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the only way I can think of to work in Hitler Germany."

This was a promising idea, and it pleased Irma, because it was respectable. She had had a very

good time at the London showing of Marcel's paintings. It was associated in her mind with

romantic events; getting married in a hurry and keeping the secret from her friends—she had felt

quite delightfully wicked, because nobody could be sure whether they were really married or

not. Also the New York show had been fun—even though the Wall Street panic had punctured

it like a balloon.

Lanny said that before sailing they should take some time and drum up business; if he had

American dollars to pay out for German art treasures, the most fanatical Nazi could find no

fault with him. Irma had so far looked upon the picture business as if it were the vending of

peanuts from a pushcart; but now it became part of a melodrama—as if she were dressing up

as the peanut vender's wife! But without really sacrificing her social prestige; for the richest

and most fastidious persons wouldn't suspect that the daughter of J. Paramount Barnes was

peddling pictures for the money. It would be for love of les beaux arts, a fine and dignified

thing.

When Lanny telegraphed some client that he and his wife were about to leave for Germany

and would like to motor out and discuss the client's tastes and wishes, the least the person

could do was to invite them to tea, and often it would be to spend the night in some showplace

at Bar Harbor or Newport, in the Berkshires or up the Hudson.

So, when the young couple boarded a steamer for Southampton, they really had an excellent

pretext for a sojourn in Naziland. They sailed on a German liner, because Irma had set out to

learn the language and wanted opportunities to "chatter." They landed in England because

their car had been stored there, and because Lanny wanted a conference with Rick before

taking the final plunge. Zoltan was in London, and had answered Lanny's cable with an

enthusiastic assent. He was a shrewd fellow, and knowing about Freddi Robin, had no trouble

in guessing what was in their heads; but he was discreet, and said not a word.

Beauty had gone back to Juan, and of course the young couple wanted to see little Frances, and

also to talk things over with the Robins and make them acquainted with the code. On the way

they stopped to see Emily and get her wise advice. One bright moonlit night they arrived at

Bienvenu, amid the powerful scent of orange and lemon blossoms. Kennst du das Land, wo

die Zitronen blüht? It seemed to Irma that she wanted nothing ever again but to stay in that

heaven-made garden.

For three days she was in ecstasies over their darling little girl, calling Lanny's attention to

every new word she had learned. Lanny, duly responsive, wondered what the little one made

of these two mysterious, godlike beings called mother and father, who swooped down into her

life at long intervals and then vanished in a roar of motors and clouds of dust. He observed

that the child was far more interested in the new playmate whom fate permitted her to have

without interruption. Baby Freddi was blooming like a dark velvet rose in the hot sunshine of

the Midi, for which he had been destined many centuries ago; fear was being forgotten, along

with his father. Irma withheld her thought: "I must get those two apart before they come to the

falling-in-love age!"

VII

All preparations having been made as for a military campaign, at the beginning of September

the young couple set out for Berlin by way of Milan and Vienna. Lanny knew of paintings in

the latter city, and the art business could be made more convincing if he stopped there. He

had written letters to several of his friends in Germany, telling of his intention to spend the

autumn in their country; they would approve his business purpose, for he would be contributing

foreign exchange to the Fatherland, and with foreign exchange the Germans got coffee and

chocolate and oranges, to say nothing of Hollywood movies and Budd machine guns. To Frau

Reichsminister Goebbels he wrote reminding her of her kind offer to advise him; he told of the

proposed Detaze exhibit and enclosed some photographs and clippings, in case the work of this

painter wasn't already known to her. Carefully wrapped and stowed in the back of the car

were several of Marcel's most famous works—not the Poilu, not those sketches satirizing German

militarism, but Pain, and Sister of Mercy, so gentle, yet moving, adapted to a nation which had

just signed a pact renouncing war; also samples of the land- and sea-scapes of that romantic

Riviera coast which so many Germans had visited and come to love. Kennst du das Land!

On the drive through Italy, safe from possible eavesdropping, they discussed the various

possibilities of this campaign. Should they try to appeal to what sense of honor the Commander

of the German Air Force might have? Should they try to make friends with him, and to extract

a favor from him, sometime when they had him well loaded up with good liquor? Should they

make him a straight-out cash proposition? Or should they try to get next to the Führer, and

persuade him that they were the victims of a breach of faith? Should they play the Goebbels

faction, or find somebody in power who needed cash and could pull hidden wires? Should they

try for a secret contact with some of the young Socialists, and perhaps plan a jailbreak?

These and many more schemes they threshed out, and would keep them in mind as they

groped their way into the Nazi jungle. One thing alone was certain; whatever plan they decided

upon they could carry out more safely if they were established in Berlin as socially prominent and

artistically distinguished, the heirs and interpreters of a great French painter, the patrons and

friends of a German Komponist, and so on through various kinds of glamour they might

manage to wrap about themselves.

In Vienna it wasn't at all difficult for Lanny to resume the role of art expert. In one of those

half-dead palaces on the Ringstrasse he came upon a man's head by Hobbema which filled him

with enthusiasm; he cabled to a collector in Tuxedo Park, the sale was completed in two days, and

thus he had earned the cost of a long stay in Berlin before he got there. Irma was impressed, and

said: "Perhaps Göring might let you sell for him those paintings in the Robin palace. Johannes

would be getting his son in exchange for his art works!"

VIII

A detour in order to spend a couple of days at Stubendorf; for Kurt Meissner was like a

fortress which had to be reduced before an army could march beyond it. No doubt Heinrich

had already written something about Lanny's becoming sympathetic to National Socialism, and it

wouldn't do to have Kurt writing back: "Watch out for him, he doesn't really mean it." If

Lanny was to succeed as a spy, here was where he had to begin, and the first step would be the

hardest.

A strange thing to be renewing old friendships and at the same time turning them into

something else! To be listening to Kurt's new piano concerto with one half your mind, and

with the other half thinking: "What shall I say that will be just right, and how shall I lead up

to what I want to tell him about the Robins?"

Was it because of this that Kurt's music seemed to have lost its vitality? In the old days

Lanny's enthusiasm had been unrestrained; all his being had flowed along with those sweeping