To my disappointment, I did not see Madame Lea there. Well, no matter. We can round her up in due course. But let me go on with the story. Her living room, where I suppose she normally spins her web of falsehood and deceit, is quite large. The wages of sin may be death, but the wages of deceit, by all appearances, are very good. Twenty, perhaps even thirty, folding chairs of cheap manufacture-without a doubt produced in factories run by pestilential Jews, who care only for profit, not for quality-had been crammed into it for the evening's festivities. About half were taken when I came in.
And there, by the far wall, under a dingy print of a painting I suppose intended to be occult, stood Jacques Doriot. I recognized him immediately, from the photographs on file with theFeldgendarmerie. He is a Frenchman of the worst racial type, squat and swarthy, with thick spectacles perched on a pointed nose. His hair is crisp and curly and black, and shines with some strong-smelling grease I noticed from halfway across the room. I was right all along, you see. I had known it, and now I had proof. I wanted to shout for joy, but knew I had to keep silent.
Several men, some of whom I had seen at one pigeon-fanciers' club or another, went up to chat with him. I marked them in particular: they were likely to be the most dangerous customers in the room. Doriot took no special notice, though, of those who hung back, of whom I was one. Why should he have? Not everyone is a leader. Most men would sooner go behind, like so many sheep. It is true even among us Germans-how much more so amongst the mongrelized, degenerate French!
More would-be rebels and traitors continued to come in, until the place was full. We all squeezed together, tight as sardines in a tin. One of the local men did not sit down right away. He said, "Here is Comrade Jacques, who will speak of some ways to get our own back against theBoches."
"Thank you, my friend," Doriot said, and his voice startled me. By his looks, he seemed a typical French ball of suet, and I had expected nothing much from him as a speaker. But as soon as he went on, "We can lick these German bastards," I understood exactly why he has caused theKaiserreich so much trouble over the years. Not only are his tones deep and resonant, demanding and deserving of attention, but he has the common touch that distinguishes the politician from the theoretician.
No ivory-tower egghead he! He wasted no time on ideology. Every man has one, but how many care about it? It is like the spleen, necessary but undramatic. Theoreticians always fail to grasp this. Not Doriot! "We can make theBoche 's life hell," he said with a wicked grin, "and I'll show you just how to do it. Listen! Whenever you do something for those damned stiff-necked sons of bitches,do it wrong! If you drive a cab, let them off at the wrong address and drive away before they notice. If you wait tables, bring them something they didn't order, then be very sorry-and bring them something else they didn't ask for. If you work in a factory, let your machine get out of order and stand around like an idiot till it's fixed. If it's not working, what can you do? Not a thing, of course. If you're in a foundry… But you're all clever fellows. You get the picture, eh?"
He grinned again. So did the Frenchmen listening to him. They got the picture, all right. The picture was treason and rebellion, pure and simple. I had plenty to arrest him right there for spouting such tripe, and them for listening to it. But I waited. I wanted more.
And Doriot gave it to me. He went on, "The workers' revolution almost came off in Russia after the war, but the forces of reaction, the forces of oppression, were too strong.It can come here. With councils of workers and peasants in the saddle, I tell you France can be a great nation once more. Francewill be a great nation once more!
"And when she is"-theatrically, he lowered his voice-"when she is, I say, then we truly pay back theBoches. Then we don't have to play stupid games with them any more. Then we rebuild our army, we rebuild our navy, we send swarms of airplanes into the sky, and we put revolution on the march all through Europe!Vive la France!»
"Vive la France!" the audience cried.
"Vive la revolution!" Doriot shouted.
"Vive la revolution!" they echoed.
"Vive la drapeau rouge!" he yelled.
They called out for the red flag, too. They sprang to their feet. They beat their palms together. They were in a perfect frenzy of excitement. I also sprang to my feet. I also beat my palms together. I too was in a perfect frenzy of excitement. I drew forth my pistol and fired a shot into the ceiling.
Men to either side of me sprang aside. There was no one behind me. I had made sure of that. To make sure no one couldget behind me, I put my back against the wall, meanwhile pointing the pistol at Doriot. He has courage, I say so much for him. "Here, my friend, my comrade, what does this mean?" he asked me.
I clicked my heels. "This means you are under arrest. This means Iam the forces of reaction, the forces of oppression.A votre service, monsieur." I gave him a bow a Parisian headwaiter would have envied, but the pistol never wavered from his chest.
Indeed, Doriot has very considerable courage. I watched him thinking about whether to rush me, whether to order his fellow traitors to rush me. As I watched, I waited for the men of the LilleFeldgendarmerie post to break down the doors and storm in to seize those Frenchmen. My pistol shot should have brought them on the run. It should have, but where were they, the lazy swine?
So I wondered. And I could see Doriot nerving himself to order that charge. I gestured with the pistol, saying, "You think,monsieur, this is an ordinary Luger, and that, if you tell your men to rush me, I can shoot at the most eight-seven, now-and the rest will drag me down and slay me. I regret to inform you, that is a mistake. I have here a Luger Parabellum,Artilleriemodel 08. It has a thirty-two-round drum. I may not get all of you, but it will be more than seven, I promise. And I will enjoy every bit of it-I promise you that, too." I shifted the pistol's barrel, just by a hair. "So-who will be first?"
And, my sweet, do you want to hear the most delicious thing of all?I was lying! I held only an ordinary Luger. There is such a thing as theArtilleriemodel; it was developed after the war to give artillerymen a little extra firepower if by some mischance they should find they had to defend themselves at close quarters against infantry. I have seen the weapon. The drum below the butt is quite prominent-as it must be, to accommodate thirty-two rounds of pistol ammunition.
A close look-even a cursory look-would have shown the Frenchmen I was lying. But they stood frozen like mammoths in the ice of Russia, believing every word I said. Why? I will tell you why. The great masses of the people will more easily fall victim to a big lie than to a small one, that is why. And I told the biggest lie I could possibly tell just then.
Nevertheless, I was beginning to wonder if more lies-or more gunshots-would be necessary when at last I heard the so-welcome sound of doors crashing down at the front and rear of Madame Lea's establishment. In swarmed theFeldgendarmerie men! Now, now that I had done all the work, faced all the danger, they were as fierce as tigers. Their Alsatians bayed like the hounds of hell. They took the French criminals and plotters out into the night.