No need for beating about the bush in a time like this. Lanny said, “No names, please. I’m in trouble and I have to go into hiding.”
“The devil!” exclaimed the oil man. “Can I help you?”
“I wouldn’t let you. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“You let me help Vetterl.”
“That was because I was there to take the rap if necessary. This time I’m on my own. What I want you to do is to take out an important message.”
“All right, of course.”
“It has to do with the V-2 that I asked you about. I got some facts from a top person.”
“You have it in writing?”
“I learned it by heart, and you will have to do the same. We’ll go over it again and again until you can recite it.”
“I’ll do my best. Shoot.”
The P.A. began: “This thing is a true rocket, liquid-fueled, about fifteen meters long and two meters in diameter, with an almost needle-pointed nose. It has four fins, sweeping back and serving as control surfaces. It has a jet engine which pours a tremendous stream of gases from its tail. One of its most important features is an extremely powerful pump which sprays the fuel into the combustion chamber. The engine burns for a little more than one minute, and in that time it consumes close to five tons of alcohol and more than five tons of liquid oxygen. That gives it an altitude of about twenty miles, and after that it flies of its own momentum. Its speed will be about one mile per second and its range is estimated at two hundred miles. It carries a load of a ton and a half of explosives. All this presents an enormous complexity of problems, literally hundreds of them, and as many different kinds of scientists have been working on them for more than ten years. They believe they have all the problems solved, and the thing is in production; quantities are expected to be flying by next spring. They cost about a hundred thousand marks apiece.”
Lanny said this straight through, and ended, “Now see how much you can tell me.”
Erickson was a businessman, accustomed to putting his mind on what concerned him. He recited the lesson, about as well as Lanny had done when Schilling had given it to him. Lanny corrected the errors and filled in the gaps, until, after half an hour or so, his friend had it perfect. “You’ll realize how important this is,” the P.A. cautioned. “I have made a rule to say it over night and morning to myself.”
“Don’t worry,” said the other. “I have it and I’ll be sure to keep it.”
“And you know what to do with it?”
“Don’t doubt that for a moment.”
“All right, then; that’s all.”
“Old man, I hate like hell to leave you alone.”
“What I’d hate like hell is to have this message delayed; that’s why I don’t mean to involve you. Get out as quickly as you can, because the Gestapo may be getting ready to question you about me.”
Erickson said, “I’ll take the first plane. You know someplace to hide?”
“I think I do. I can put my mind on it, now that I’ve got the message off. Good luck to you.” They exchanged a warm handclasp, and Lanny turned and went off into the darkness.
XI
His course was northward, toward Moabit. Here, likewise, he knew the way; before the war he had been coming here off and on for more than a decade. There had been a workers’ school here, and Trudi Schultz and her husband had taught art in it. When the Nazis had come into power they had killed the husband, but Trudi had gone on with her anti-Nazi propaganda and Lanny had secretly helped her. It was his hope now to find one or more of her comrades and persuade them to help him.
It was a dangerous place for a well-dressed stranger, and not only on account of the Gestapo. Robberies were common in these blacked-out streets, far more common than the newspapers let the public know. The robbers would sneak up behind you and hit you over the head with a blackjack or a piece of pipe. Also, there was bitterness against foreigners, and many had been beaten up without having given any provocation. Naziland was a far different place from Deutschland of the Kaiserzeit. Lanny walked softly, and with all his senses alert; no doubt he gave as many scares as he got. When he saw flashlights ahead he knew it was a Razzia, a raid to sweep up men for the Army. He backtracked a block and went around several blocks.
He had a name and address firmly fixed in memory. It was a street of tenements, homes of the poor, but he knew that in daylight he would have seen flowerboxes in most of the windows. He had no trouble in finding the street, but the number was another matter; matches were difficult to get, and he wouldn’t have dared to strike one anyhow. He made a guess and tapped on the door of a little shop. Many shopkeepers lived behind their places of business, and this one wouldn’t open, but called from inside, “Three houses to the right.”
Again it was a problem. There was a row of bells, and no doubt with names, but Lanny couldn’t see them. Fortunately a man came out, and Lanny put on his best imitation of a guttural voice: “Bitte, wohnt hier ein Herr Seidl!” The answer was: “Im dritten Stock, links, rück-warts.” Lanny groped his way up in darkness, for gaslight was strictly rationed, and was expensive besides. When he came to the right door he tapped softly, and when he heard a voice from inside, “Wer ist da?” he answered, “Ist Herr Seidl zuhause? Johann Seidl?” The voice asked, “Wer sind Sie?” and he said, “Ein Freund.” Everybody in Germany was afraid, and doors were not readily opened at night.
This one came open a small crack, and in the dim light Lanny saw the outline of a head. He asked, “Johann Seidl?” And then, “I have a watch to be repaired.” The man answered, “I do not do that sort of work. I work in a factory.” Lanny whispered, “Partei Genosse.”
The word Genosse is the word used by German Socialists, meaning “comrade.” The Nazis, who posed as being Socialists, favored the phrase “Partei Genosse.” But it was possible for a Social Democrat to use that phrase, and an old workingman wouldn’t be sure which the visitor meant. But he would surely know that it wasn’t a matter to be discussed in a public hallway; he opened the door and Lanny came in.
