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Kommandant, and invited him to see the show, and after that to take a ride. When they were
well out in the country Lanny addressed him as follows:
"Herr Kommandant, one of the Jews whom you are providing with plenty of hard work
happens to be a sort of relative of mine. He is a harmless young fellow, and if I should take him
to my home in France he would be content to play the clarinet for the rest of his life and
never do any harm to your glorious movement. It happens that I have just sold some
paintings and have cash in a Munich bank. Suppose I were to pay you, say twenty-five thousand
marks, in any form and by any method you direct, and you in turn would find some way to let
me pick up that prisoner in my car and whisk him up into the mountains and across the
Austrian border-would that appeal to you as a good night's work?"
Lanny's fancy created several denouements for that story. He knew that the Nazi machine
was pretty well riddled with graft; Johannes Robin had told many tales of pure Aryan business
men who were getting what they wanted by such methods, old as the first despotism. On the
other hand, this particular toughie might be a sincere fanatic—it was impossible to tell them
apart. Lanny was sure that if Hugo Behr had been in charge of the camp, he would have taken
the money; on the other hand, Heinrich Jung would probably have reported him to the grim
Gestapo.
And what would happen then? They couldn't very well do worse than escort him to the
frontier, as Generalissimo Balbo's men had done in Rome nearly ten years ago. But here was the
thing to give Lanny pause: if the Kommandant was a really virtuous Nazi, he might go back to
his camp and make it impossible for Lanny to corrupt any weakling among his men, by the
simple method of taking Freddi Robin and beating him to death and cremating the body.
"I must think of something better," said the grown-up playboy.
BOOK SIX
Blood Hath Been Shed
25
Grasping at air
I
CHRISTMAS was coming; and Irma had been away from her darling for more than three
months. It was unthinkable to stay longer. What was Lanny accomplishing? What was he
hoping to accomplish? Göring was just playing with him. He was trying to get something out of
them, and for nothing. He was keeping them quiet, sealing their lips. Not that Irma minded so
very much having her husband's lips sealed. If only he wouldn't worry, and fill his mind with
horrors so that he started in his sleep!
The Detaze show was over, and a happy development had come. One of the great museums
in Dresden had asked to have the paintings for a while; they would treat them in a
distinguished way, putting them in a separate room. The art lovers of that Luxusstadt would
come and admire them, inquiries would be made, and it would be a good thing both from the
point of view of art and of money. Zoltan would be coming and going, and inquiring
purchasers could be referred to him. Much better than having the pictures stuck away in a
storeroom on a private estate!
Beauty and Parsifal were going to London, on account of the strangest development you
could imagine. Lady Caillard had sent a dear friend of hers all the way to Munich to persuade
the American couple to come again as her guests, on account of a presentiment which had
seized her; she was going very soon to rejoin her beloved "Vinnie" in the spirit world, and she
wanted Beauty's dear man of love to be in her home at that time to close her eyes and take
charge of her funeral which was to be like none other in modern times, a thing of joy and not of
mourning. The guests were to wear white, and there would be happy music and feasting, all
under the sign of "V.B.X"—Vinnie, Birdie, and a Kiss. "Perhaps she will send us some word about
Freddi," said Beauty; and then—a horrid thought: "Perhaps she will leave us some of her
money."
The museum in Dresden was attending to the pictures, so Jerry Pendleton was free. Irma and
Lanny took him with them through a pass in those snow-covered mountains which make for
Munich a setting like a drop curtain. They crossed the narrow belt which the Versailles Diktat
had left to Austria, and through the Brenner pass which had been included in Italy's share of
the loot. There Mussolini's Blackshirts were busily engaged in making Aryans into
Mediterraneans by the agency of rubber truncheons and dogwhips. It made bad blood between
Fascismo and its newborn offspring in the north. Dr. Goebbels's well-subsidized agitators were
working everywhere in Austria, and not a few of them were in Italian dungeons. Optimistic
young Pinks looked forward to seeing the Fascists and the Nazis devour each other like the two
Kilkenny cats.
