was afraid these "comrades" might have learned what had been published about him in the Nazi
papers; also that Nazi agents in New York might report him to Göring. He stayed with his wife,
and she did her best to make herself everything that a woman could be to a man.
It worked for nearly a month; until one morning in Shore Acres, just as they were getting
ready for a motor-trip to a "camp" in the Thousand Islands, Lanny was called to the telephone to
receive a cablegram from Cannes, signed Hansi, and reading: "Unsigned unidentifiable letter
postmarked Berlin text Freddi ist in Dachau."
III
Their things were packed and stowed in the car, and the car was waiting in front of the mansion.
Irma was putting the last dab of powder on her nose, and Lanny stood in front of her with a
frown of thought upon his face: "Darling, I don't see how I can possibly take this drive."
She knew him well, after four years of wifehood, and tried not to show her disappointment.
"Just what do you want to do?"
"I want to think about how to help Freddi."
"Do you suppose that letter is from Hugo?"
"I had a clear understanding with him that he was to sign the name Boecklin. I think the
letter must be from one of Freddi's comrades, some one who has learned that we helped
Johannes. Or perhaps some one who has got out of Dachau."
"You don't think it might be a hoax?"
"Who would waste a stamp to play such a trick upon us?"
She couldn't think of any answer. "You're still convinced that Freddi is Göring's prisoner?"
"Certainly, if he's in the concentration camp, Göring knows he's there, and he knew it when
he had Furtwaengler tell me that he couldn't find him. He had him sent a long way from
Berlin, so as to make it harder for us to find out."
"Do you think you can get him away from Göring if Göring doesn't want to let him go?"
"What I think is, there may be a thousand things to think of before we can be sure of the best
course of action."
"It's an awfully nasty job to take on, Lanny."
"I know, darling—but what else can we do? We can't go and enjoy ourselves, play around, and
refuse to think about our friend. Dachau is a place of horror—I doubt if there's any so dreadful
in the world today, unless it's some other of the Nazi camps. It's an old dilapidated barracks,
utterly unfit for habitation, and they've got two or three thousand men jammed in there.
They're not just holding them prisoners—they're doing what Göring told me with his own
mouth, applying modern science to destroying them, body, mind, and soul. They're the best
brains and the finest spirits in Germany, and they're going to be so broken that they can
never do anything against the Nazi regime."
"You really believe that, Lanny?"
"I am as certain of it as I am of anything in human affairs. I've been studying Hitler and his
movement for twelve years, and I really do know something about it."
"There's such an awful lot of lying, Lanny. People go into politics, and they hate their
enemies, and exaggerate and invent things."
"I didn't invent
night after night. They break into people's homes and stab them or shoot them in their beds,
before the eyes of their wives and children; or they drag them off to their barracks and beat
them insensible."
"I've heard those stories until I've been made sick. But there are just as many violent men of
the other side, and there have been provocations over the years. The Reds did the same thing
in Russia, and they tried to do it in Germany—"
"It's not only the Communists who are being tortured, darling; it's pacifists and liberals, even
church people; it's gentle idealists, like Freddi—and surely you know that Freddi wouldn't have
harmed any living creature."
IV
Irma had to put down her powder-puff, but was still sitting on the stool in front of her
dressing-table. She had many things that she had put off saying for a long time; and now,
apparently, was the time to get them off her mind. She began: "You might as well take the
time to understand me, Lanny. If you intend to plunge into a thing like this, you ought to
know how your wife feels about it."
"Of course, dear," he answered, gently. He could pretty well guess what was coming.
"Sit down." And when he obeyed she turned to face him. "Freddi's an idealist, and you're
an idealist. It's a word you're fond of, a very nice word, and you're both lovely fellows, and you
wouldn't hurt anybody or anything on earth. You believe what you want to believe about the
world—which is that other people are like you, good and kind and unselfish—idealists, in short.
But they're not that; they're full of jealousy and hatred and greed and longing for revenge. They
want to overthrow the people who own property, and punish them for the crime of having
had life too easy. That's what's in their hearts, and they're looking for chances to carry out
their schemes, and when they come on you idealists, they say: 'Here's my meat!' They get