XII
As in most workers’ homes, there was one room, serving as kitchen and dining-room; a gas stove against the wall, and a table, covered with an oilcloth, in the center. The light was a single gas jet by the wall. By that light Lanny saw an elderly German workingman, frail, with bowed shoulders, wearing an undershirt and patched trousers, a straggly gray mustache and old-fashioned spectacles with metal rims. The man saw a gentleman wearing a well-tailored suit and a closely trimmed mustache. He could hardly have been used to that sort of caller.
He said, “Bitte, kommen Sie,” and led the way into a tiny bedroom, without a light. He signed Lanny to sit on the bed—there appeared to be no chair. He shut the door, which left them in darkness; then he came and sat by the visitor, close enough to touch him. “Bitte, sprechen Sie leise,” he said. Speak softly!
Lanny whispered, “I am told that you are a block warden for the National Socialist party.”
“Nein,” was the quick reply. “I used to be but I could not do the work. My health is failing.”
“But you still belong to the party?”
“Ja, natürlich.”
“You used to belong to a different party, nicht wahr?”
“Ja, but that was a long time ago.”
“I remind you of that time, Genosse. I used to be the husband of Trudi Schultz.”
Lanny could feel the old man start; it took him a moment or two to catch his breath. Then he whispered, “How could that be?”
“It is a long story. The Nazis got her husband and killed him. Trudi went on with the party work, as you know. She worked in a tailor shop, but did no tailoring. When she carried bundles out, it was literature. You know, perhaps, that she got money from outside.”
“Ja.”
“She said it was from a relative, but I was the one who gave it to her. You heard later, perhaps, that she had fled to Paris? I was the one who helped her to get out of Germany when she learne
d that the Gestapo was on her trail. I had a wife at that time, but she divorced me, and I married Trudi in England. She went back to her anti-Nazi work in Paris.”
“I never knew what had happened to her.”
“The Nazis kidnapped her in Paris. I tried my best to save her, but I learned that she had died in Dachau. She was a noble woman, and might have become a great artist; she had the talent. I was able to get some of her drawings published in Le Populaire, which at that time belonged to the Socialist party of France. I am by profession an art expert, so I know about such matters.”
“You are not a German, mein Herr?”
“I am an American. I have sworn vengeance against the murderers of my wife.”
“How can it be possible for you to be in Germany now?”
“I have done the same thing that you have done—pretended to go over to the enemy. I have been getting information for my government; but today I learned that I have fallen under suspicion, and that the Gestapo is looking for me. I have come to my old comrades for help.”
“This is a strange tale, mein Herr. It is a hard thing to ask of an old workingman who is himself under suspicion. I have a grandson who lives with me here, and he belongs to the enemy in his mind. I tried to teach him my principles, but I failed.”
“That is a story which I have heard many times. I know what I am asking of you, and I don’t blame you for hesitating. You will wish proof, and what can I give you? I could describe Trudi to you, but you would realize that if I were an agent of the enemy I could have studied her picture and her work. Do you remember Bernhardt Monck?”
“I remember him well.”
“It was Monck who gave me your address. I have not the right to tell you where he is or what he is doing, except that he is working for the cause. He said, ‘Tell him that you were Trudi’s husband and that will be enough. He knew her well and may have some of her drawings.’ I don’t ask if you have them, because that might be dangerous. Tell me if you remember Hansi Robin.”
“The violinist? Very well indeed. He played at many party meetings.”
“Hansi is married to my half-sister Bess. I have known him and his brother Freddi since they were boys. Johannes Robin, the father, was my father’s business associate; they made a lot of money buying war goods and reselling them—that was after the First World War. Johannes became a Schieber and made a fortune speculating in German marks, but the Nazis took it all away from him. Freddi had persuaded his father to give him money for a labor school here in Berlin. Trudi taught art in that school, and that was where I met her and her husband, Ludwig. Trudi and Ludi—we used to think that was a funny pair of names; it sounded like a vaudeville team. All three of these persons, Trudi, Ludi, and Freddi, were destined to be murdered by the Nazi gangsters.”
“I met Freddi, but I never heard what had become of him.”
“He was tortured in Dachau, and when they turned him loose he was a broken man. I took him to my mother’s home on the French Riviera, and we tried to save him, but it could not be done. Those are my reasons for hating the Nazis, and for appealing to an old comrade for help.”
“You shall have it,” said the watchmaker. He got up, opened the door, and put on his well-worn coat and cap. “I cannot hide you here,” he said. “But I will find you a place.”
XIII
They groped their way down the stairs and out into the street, somewhat less dark because there was a moon behind the clouds. The German led the way, and Lanny followed, close enough not to lose touch. No one saw them; night is a blessing to all conspirators, and a handicap to all in authority. They turned a corner and went a couple of blocks, then the old man turned into an alleyway, and stopped and waited for the other to join him. He was standing in front of a door, on which he knocked, three times, and after a pause, three more. Lanny heard the door opened, but could see nothing; under the strict blackout regulations no door might be opened when there was a light behind it. Seidl spoke low: “Ein Genosse der auswärts schläft”—a comrade who is sleeping out.