Home sweet home seemed ever so humble when you had been dwelling and visiting in
palaces; but roses were in bloom beside its gates, and down the drive came racing a treasure
without price, a tiny creature in a little blue dress, with dark brown hair streaming and dark
brown eyes shining—she had been told two days ago that mother and father were on the way, and
had been prattling about them and asking questions ever since. She was more than halfway
through her fourth year, and it is astounding how fast they grow; you come back after three or
four months and a new being confronts you; you cannot restrain your cries of delight, and a
watchful expert has to check your ardors, lest you promote the evil quality of self-
consciousness. Irma Barnes, who had been brought up in a play-world herself, had a hard time
realizing that a child is more than a plaything for two delighted parents. Irma Barnes, who had
always had her own way, had to learn to submit to discipline in the name of that very dogmatic
new science of "child study."
Yes, indeed; for even a twenty-three-million-dollar baby has to learn to use her hands, and
how shall she learn if someone does everything for her and never lets her make any effort?
How will she learn discipline if she always has her own way, and if she gets the idea that she is
the center of attention, more important than any of those with whom she has to deal? The
severe Miss Severne persisted in the notion that her professional authority must be respected; and
likewise the conscientious Miss Addington, no longer needed as Marceline's governess, but
staying on as half-pensioner, half-friend of the family until she would take charge of Frances.
Those two Church-of-England ladies had been conspiring together, and enlisted Lanny's help
against a doting mother, two rival grandmothers, and a Provencal cook and major domo—to
say nothing of Santa Claus.
II
A merry Christmas, yet not too much so, for over the household hangs the shadow of sorrow;
nobody can forget those two bereaved Jewish women and the grief that is in their hearts.
Rahel and Mama try their best to restrain themselves, and not to inflict their suffering upon
their friends; but everybody knows what they are thinking about. Really, it would be less sad if
Freddi were dead and buried, for then at least they would be sure he wasn't suffering. But this
way the worst is possible, and it haunts them; they stay by themselves in the Lodge, their lost
one always in the back of their minds and most of the time in the front. They are touchingly
grateful for everything that has been done for them, but there is one thing more they have to
ask; their looks ask it even when their lips are silent. Oh, Lanny, oh, Irma, emit you think of
something to do for poor Freddi?
Hansi and Bess are in the Middle West, giving concerts several times every week. They have
cabled money after the first concert, so Mama and Rahel no longer have to use Irma's money
to buy their food. They have offered to rent a little place for themselves, but Beauty has said
No, why should they—it would be very unkind. Irma says the same; but in her heart she cannot
stifle the thought that she would like it better if they did. She feels a thunder-cloud hanging over
the place, and wants so much to get Lanny from under it. She is worried about what is going on
in his mind, and doesn't see why she should give up all social life because of a tragedy they are
powerless to avert. Irma wants to give parties, real parties, of the sort which make a social
impression; she will put up the money and Beauty and Feathers will do the work—both of
them happy to do so, because they believe in parties, because parties are what set you apart
from the common herd which cannot give them, at least not with elegance and chic.
Then, too, there is the question of two little tots. They are together nearly all the time, and
this cannot be prevented; they clamor for it, take it for granted, and the science of child study
is on their side. Impossible to bring up any child properly alone, because the child is a
gregarious creature; so the textbooks agree. If little Johannes were not available it would be
necessary to go out and get some fisherboy, Provencal, or Ligurian or what not. There isn't the
slightest fault that Irma can find with the tiny Robin; he is a dream of brunette loveliness, he
is gentle and sweet like his father, but he is a Jew, and Irma cannot be reconciled to the idea
that her darling Frances should be more interested in him than in any other human being, not
excepting herself. Of course, they are such tiny things, it seems absurd to worry; but the books
and the experts agree that this is the age when indelible impressions are made, and is it wise to
let an Aryan girl-child get fixed in her mind that the Semitic type is the most romantic, the most
fascinating in the world? Irma imagines some blind and tragic compulsion developing out of that,
later on in life.
