who were trying to crush him. Unfortunately he was in the hands of the Gestapo, which kept
him apart from the regular run of inmates. A prison inside the prison, it appeared! The rumor
was that they had been trying to force Freddi to reveal the names of certain Social-Democrats
who were operating an illegal press in Berlin; but he insisted that he knew nothing about it.
"He wouldn't be apt to know," said Lanny. To himself he added: "Trudi Schultz!"
It had been his intention to make a casual remark to his friend: "Oh, by the way, I wonder if
you could find out if there's a man in Dachau by the name of Ludwig Schultz." But now he
realized that it was not so simple as he had thought. To tell Hugo that he was trying to help
another of the dreaded "Marxists" might sour him on the whole deal. And for Hugo to tell his
friends in the concentration camp might have the same effect upon them. Lanny could do
nothing for poor Trudi—at least not this trip.
X
He drove the car to Dachau, and they rolled about its streets, to decide upon a spot which
would be dark and quiet. They learned the exact description of this place, so that Hugo
could tell it to the men who were going to bring Freddi. Hugo said he had an appointment to
pay the money to a man in Munich at twenty o'clock, or 8:00 p.m. according to the American
way of stating it. Hugo was nervous about wandering around with such an unthinkable sum
in his pocket, so Lanny drove him up into the hills, where they looked at beautiful scenery. The
American quoted: "Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile." He didn't translate it for
his German friend.
Hugo had been talking to some of his party comrades in Munich, the birthplace of their
movement, and had picked up news which didn't get into the gleichgeschaltete Presse. There
was a terrible state of tension in the party; everybody appeared to be quarreling with everybody
else. Göring and Goebbels were at daggers drawn over the question of controlling policy—which,
Lanny understood, meant controlling Hitler's mind. Goebbels had announced a program of
compelling industry to share profits with the workers, and this, of course, was criminal to Göring
and his friends the industrialists. Just recently von Papen, still a Reichsminister, had made a
speech demanding freedom of the press to discuss all public questions, and Göring had
intervened and forbidden the publication of this speech. A day or two ago the man who was
said to have written the speech for the "gentleman jockey" had been arrested in Munich, and
the town was buzzing with gossip about the quarrel. It was rumored that a hundred and fifty of
Goebbels's personal guards had mutinied and been sent to a concentration camp. All sorts of
wild tales like this, and who knew what to believe?
They had come to the Tegernsee, a lovely mountain lake, and there was a road-sign, reading:
"Bad Wiessee, 7 km." Hugo said: "The papers report that Röhm is having his vacation there. I
hear he's had several conferences with the Führer in the past week or two, and they've had
terrible rows."
"What's the trouble between them?" inquired the gossip-hungry visitor.
"The same old story. Röhm and his friends want the original party program carried out.
Now, of course, he's wild over the idea of having his Stormtroopers disbanded."
Lanny could credit the latter motive, if not the former. He had heard the red-headed Chief of
Staff speak at one of the Nazi Versammlungen, and had got the impression of an exceedingly
tough military adventurer, untroubled by social ideals. Perhaps that was due in part to his
battle-scars, the upper part of his nose having been shot away! Röhm wanted the powers of his
Brownshirts increased, and naturally would fight desperately against having them wiped out.
Seven kilometers was nothing, so Lanny turned his car in the direction indicated by the sign.
A lovely little village with tree-shaded streets, and cottages on the lakefront. In front of one
of the largest, and also of the Gasthaus Heinzlbauer, were parked a great many fancy cars.
Hugo said: "They must be having a conference. Only our leaders can afford cars like those." The
note of bitterness indicated that he didn't trust his new Führer much more than his old.
"Do you know him?" asked Lanny.
"I know one of the staff members in Berlin, and he has told the Chief that I am working on
his behalf."
"Would you like to go in and meet him?"
"Do you know him?" countered Hugo, startled.
"No; but I thought he might be interested to meet an American art expert."
"Aber, Lanny!" exclaimed the young sports director, whose sense of humor was not his
strongest suit. "I really don't think he has much time to think about art right now!"
"He might take a fancy to a magnificent young athlete like yourself, Hugo."
" Gott behüte.'" was the reply.
It seemed almost blasphemy to talk about this subject while under the shadow of Röhm and
his entourage; but when the American put the question point blank, Hugo admitted that he
had heard about the habits of the Sturmabteilung Chief of Staff. Everybody in Germany knew
about them, for Hauptmann Röhm, while acting as a military instructor in Bolivia, had written
a series of letters home admitting his abnormal tastes, and these letters had been published in
the German press. Now, said Hugo, his enemies gave that as the reason for not taking him and
his staff into the regular army. "As if the Reichswehr officers were lily-white saints!" exclaimed
the S.A. man.
XI
Back in the city, Lanny took a long walk in the Englischer Garten, going over his plans and
trying to make all possible mistakes in advance. Then he went back and read the co-ordinated
newspapers, and picked up hints of the struggle going on—you could find them if you were an
insider. It looked very much as if the N.S.D.A.P. was going to split itself to pieces. Lanny was
tempted by the idea that if he waited a few days, Freddi Robin might come out from Dachau
with a brass band leading the way!
At the appointed hour Jerry Pendleton called; he was rolling on, and all was well. It was slow
on the mountain roads, but he thought he could make it by noon the next day. "What is the
deadline?" he asked, and Lanny replied: "Two o'clock." Jerry sang: "O.K." and Lanny lay
down and tried to sleep, but found it difficult, because he kept imagining himself in the hands
of the Gestapo, who had prisons inside of prisons. What would he say? And more im portant
yet, what would they do?
Next morning the conspirator received a telephone call from "Herr Boecklin," and drove to
meet his friend and receive some bad news; one of the men concerned was demanding more
money, because the thing was so very dangerous. Lanny asked how much, and the answer was,
another five thousand marks. Lanny said all right, he would get it at once; but Hugo wanted to
change the arrangement. He hadn't paid out the money, and wanted to refuse to pay more
than half until the prisoner was actually delivered. His idea now was to drive to Dachau with
Lanny at the appointed time, and to keep watch near by. If Freddi was produced and everything
seemed all right, he would emerge and pay the rest of the money.
Lanny said: "That's a lot more dangerous for you, Hugo." "Not so very," was the reply. "I'm
sure it's not a trap; but if it were, they could get me anyhow. What I want to do is to keep
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