Lanny was led through a dark room. An inner door was opened, and there was a dim light by which he could see what was apparently a large workroom. He smelled leather, and later, when he thought it over, he guessed that it would be some work for the government, since it was hardly possible that anyone could get leather for private contracts at this time. His escort was a tall lean woman with gray hair and a drawn face, which gave her a severe expression. “Genossin Anna,” said Seidl. “Genosse Dreissig.” Lanny didn’t know whether “Comrade Thirty” meant that he was the thirtieth man to be “sleeping out” in this place, or whether Seidl had just chosen the first name that came into his head; Lanny had not given any name.
“Willkommen,” said the woman, and she led the way to another door, which led by wooden stairs to a cellar. They went down, the woman leading the way with a candle in her hand. Matches were hard to get, and she lighted the candle from the gas jet. A glance told Lanny that the cellar was full of packing boxes, mostly stacked against the walls. There were several in the open space at the foot of the stairs, and the woman set the candlestick on one of these, and went up the stairs without a word, closing the door behind her. Evidently this was a place where one asked no questions.
The old worker signed Lanny to a seat on one of the boxes, and he took another. “Your hiding place here,” he warned, “is not much better than a doghouse; but you will be safe.”
“That is all I want,” replied the fugitive.
“The worst will be that you cannot have a light during the day. Late at night you may have a candle for a while; but candles are hard to get.”
“There is something I failed to tell you,” Lanny volunteered. “I have some money.”
“We are not doing this for money, but for the cause. You have earned it.”
“Listen, Genosse. In the old days I used to bring money to Trudi, and she put it to use. I am authorized to distribute money where it can serve the cause, and there is no reason why I should not leave some with you. I am sure you have no food to spare on your own food card. You can buy some for me on the black market, and if you have money left over, you can use it to feed Genosse Ein-und-Dreissig.” Comrade Thirty-one!
The watchmaker assented, and Lanny took out his billfold and gave him several hundred-mark notes. “Do not spend this at any place where you are known,” he cautioned. “There is a possibility that it may have been marked by the person who gave it to me. On the black market, I imagine, people come and go and do not ask names or remember faces. I must have a complete outfit of clothing that will enable me to pass for a workingman; and I’m afraid you will have to burn everything that I have on at present. It will be a temptation to hide it or sell it; but I warn you, I have been in Berlin for some time, and have met important persons; they will be able to describe my costume in detail, and there is hardly a single article that cannot somehow or other be identified as of American or English manufacture.”
“I will put it into a furnace with my own hands,” said Seidl. “But first we shall have to get other clothing. Also, we shall have to get false papers. Have you any choice of a name?”
“Any name that suits a German worker.”
“Let us say Schultz—you will not forget that. Hans Schultz. You will have an address that has been bombed, and you will be traveling, looking for your wife and children. We will fix up all the details. Your German is much too good, and you might spend your spare time recalling the common people you have known and how they talk. Two or three days’ growth of beard will help a lot. You might be an office clerk instead of a laborer, and that will account for your hands.”
“The papers that I have are very dangerous,” Lanny suggested. “It might be well to get rid of them at once.”
“Richtig,” said Seidl. He took the candle and looked about, found a piece of tin, and set it on the concrete floor. Lanny took out his papers, including the precious food card. One by one he lighted them at the candle and held them un
til there was only a stub left. When the last scrap had been burned he worked the sole of his shoe over them until they were reduced to powder, and then Seidl scattered the powder over the floor. “It will be swept up the next time they clean,” he said.
And so Lanning Prescott Budd faded out of existence in Naziland, and Hans Schultz, Kanzleibeamter was born—complete and ready for action, like the genie out of a bottle or Aphrodite out of a sea shell.
XIV
The entrance to the “doghouse” had been made by setting a long packing box on top of two smaller boxes with a space between them. This left a hole about two feet square, which had a box carefully fitted into it, so that no one looking at the stack of boxes would suspect that it was not solid. All that Seidl had to do was to pull the loose box out, leaving just enough room for a man to slide in on his belly. The candle was passed in to him, and he could see that he had a cell about seven feet long, four feet wide, and as high as the ceiling of the cellar, about eight feet. There was a pallet on the floor and two dingy blankets, also a pillow made of a gunny sack stuffed with straw. A slop pail with a cover completed the furnishings. The host had assured him that he need not worry about ventilation, as there were plenty of cracks between the boxes. “Some of our best comrades have hidden out in this place,” said the old man; and Lanny hastened to assure him that it was a very good “doghouse” indeed.
The visitor ventured to mention that his stomach was empty, and Genossin Anna brought him a pitcher of water and a sandwich made with two slices of bread, some margarine, and a slice of Wurst. A part of the bread was potato meal and a part of the sausage was cornmeal; but it was all food, and he was hungry. Seidl had told him that runaway soldiers had brought lice into the place, but they had been able to get some insect powder, and this had been effective. Lanny took his word for it; being weary from the long strain, he stretched out and was soon fast asleep.