Also, it means that the spirit of Freddi Robin possesses the whole of Bienvenu. The frail little
fellow looks like his father, acts like him, and keeps him in everybody's thoughts; even the
visitors, the guests. Everybody has heard rumors that Johannes Robin has been deprived of
his fortune by the Nazis, and that his grandchild is here, a refugee and pensioner; everybody is
interested in him, asks questions, and starts talking about the father—where is he, and what do
you think, and what are you doing about it? The fate of Freddi Robin overshadows even the
Barnes fortune, even the twenty-three-million-dollar baby! Bienvenu becomes as it were a
haunted house, a somber and serious place where people fall to talking about politics, and
where the frivolous ones do not feel at home. Irma Barnes certainly never meant to choose
that kind of atmosphere!
III
There wasn't anything definite the matter with Lady Caillard, so far as any doctor could
find out; but she had got her mind thoroughly made up that she was going to join her
"Vinnie" in the spirit world, and sure enough, in the month of January she "passed on." The
funeral was held, and then her will was read. She had left to her friend Mrs. Parsifal Dingle her
large clock with the gold and ivory bird that sang; a pleasant memento of "Birdie," and one about
which there would be no controversy. The medium to whom the Vickers stock had been
promised got nothing but a headache out of it, for the directors of the huge concern were
determined to protect Sir Vincent's son and daughter, and they worked some sort of hocus-
pocus with the stock; they "called" it, and since the estate didn't have the cash to put up, the
company took possession of the stock and ultimately the legitimate heirs got it. There was a lot
of fuss about it in the papers, and Lanny was glad his mother and his stepfather were not mixed
up in it.
With the proceeds of their dramatic success Nina and Rick had got a small car. Rick couldn't
drive, on account of his knee, but his wife drove, and now they brought the Dingles to the
Riviera, and stayed for a while as guests in the villa. Rick used Kurt's old studio to work on an
anti-Nazi play, based on the Brown Book, the stories Lanny had told him, and the literature
Kurt and Heinrich had been sending him through the years. It would be called a melodrama,
Rick said—because the average Englishman refused to believe that there could be such people
as the Nazis, or that such things could be happening in Europe in the beginning of the year
1934. Rick said furthermore that when the play was produced, Lanny would no longer be able
to pose as a fellow-traveler of the Hitlerites, for they would certainly find out where the play
had been written.
Lanny was glad to have this old friend near, the one person to whom he could talk out his
heart. Brooding over the problem of Freddi Robin day and night, Lanny had about made up
his mind to go to Berlin, ask for another interview with General Göring, and put his cards on the
table, saying: "Exzellenz, I have learned that my brother-in-law's brother is a prisoner in
Dachau, and I would like very much to take him out of Germany. I have about two hundred
thousand marks in a Berlin bank which I got from sales of my stepfather's paintings, and I have
an equal amount in a New York bank which I earned as commissions on old masters purchased
in your country. I would be glad to turn these sums over to you to use in your propaganda, in
return for the freedom of my friend."
Rick said: "But you can't do such a thing, Lanny! It would be monstrous."
"You mean he wouldn't take the money?"
"I haven't any doubt that he'd take it. But you'd be aiding the Nazi cause."
"I don't think he'd use the money for that. I'm just saying so to make it sound respectable.
He'd salt the New York funds away, and spend the German part on his latest girl friend."
"You say that to make it sound respectable to yourself," countered Rick. "You don't know
what he'd spend the money for, and you can't get away from the fact that you'd be
strengthening the Nazi propaganda. It's just as preposterous as your idea of giving Göring
information about British and French public men."
"I wouldn't give him any real information, Rick. I would only tell him things that are known
to our sort."
