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Hotel Adlon, on Unter den Linden. That is where the rich Americans stop, and this richest of

young couples were installed in a suite appropriate to their state. Every luxury was put at their

command. Attendants took their car and serviced it promptly and faithfully; a maid and a valet

came to unpack their things and to carry off their clothes and press them; a bellboy brought

iced drinks and copies of various morning newspapers. Lanny sat down at once and made certain

that these contained no mention of a confiscated palace and yacht. There might be ever so

much clamor in the outside world, but the German people would know only what their new

masters considered proper for them. It was the seventeenth of May, and the headlines were

devoted to the speech which the Führer was to deliver to the Reichstag at three o'clock that

afternoon, dealing with the Geneva Conference on Arms Limitation and the attitude of the

German government to its proposals.

The telephone rang: a reporter requesting the honor of an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Budd.

Lanny had wondered how it was going to be in this new world. Would money still make one a

personage? Apparently it would. Tourist traffic, so vital to the German economy, had fallen off to

a mere trickle as a result of the Jew-baiting, and the insulting of foreigners who had failed to

give the Nazi salute on the proper occasions. The papers must make the most of what few

visitors came to them.

Every large newspaper has a "morgue," in Germany called the Archiv, from which one can

ascertain without delay what has been published concerning any person. The reporter who

receives an assignment of consequence consults this file before he sets out. So here was a

smart young representative of the recently "co-ordinated" Zeitung am Mittag, fully informed

as to the new arrivals, and asking the customary questions, beginning with: "What do you

think of our country?"

Lanny said that they had motored to Berlin in twenty-four hours, so their impressions were

fleeting. They had been struck by the order and neatness they had seen along the way. They

were non-political persons, and had no opinions concerning National Socialism, but they were

open-minded, and glad to be shown. Lanny winced as he spoke, thinking of his Socialist

friends who would read this. When the reporter asked if the outside world believed the stories

of atrocities and persecutions in Germany, Lanny said he supposed that some did and some did

not, according to their predilections— ihre Gesinnung, he said. He and his wife had come to

renew old friendships, and also to make purchases of old masters for American collectors.

All this would put him right with the Nazi world, and enable him to stay without exciting

suspicion. Nothing was said about a Jewish brother-in-law or the brother-in-law's Schieber

father, either by this reporter or by others who followed. They were made welcome and treated

to cigars and drinks by two friendly and informal darlings of fortune. Delightful people, the

Americans, and the Germans admired them greatly, went to see their movies, adopted their slang,

their sports, their drinks, their gadgets and fashions.

II

It was Lanny's immediate duty to report himself to the Polizeiwache. He submitted the

passports of himself and wife, and stated his business as art expert and his race as Aryan.

Then he went back to the hotel, where he found a telegram from his mother in Paris: "Robbie

reports grandfather died last night impossible Robbie come now he is cabling embassy

concerning you advises you report there immediately."

So the old Puritan armorer was gone! Lanny had thought of him for so long as going that the

news brought no shock. He had to keep his mind on his Berlin job, and without delay he wrote

notes to Seine Hochgeboren the General Graf Stubendorf, to Oberst Emil Meissner, and to

Heinrich Jung. Irma, at his suggestion, wrote to several of the ladies of prominence whom she

had met. No Jews, no Schieberfrauen, but the socially untainted!

By that time the afternoon papers were on the street, making known Lanny's arrival, and he

had reason to expect a telephone call. It came, and he heard a voice saying: "I understand that

you are interested in the paintings of Alexander Jacovleff." Lanny replied without hesitation

that he was greatly interested, and the voice informed him: "There is some of his work at the

Dubasset Galleries which you should see."

"Very well," said Lanny. "Should I come at once?"

"If you please."

He had agreed with Irma that hotel rooms might have ears; so all he said to her was: "Come."

She looked at him, and he nodded. Without another word she got up and slipped on a freshly

pressed spring costume. Lanny ordered his car, and in a short time they were safe from prying

ears. "Yes, it's Freddi," he said.

The art dealer's place was on Friedrichstrasse, only a short way from the Adlon. Lanny drove

slowly by, and there was a tall, dark young Jew strolling. The Mercedes slowed up at the curb