Пользователь - o 3b3e7475144cf77c

realizing that if he was going to turn into a Nazi sympathizer, he oughtn't to be furnishing

explosive news items to a Socialist paper. Besides, this was not a Socialist or Communist story; it

had to do with a leading financier and belonged in the bourgeois press; it ought to come from

the victim's son, a distinguished person in his own right. Hansi and his wife should go to the

Hotel Crillon, and there summon the newspaper men, both French and foreign, and tell them

the news, and appeal for world sympathy. Lanny had met several of the American

correspondents in Paris, and now he gave Hansi their names.

"The Nazis lie freely," said the budding intriguer, "and they compel you to do the same. Don't

mention the rest of your family, and if the reporters ask, say that you have not heard from

them and have no idea where they are. Say that you got your information by telephoning to the

yacht and to the palace. Put the burden of responsibility off on Reichsbetriebszellenabteilung

Gruppenführerllvertreter Pressmann, and let his Hauptgruppenführer take him down into the

cellar and shoot him for it. Don't ever drop a hint that you are getting information from your

family, or from Irma or me. Make that clear to Jerry also. We must learn to watch our step

from this moment on, because the Nazis want one thing and we want another, and if they win,

we lose!"

17

Will You Walk into My Parlor?

I

Mr. and Mrs. Lanning Prescott Budd of Juan-les-Pins, France, registered themselves at the

Hotel Adlon, on Unter den Linden. That is where the rich Americans stop, and this richest of

young couples were installed in a suite appropriate to their state. Every luxury was put at their

command. Attendants took their car and serviced it promptly and faithfully; a maid and a valet

came to unpack their things and to carry off their clothes and press them; a bellboy brought

iced drinks and copies of various morning newspapers. Lanny sat down at once and made certain

that these contained no mention of a confiscated palace and yacht. There might be ever so

much clamor in the outside world, but the German people would know only what their new

masters considered proper for them. It was the seventeenth of May, and the headlines were

devoted to the speech which the Führer was to deliver to the Reichstag at three o'clock that

afternoon, dealing with the Geneva Conference on Arms Limitation and the attitude of the

German government to its proposals.

The telephone rang: a reporter requesting the honor of an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Budd.

Lanny had wondered how it was going to be in this new world. Would money still make one a

personage? Apparently it would. Tourist traffic, so vital to the German economy, had fallen off to

a mere trickle as a result of the Jew-baiting, and the insulting of foreigners who had failed to

give the Nazi salute on the proper occasions. The papers must make the most of what few

visitors came to them.

Every large newspaper has a "morgue," in Germany called the Archiv, from which one can

ascertain without delay what has been published concerning any person. The reporter who

receives an assignment of consequence consults this file before he sets out. So here was a

smart young representative of the recently "co-ordinated" Zeitung am Mittag, fully informed

as to the new arrivals, and asking the customary questions, beginning with: "What do you

think of our country?"

Lanny said that they had motored to Berlin in twenty-four hours, so their impressions were

fleeting. They had been struck by the order and neatness they had seen along the way. They

were non-political persons, and had no opinions concerning National Socialism, but they were

open-minded, and glad to be shown. Lanny winced as he spoke, thinking of his Socialist

friends who would read this. When the reporter asked if the outside world believed the stories

of atrocities and persecutions in Germany, Lanny said he supposed that some did and some did

not, according to their predilections— ihre Gesinnung, he said. He and his wife had come to

renew old friendships, and also to make purchases of old masters for American collectors.

All this would put him right with the Nazi world, and enable him to stay without exciting

suspicion. Nothing was said about a Jewish brother-in-law or the brother-in-law's Schieber

father, either by this reporter or by others who followed. They were made welcome and treated

to cigars and drinks by two friendly and informal darlings of fortune. Delightful people, the

Americans, and the Germans admired them greatly, went to see their movies, adopted their slang,

their sports, their drinks, their gadgets and fashions.

II

It was Lanny's immediate duty to report himself to the Polizeiwache. He submitted the

passports of himself and wife, and stated his business as art expert and his race as Aryan.

Then he went back to the hotel, where he found a telegram from his mother in Paris: "Robbie

reports grandfather died last night impossible Robbie come now he is cabling embassy

concerning you advises you report there immediately."

So the old Puritan armorer was gone! Lanny had thought of him for so long as going that the

news brought no shock. He had to keep his mind on his Berlin job, and without delay he wrote

notes to Seine Hochgeboren the General Graf Stubendorf, to Oberst Emil Meissner, and to

Heinrich Jung. Irma, at his suggestion, wrote to several of the ladies of prominence whom she

had met. No Jews, no Schieberfrauen, but the socially untainted!

