their homes. Lanny said: "You'll have to keep moving so as not to

attract attention. See you later, old scout!" He spoke with assurance, but didn't feel it inside!

III

Back in Munich, the playboy drove past the spot where he was accustomed to meet Hugo, in

front of a tobacco shop on a well-frequented street. Darkness had fallen, but the street was

lighted. Lanny didn't see his friend, and knowing that he was ahead of time, drove slowly

around the block. When he turned the corner again, he saw his friend not far ahead of him,

walking toward the appointed spot.

There was a taxicab proceeding in the same direction, some thirty or forty feet behind

Hugo, going slowly and without lights. Lanny waited for it to pass on; but the driver

appeared to be looking for a street number. So Lanny went ahead of it and drew up by the

curb, where Hugo saw him and started to join him. Lanny leaned over to open the door on

the right side of the car; and at the same moment the taxicab stopped alongside Lanny's car.

Three men sprang out, wearing the black shirts and trousers and steel helmets of the

Schutzstaffel. One of them stood staring at Lanny, while the other two darted behind Lanny's

car and confronted the young sports director in the act of putting his hand on the car door.

"Are you Hugo Behr?" demanded one of the men.

"I am," was the reply.

Lanny turned to look at the questioner; but the man's next action was faster than any eye

could follow. He must have had a gun in his hand behind his back; he swung it up and fired

straight into the face in front of him, and not more than a foot away. Pieces of the blue eye

of Hugo Behr and a fine spray of his Aryan blood flew out, and some hit Lanny in the face.

The rest of Hugo Behr crumpled and dropped to the sidewalk; whereupon the man turned his

gun into the horrified face of the driver.

"Hande hoch!" he commanded; and that was certainly turning the tables upon Lanny. He

put them high.

"Wer sind Sie?" demanded the S.S. man.

It was a time for the quickest possible answers, and Lanny was fortunate in having thought up

the best possible. "I am an American art expert, and a friend of the Führer."

"Oh! So you're a friend of the Führer!"

"I have visited him several times. I spent a morning with him in the Braune Haus a few

months ago."

"How do you come to know Hugo Behr?"

"I was introduced to him in the home of Heinrich Jung, a high official of the Hitler Jugend

in Berlin. Heinrich is one of the Führer's oldest friends and visited him many times when'he

was in the Landsberg fortress. It was Heinrich who introduced me to the Führer." Lanny