Paving the New Road (15 page)

Perhaps sensing he’d noticed it, Eva moved her hand to cover the penny-sized dent in the skin of her throat. “You don’t smoke, Herr Negus?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Herr Wolf doesn’t smoke either. He doesn’t approve of this bad habit of mine.”

“I see.”

Eva’s eyes moistened again. “Perhaps that is why I see him so little …” She shook her head. “No, I am being silly. He has so many demands upon him … I must just learn to be patient, to share him.”

Rowland was struck by the loneliness in her voice. “Perhaps, if Herr Wolf is currently unavailable, you will be able to join us on occasion,” he said. “I should like to take my companions to the lakes for a few days. I spent some time at Königsee years ago … I have heard that Starnberger See, near here, is quite as beautiful.”

Eva cheered visibly at the invitation and spoke happily of swimming in the Starnberger See with her sisters.

“Will you go soon?” Her eyes shone hopefully. “I do not have to return to Hoffman’s for a week, and Herr Wolf is too busy to see me. I will be miserable if I do not find a distraction.”

“I suppose we could go soon,” Rowland said awkwardly. “I have a spot of business I must attend to, but perhaps we could all set off in a day or two.”

“Oh yes, please … that would be wonderful. I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve had such an outing.”

“I’ll organise something and be in touch,” Rowland promised. “Where can I reach you?”

Eva’s face fell so dramatically that Rowland was startled.

“It’s better if I contact you,” she said hastily. “Shall I phone you here tomorrow evening?”

Rowland was admittedly caught a little off guard. “I suppose I could organise something by then,” he said, though he was not at all sure that was the case.

Impulsively, Eva took his hand. “Thank you, Herr Negus. I’m sure I would die of loneliness if I had to spend the next week just wishing Herr Wolf would call.”

“Well, that would indeed be unfortunate, Fräulein Eva.”

Eva smiled, looking at him with undisguised warmth and gratitude as she chatted of little things.

Rowland listened quietly. He found her easy company, girlish and open. There was something lost about Eva that elicited his sympathy. She spoke passionately of photography, but otherwise her thoughts were of clothes and parties and of how much she would like a puppy. And she did seem to like champagne.

Edna, Clyde and Milton also brought a guest to lunch. Edna introduced him enthusiastically when they arrived. “Rowly, darling, I have brought you the most extraordinary … Why, hello Eva … How lovely to see you again.”

Rowland translated quickly, possibly unnecessarily, for the welcome of the sculptress’ words was apparent in her tone.

Edna returned then to introducing the gentleman who stood somewhat stiffly by her side: Hans von Eidelsohn. It seemed they had met at a nearby gallery where von Eidelsohn’s work was hung. Rowland offered the artist his hand. von Eidelsohn bowed as he took it. He seemed about thirty, but there was an intensity to his face, a gravitas in his demeanour. He addressed Rowland in English. “Mr. Negus, how do you do? Fräulein Greenway has said much of you.”

“How do you do, Mr. von Eidelsohn.” He introduced Eva in German.

“I must say, Mr. Negus, you speak German very well,” von Eidelsohn noted, after greeting Eva.

“Oh, Robbie can speak just about anything,” Edna said, as she sat down. “It’s handy you know … we travel so much in search of undiscovered masterpieces.”

Rowland smiled. Apparently the sculptress had settled into the role of art dealer. He had never known Edna to do anything with half her heart.

Von Eidelsohn shifted uncomfortably. “I do not create masterpieces,” he said. “For who can say such a thing exists … I create pieces which, like the world, have no meaning.”

“Of course, Hans,” Edna said brightly. “Champagne?” She beamed as the waiter rushed over to charge her glass. “You’re clairvoyant, Robbie. We must celebrate our discovery of Mr. von Eidelsohn.”

“He’s a Dadaist,” Clyde whispered into Rowland’s ear as the gentlemen sat and Milton called for more champagne.

Rowland’s left brow rose slightly. Dada was a movement born of the human horror of the Great War, its adherents rejecting society and all its traditions. Their artwork was unconventional, to say the least. It often offended the general public, and it infuriated the Nazis. He glanced at Edna and she met his eye and laughed.

Milton and Clyde sat in the generous armchairs of the Hindenberg suite, papers spread out on the coffee table between them. They looked up as Rowland walked in, after seeing Eva home.

“What are you chaps reading?” Rowland asked, removing his coat and hanging it and his hat on the hooks by the door.

“We’re not actually reading anything,” Milton said, raising his glass. “Clyde got it into his head that we should have a look at that police report Richter gave us.”

Rowland sat down. “It’s in German.”

“Yes, we worked that out.”

Rowland picked up the police report and scanned it. “It says that Bothwell drowned while swimming at dusk in the Starnberger See …”

“So it was an accident … Hardy’s imagining things …” said Clyde.

Rowland frowned. “It does seem a bizarre time to go for a swim.” He stopped, scrutinising the report again for a moment before he added, “And without swimming trunks.”

“What?”

“Says here he was naked … His clothes were neatly folded on the bank but he was naked.”

Clyde folded his arms. “That’s odd.”

“And rather cold, I would imagine.”

“If you’re alone,” Milton murmured. He up-ended the envelope and let the contents fall out onto the table: a platinum signet ring bearing a Masonic rule and compass, and a watch. “These must be Bothwell’s.”

Rowland picked up the watch. A Rolex. An inscription on the back identified it as a wedding gift from Bothwell’s wife. He shook his head, turning it over to look at the face. The glass was misted. Rowland tried to wind it but the winder seemed to have seized. “Look at this,” he said, handing the watch to Clyde.

