There was no longer any reason for anyone’s remaining in Calais, so Feathers went to buy tickets for Paris and arrange to have the mountain of luggage transported. Meanwhile Hansi and Bess and Lanny discussed the best way of getting Papa’s misfortune made known to the outside world. That would be an important means of help—perhaps the most important of all. Lanny’s first impulse was to call up the office of Le Populaire; but he checked himself, 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."