"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 place from which he could watch the spot and see that everything went off according to schedule. Hugo would be doing the same thing, and Lanny wasn’t at liberty to tell Jerry about Hugo or Hugo about Jerry. It sufficed to warn his friend that there would be a Nazi officer watching, and -Jerry said: "I’ll watch him, too!"
One serious difficulty, so far as concerned the ex-tutor, and that was, he knew only a few words of German. He said: "Tell me, how do you say: Hands up!?"
Lanny answered: "What are you thinking about, idiot? Have you got a gun?"
"Who? Me? Who ever heard of me carrying a gun?" This from one who had been all through the Meuse-Argonne in the autumn of 1918!
"You mustn’t try any rough stuff, Jerry. Remember, murder is an extraditable offense."
"Sure, I know," responded the other. "They extradited a couple of million of us. You remember, the A.E.F., the American Extraditable Force!" It was the old doughboy spirit.
Lanny knew that Jerry owned a Budd automatic, and it was likely he had brought it along with him in the truck. But he wouldn’t say any more about it; he just wanted to learn to say: "Hande hoch!"
They studied the map. They would drive north out of Dachau, then make a circle and head south, skirt the city of Munich and streak for the border. When they had got the maps fixed in mind, they went over the streets of Dachau, noting the landmarks, so as to make no mistake in the dark. All this done, they drove back to Munich and had a late supper in a quiet tavern, and then Jerry went to his hotel. There were a few things he didn’t want to leave behind, and one or two letters he wanted to destroy. "I didn’t know I was embarking upon a criminal career," he said, with a grin.
At the proper hour he met his pal on the street and was motored out to Dachau and dropped there. It was dark by then, a lovely summer evening, and the people of this workingclass district were sitting in front of their homes. Lanny said: "You’ll have to keep moving so as not to attract attention. See you later, old scout!" He spoke with assurance, but didn’t feel it inside!
III
Back in Munich, the playboy drove past the spot where he was accustomed to meet Hugo, in front of a tobacco shop on a well-frequented street. Darkness had fallen, but the street was lighted. Lanny didn’t see his friend, and knowing that he was ahead of time, drove slowly around the block. When he turned the corner again, he saw his friend not far ahead of him, walking toward the appointed spot.
There was a taxicab proceeding in the same direction, some thirty or forty feet behind Hugo, going slowly and without lights. Lanny waited for it to pass on; but the driver appeared to be looking for a street number. So Lanny went ahead of it and drew up by the curb, where Hugo saw him and started to join him. Lanny leaned over to open the door on the right side of the car; and at the same moment the taxicab stopped alongside Lanny’s car. Three men sprang out, wearing the black shirts and trousers and steel helmets of the Schutzstaffel. One of them stood staring at Lanny, while the other two darted behind Lanny’s car and confronted the young sports director in the act of putting his hand on the car door.