By that time the afternoon papers were on the street, making known Lanny's arrival, and he

had reason to expect a telephone call. It came, and he heard a voice saying: "I understand that

you are interested in the paintings of Alexander Jacovleff." Lanny replied without hesitation

that he was greatly interested, and the voice informed him: "There is some of his work at the

Dubasset Galleries which you should see."

"Very well," said Lanny. "Should I come at once?"

"If you please."

He had agreed with Irma that hotel rooms might have ears; so all he said to her was: "Come."

She looked at him, and he nodded. Without another word she got up and slipped on a freshly

pressed spring costume. Lanny ordered his car, and in a short time they were safe from prying

ears. "Yes, it's Freddi," he said.

The art dealer's place was on Friedrichstrasse, only a short way from the Adlon. Lanny drove

slowly by, and there was a tall, dark young Jew strolling. The Mercedes slowed up at the curb

and he stepped in; they went on down the street, and around several corners, until they were

certain that no car was following.

"Oh, I am so glad to see you!" Freddi's voice broke and he buried his face in his hands and

began to weep. "Oh, thank you, Lanny! Thank you, Irma!" He knew he oughtn't to behave like

that, but evidently he had been under a heartbreaking strain.

"Forget it, kid," said the "Aryan." He had to drive, and keep watch in the mirror of the car.

"Tell us—have you heard from Papa?"

"Not a word."

"Has anything been published?"

"Nothing."

"You have no idea where he's been taken?"

"No idea. We dare not go to the authorities, you know."

"Are Mama and Rahel and the baby all right?"

"They were when I left them."

"You're not staying together?"

"We're afraid of attracting attention. Mama is staying with one of our old servants.

Rahel and the baby with her father's family."

"And you?"

"I slept in the Tiergarten last night."

"Oh, Freddi!" It was Irma's cry of dismay.

"It was all right—not cold."

"You don't know anyone who would shelter you?"

"Plenty of people—but I might get them into trouble as well as myself. The fact that a

Jew appears in a new place may suggest that he's wanted—and you can't imagine the

way it is, there are spies everywhere—servants, house-wardens, all sorts of people seeking

to curry favor with the Nazis. I couldn't afford to let them catch me before I had a

talk with you."

"Nor afterward," said Lanny. "We're going to get all of you out of the country. It might

be wiser for you and the others to go at once—because it's plain that you can't do

anything to help Papa."

"We couldn't go even if we were willing," replied the unhappy young man. "Papa had

our exit permits, and now the Nazis have them."

He told briefly what had happened. The family with several servants had gone to

Bremerhaven by the night train and to the yacht by taxis. Just as they reached the

dock a group of Brownshirts stopped them and told Papa that he was under arrest. Papa

asked, very politely, if he might know why, and the leader of the troop spat directly in

his face and called him a Jew-pig. They pushed him into a car and took him away,

leaving the others standing aghast. They didn't dare go on board the yacht, but

wandered along the docks, carrying their bags. They talked it over and decided that

they could do no good to Papa by getting themselves arrested. Both Freddi and Rahel

were liable to be sent to concentration camps on account of their Socialist activities; so they

decided to travel separately to Berlin and stay in hiding until they could get word to their

friends.

III

Freddi said: "I had only a little money when I was going on board the yacht, and I had to pay

my fare back here."

Lanny took out his billfold and wanted to give him a large sum, but he said no, it might be

stolen, or, if he was arrested, the Nazis would get it; better a little bit at a time. He started to

say that Papa would make it all good, but Lanny told him not to be silly; whatever he needed

was his.

"Where are you going to stay?" asked Irma, and he said he would join the crowd in die

Palme, a refuge for the shelterless; it would be pretty bad, but it wouldn't hurt him, and no

one would pay any attention to him there, no one would call him a Jew-pig. He hoped the wait

wouldn't be too long.

Lanny had to tell him it might be quite a while. His activities would be in the higher circles,

and things did not move rapidly there; you had to apply the social arts. Freddi said: "I hope

poor Papa can stand it."

"He will be sure that we are doing our best," replied Lanny; "so at least he will have hope."

The American didn't go into detail concerning his plans, because he feared that Freddi might

be tempted to impart some of it to his wife or his mother; then, too, there was the fearful

possibility that the Nazis might drag something out of him by torture—and he surely wouldn't

tell what he didn't know. Lanny said: "You can always write or call me at the hotel and make an

appointment to show me some art."

They contrived a private code. Pictures by Bouguereau would mean that everything was all

right, whereas Goya would mean danger. Lanny said: "Think of something to say about a

painting that will convey whatever you have in mind." He didn't ask the addresses of the other

members of the family, knowing that in case of need they, too, could write him or phone him

about paintings. Freddi advised that they should meet as seldom as possible, because an

expensive automobile driven by foreigners was a conspicuous object, and persons who got into it