VI
They had turned onto the Boulevard Haussmann, with much fast traffic, so there was nothing to do but follow; meanwhile Lanny had a chance to think, and get the aspects of this problem sorted out in his mind. Kurt in Paris, wearing civilian clothes! He couldn't be on any official mission, for there were no enemy missions in France; there had been a lot of talk about having the Central Powers represented at the Peace Conference, but the talk had died down. Nor could Kurt be here on private business, for no enemy aliens were being given passports into France. No, his presence could mean only that he was here on some secret errand, with a false passport. If he were detected, they would try him before a military court and stand him against a wall and shoot him.
Lanny's next thought was that he, a member of the Crillon staff, had no business getting mixed up in such a matter. He ought to tell his taxi driver that it was a mistake, and to turn back. But Lanny hadn't learned to think of himself as an official person, and the idea that he couldn't speak to Kurt just didn't make sense. Whatever his friend might be doing, he was a man of honor and wouldn't do anything to get Lanny into trouble.
Kurt's cab turned off the boulevard, into the Neuilly district. “I can drive up alongside him now,” said Lanny's driver; but Lanny said: “No, just follow him.” He would wait until Kurt got out, so that they could meet without witnesses.
Watching ahead, Lanny saw the passenger turn round; evidently he discovered that he was being followed, for his cab began turning corners rapidly, as no sane taxicab would have done. Lanny could imagine Kurt saying: “Ten francs extra if you shake off that fellow behind us.” Lanny said: “Ten francs extra if you don't let that fellow get away from us.”
So began a crazy chase in and about the environs of Paris. Lanny's driver had been a dispatch rider on the upper Meuse front, so he called back to his passenger; he looked like an apache, and behaved like one. They turned corners on two wheels, and Lanny leaned out of the window to balance the cab. They dashed through cross-wise traffic — and they held onto the other car. More than once Lanny saw the passenger in front turning round to look-always holding his gray fedora below the level of his eyes. Lanny took off his hat and waved it, to give his friend every opportunity to recognize him. But it had no effect.
However, Lanny's apache was better than the other one. Kurt's taxi stopped suddenly in front of a department store, and Lanny's came up with screeching brakes behind it. Kurt got out, paid his driver, and turned to go into the store; Lanny came running, having also paid quickly. He realized the need of caution, and didn't call out; he came up behind the other and whispered: “Kurt, it's me — Lanny.”
A strange thing happened. The other turned and gazed into Lanny's face, coldly, haughtily. “You are mistaken, sir.” Lanny had spoken in English, and the answer was given in French.
Of course it was Kurt Meissner; a Kurt with features more careworn, stern, and mature; his straw-colored hair, usually cut close, had grown longer; but it was Kurt's face, and the voice was Kurt's.
Lanny, having had time to think matters out, wasn't going to give up easily. He murmured: “I understand your position. You must know that I am your friend and you can trust me. I still feel as I have always done.”
The other kept up his cold stare. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said, in very good French. “It is a case of mistaken identity. I have never met you.”
He started away again; but Lanny walked with him. “All right,” he said, his voice low. “I understand what is the matter. But if you get into trouble and need help, remember that I'm at the Crillon.
But don't think that I've turned into an official person. I'm doing what I can to help make a decent peace, and you and I are not very far apart.”
One of the clerks of the store came forward with inquiry in his manner, and Kurt asked for some gloves. Lanny turned and started to leave. But then he thought: “Maybe Kurt will think it over and change his mind.” So he waited, just inside the door of the store. When the other had completed his purchase and was going out, sure enough, he said: “You may come with me, sir, if you wish.”
VII
The two of them went out to the street, and walked in silence for quite a while, Kurt looking behind them to make sure they were not being followed. Then they would take a glance at each other. More than four years had passed since their last meeting in London; they had been boys and now they were men. The German officer had lines in his long thin face; he walked as if he were bowed with care — but of course that might have been because he was trying not to look like a military man. It was plain that he was deeply moved.
“Lanny,” he exclaimed, suddenly, “may I have your word of honor not to mention this meeting to any person under any circumstances?”
“I have an idea of your position, Kurt. You can trust me.”
“It is not merely a matter of my own life. It might have extremely unpleasant consequences for you.”
“I am willing to take the risk. I am sure that you are not doing anything dishonorable.”
They walked on; and finally Kurt broke out: “Forgive me if I am not a friend at present. I am bound by circumstances about which I cannot say a word. My time is not my own — nor my life.”
“I promise not to misunderstand,” replied the other. “Let me tell you about my job, and perhaps you can judge about trusting me.” He spoke in English, thinking it would be less likely to be caught by any passer-by. He told how he had come to be at the Crillon, and gave a picture of the Peace Conference as it appeared to a translator-secretary.
Kurt couldn't bear to listen to it. He broke in. “Do you know what is being done to my people by the blockade? The food allowance is one-third of normal, and the child death-rate has doubled. Of course our enemies would like them all to die, so there wouldn't be any more of us in the world. But is that what President Wilson promised?”
Lanny replied: “There isn't a man I know in the American delegation who doesn't consider it a shame. They have protested again and again. Mr. Hoover is in Paris now, wringing his hands over the situation.”
“Wringing Mr. Hoover's hands won't feed the starving babies. Why doesn't President Wilson threaten to quit unless Clemenceau gives way?”
“He can't be sure what that would do. The others might go on and have their way just the same. It's hard to get a sane peace after a mad war.”
Said the captain of artillery: “Are you aware that our people still have some of their gold reserve? They don't ask anybody to give them food, they ask merely to be allowed to buy it with their own money. And there's plenty of food in America, is there not?”
“So much that we don't know what to do with it. The government has agreed to take it from the farmers at fixed prices, but now there's no market. There are millions of pounds of pork that is going to spoil if it isn't used.”
“But still our people can't spend their own money for it!”
“The French say they want that gold to restore their ruined cities with.”
“Don't you know that we have offered to come and rebuild the cities with our own hands?”