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in times such as these a foreign journalist might prove a powerful person, more so than an

industrialist or an heiress. Lanny saw himself in a campaign to arouse the civilized world on

behalf of a Jewish Scbieber and his family. His head was boiling with letters and telegrams,

manifestoes and appeals. Robbie would arouse the businessmen, Uncle Jesse the Communists,

Longuet and Blum the Socialists, Hansi and Bess the musical world, Zoltan the art lovers,

Parsifal the religious, Beauty and Emily and Sophie and Margy the fashionable, Rick the

English press, Corsatti the American—what a clamor there would be when they all got going!

Taking a leaf from his father's notebook, Lanny arranged a code so that he could

communicate with his mother confidentially. His letters and telegrams would be addressed to

Mrs. Dingle, that being an inconspicuous name. Papa Robin would be "money" and Mama

"corsets"—she wore them. Freddi would be "clarinet," and Rahel "mezzo." Lanny said it was to be

assumed that all letters and telegrams addressed to him might be read by the Nazis, and all

phone calls listened to; later he might arrange a secret way of communication, but nothing of the

sort could come to the Hotel Adlon. If he had any thing, private to impart, he would type it on

his little portable machine and mail it without signature in some out-of-the-way part of Berlin.

Beauty would open all mail that came addressed to Lanny, and forward nothing that was

compromising. All signed letters, both going and coming, would contain phrases expressing

admiration for the achievements of National Socialism.

"Don't be surprised if you hear that they have converted me," said the playboy turned serious.

"Don't go too far," warned his mother. "You could never fool Kurt, and he's bound to hear

about it."

"I can let him convert me, little by little."

Beauty shook her lovely blond head. She had done no little deceiving in her own time, and

had no faith in Lanny's ability along that line. "Kurt will know exactly what you're there for,"

she declared. "Your best chance is to put it to him frankly. You saved his life in Paris, and you

have a right to ask his help now."

"Kurt is a Nazi," said Lanny. "He will help no one but his party."

Irma listened to this conversation, and thought: "This can't be real; this is a melodrama!"

She was frightened, but at the same time began to experience strange thrills. She wondered:

"Could I pretend to be a Nazi? Could I fool them?" Her mind went on even bolder flights.

"Could I be a vamp, like those I've seen on the screen? How would I set about it? And what

would I find out?"

XI

They got the morning newspapers. Hard to imagine a millionaire's yacht and palace being

seized, and no word of it getting to the outside world; but the rules were being changed in

Naziland, and you didn't know what was possible until you saw it. They searched the French

papers and found much news from Germany, having to do with the Conference on Arms

Limitation at Geneva, and Germany's threats to withdraw from it. Hitler had unexpectedly

summoned the Reichstag to meet, and the correspondents assumed that it was to give him a

platform from which to address the world. All France was agog to know what he was going to

say, and apparently that left the papers no space for the troubles of a Jewish Schieber.

The next chance was the mail. A letter mailed in Bremerhaven or Berlin on the day before

yesterday might have arrived yesterday afternoon or it might not, but surely it would arrive

this morning. Hansi was waiting downstairs at the hotel office; he couldn't think about

anything else, not even Lanny's plans. He came rushing into the room, out of breath from

running and from anxiety. "A letter in Mama's handwriting!" He handed it to Lanny, to whom

it was addressed; his own sense of propriety had not permitted him to open it.

The letter had been scrawled in haste on a scrap of paper and mailed in a plain cheap

envelope. Lanny tore it open, and his eyes took it in at a glance. He hated to read such words

aloud, but there were five persons waiting in suspense. The letter was in German, and he

translated it:

"Oh, Lanny, the Nazis have seized the boat. They have arrested Papa. They would not tell us a

word what they will do. They will arrest us if we go near them, but they will not arrest you. We

are going to Berlin. We will try to stay there and wait for you. Come to the Adlon, and put it in

the papers, we will watch there. We are so frightened. Dear Lanny, do not fail poor Papa. What

will they do to him? I am alone. I made the children go. They must not find us all together.

God help us all. Mama."

So there it was! Those poor souls traveling separately, and doomed to spend their days and

nights in terror for themselves and grief for what might be happening to the father of the

family! Hansi broke down and cried like a child, and Beauty did the same. Bess sat twisting her

hands together. The others found it difficult to speak.

Somebody had to take command of that situation, and Lanny thought it was up to him. "At

least we know the worst," he said, "and we have something to act on. As soon as the car comes,

Irma and I will drive to Berlin, not stopping for anything."

"Don't you think you ought to fly?" broke in Bess.

"It will make only a few hours' difference, and we shall need the car; it's the right sort, and

will impress the Nazis. This job is not going to be one of a few hours, I'm afraid."

"But think what they may be doing to him, Lanny!"

"I've been thinking about it a lot, and I doubt if they'll do him serious harm. It must be

money they're after, and the job will be one of bargaining."

"He's a Jew, Lanny."

"I know; but he has a great many friends at home and abroad, and the Nazis know it, and I

don't believe they want any needless scandals. It's up to Irma and me to serve as mediators, as

friends to both sides; to meet the right people and find out what it's going to cost."

"You'll be exhausted when you arrive," objected Beauty, struggling with tears. She wanted

him to take the chauffeur.

"No," said Lanny. "We'll take turns sleeping on the back seat, and all we'll need when we get

there is a bath, a shave for me and some make-up for Irma. If we drive ourselves we can talk

freely, without fear of spies, and I wouldn't want to trust any servant, whether German or

French. That goes for all the time we're in Naziland."

XII

There was a phone call for Lanny: Jerry Pendleton calling from Paris, to report that a letter

from Germany had arrived. It bore no sender's name, but Jerry had guessed that it might have

some bearing on the situation. Lanny told him to open and read it. It proved to be an unsigned

letter from Freddi, who had reached Berlin. He wrote in English, telling the same news, but

adding that he and his wife were in hiding; they were not free to give the address, and were not

sure how long they could stay. If Lanny would come to the Adlon, they would hear of it and

arrange to meet him.

To Jerry, Lanny said: "My family is coming to Paris at once. Do what you can to help them.

I am telling them to trust you completely. You are to trust nobody but them."

"I get you."

"You are still Сontroleur-General, and your salary goes on. Whatever expenses you incur will

be refunded. Has the chauffeur left?"

"He left at four this morning. He thinks he can make it by ten."

"All right, thanks."

Lanny reported all this to the family, and his mother said: "You ought to get some sleep

before you start driving."

"I have too many things on my mind," he replied. "You go and sleep, Irma, and you can do

the first spell of driving."

Irma liked this new husband who seemed to know exactly what to do and spoke with so

much decisiveness. She had once had a father like that. Incidentally, she was extremely tired,

and glad to get away from demonstrative Jewish grief. Lanny said "Sleep," and she was a

healthy young animal, to whom it came easily. She had been half-hypnotized watching Parsifal

Dingle, who would sit for a long time in a chair with his eyes closed; if you didn't know him

well you would think he was asleep, but he was meditating. Was he asking God to save Johannes

Robin? Was he asking God to soften the hearts of the Nazis? God could do such things, no

doubt; but it was hard to think out the problem, because, why had God made the Nazis in the

beginning? If you said that the devil had made them, why had God made the devil?

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