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 important 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.