Clyde held it up to the light, and then, after using a pocket knife to open the case, he examined the workings. “It’s rusted.”

“That’s rather peculiar, don’t you think,” Rowland said. “That Bothwell would fold his clothes on the bank and wear his watch swimming.”

Clyde agreed. “You would have thought the police would notice that.”

Rowland looked again at the police report. “They didn’t.”

“There are two reasons why he might not have taken off his watch, Rowly,” Milton cautioned. “Maybe someone killed him, or perhaps the poor bloke had his own problems.”

“But in either case, why would he take off his clothes?” Clyde said, as he put the watch back together.

Rowland rubbed his hair. “We might just see if we can find out what Bothwell was doing when he died. He was staying at Richter’s house … We’ll start with him … after I talk to Göring?”

“Who’s Göring?”

Rowland told them then of his meeting with Blanshard and what the Old Guard agent wished him to do.

For a moment they both gaped at him. “Rowly, you did tell him to go to hell, didn’t you?”

“No, I said I’d do it.”

“Are you insane?” Clyde slammed down his drink. “You’re going to walk up to the brother of one of Hitler’s henchmen and tell him you’re a spy, and then ask for his help?”

Rowland replied calmly. “Apparently Albert Göring is not a Nazi. According to Blanshard, he despises Hitler and has been speaking out against the regime. They think he might be sympathetic.”

“And if they’re wrong?”

“I’m not asking Albert Göring to betray his country … just to help me stop Nazism infecting mine.”

Clyde dropped his head into his hands. “Oh, Rowly.”

Reaching into his jacket, Rowland pulled out the copy of
Der Stürmer
he had taken to his meeting with Blanshard. He tossed it onto the table between his friends. “Look at that,” he said quietly. “You don’t need to read German to understand the illustrations. And that’s just the tip of it.”

As Clyde and Milton bent over
Der Stürmer
, both incredulous of and repelled by the depictions of Jews in its caricatures, Rowland translated the vile headlines. And he recounted Blanshard’s concern over Campbell’s proposed manuscript.

“Australia’s got no problem with Jews,” Milton said angrily. “The flaming Governor General’s a Jew. We aren’t like the Germans … there’s no way we’d buy into this.”

Rowland ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Milt. Perhaps Campbell won’t use the Jews … perhaps he’ll decide to blame the Catholics, or the trade unions or the artists. For all we know, he could decide the Chinese are responsible for the bloody Depression.”

“I don’t think the Nazis like any of them, either.” Clyde pulled away from the open newspaper. “Von Eidelsohn says they’ve been rounding up artists and union men into re-education camps.”

“Re-education?”

“Teaching them how to be good little fascists, I suppose …”

Rowland said nothing, as he waited for Clyde and Milton to realise that approaching Albert Göring was worth the risk.

“You’re determined to do this, Rowly?” Clyde asked finally.

“I think I should.”

Milton stood. “Then we’d better take some precautions.”

“What do you mean?”

“If Albert Göring decides to report you, then presumably the Nazis will try to arrest you … if they can find you.”

“Go on.”

“We leave here. Go somewhere where we won’t be so easily found.”

Clyde agreed. “We don’t need to check out of the hotel, just not be here, in case things go wrong.”

Rowland sat back. “I think I may be ahead of you. We’re going to stay by the Starnberger See for a couple of days.”

“Since when?”

“Since I mentioned the idea to Eva this morning.” He smiled apologetically. “She cornered me into promising, I’m afraid … I wasn’t actually thinking about hiding, just going to the lake.”

Milton grinned. “Sounds like she’s set her cap for you, Rowly.”

Rowland laughed. “No, I believe the poor girl’s just dreadfully lonely. In fact, I suspect she’s involved with a married man … He doesn’t seem to have a lot of time for her.”

Clyde raised his brow. “There’s no reason she shouldn’t come, I suppose. If we do need to leave Germany in a hurry, she can just return to Munich. Still, Rowly, getting involved may not be a good idea.”

“As opposed to everything else we’re doing?”

Clyde sighed. “You have a point.”

“Are you thinking about using Richter’s villa on this lake?” Milton asked.

Rowland nodded. “I have the keys but I’ll mention it tomorrow when I speak to him about Bothwell’s movements. I recall he said it had a telephone, so Blanshard will be able to reach us if he needs me to do anything further.”

“Or to warn us to run,” Milton added ominously.

11

THE GERMAN PROBLEM

HITLER AND HIS CONSORTS

(BY PROFESSOR A. H. CHARTERIS)

January 30, 1933, is the beginning of the year one in the Third German Reich—an era born of political intrigue, on which light is thrown by recent information from Europe …

Captain Hermann Goering is Minister without portfolio in charge of Aviation for the Reich and now, according to the recent advices, Premier in Prussia. Alone among the German Nazis, he is reputed to command the respect and friendship of Mussolini, whom he is at present visiting in Rome. A Bavarian by birth, he has just turned forty. During the war he served in the German flying corps, and was leader of the “Richthofen Circus” famous on the Somme. After the war, such was his love of flying, he entered the Air Services of Denmark and of Sweden. In 1922 he attended some classes at the University of Munich, where he met Hitler, took part in the Putsch, and escaped, with wounds, to live for a time in exile at first in Austria and afterwards in Italy. In 1925 he returned to Sweden, and it was there, in 1927, that he was called home to Germany to join the great Hitler undertaking. He was elected to the Reichstag in 1928. He is the strong silent man of the Hitler movement. Blessed with what the Germans call a “cold head”, he never loses his temper, however furiously the heathen may rage.