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musician, a devoted husband and father, and his wife and mother were in an agony of dread

about him.

"Ach, leider!" exclaimed the sports director, and added the formula which Lanny already knew

by heart, that unfortunate incidents were bound to happen in the course of any great social

overturn.

"For that reason," said Lanny, "each of us has to do what he can in the cases which come to

his knowledge. What I need now is some person in the party whom I can trust, and who will do

me the service to try to locate Freddi and tell me what he is accused of."

"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-Prasident Hermann Wilhelm Goring 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, Goring 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! Goring 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 Emporkommling, 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