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"Well, well, Herr Budd!" said the young staff officer. "What have they been doing to you?"

Lanny had to change his mood with lightning speed. He was busily hating all the Nazis; but

he didn't hate this naive and worshipful young social climber. "Herr Oberleutnant!" he

exclaimed, with relief that was like a prayer.

"Come out," said the other, and looked his friend over as if to see if he showed any signs of

damage. "What have they done to you?"

"They have made me rather uncomfortable," replied the prisoner, resuming the Anglo-Saxon

manner.

"It is most unfortunate!" exclaimed the officer. "Seine Exzellenz will be distressed."

"So was I," admitted the prisoner.

"Why did you not let us know?"

"I did my best to let somebody know; but I was not successful."

"This is a disgraceful incident!" exclaimed the other, turning to the S.S. man. "Some one will

be severely disciplined."

" ZU Befehl, Herr Oberleutnant!" replied the man. It conveyed the impression: "Tell me to

shoot myself and I am ready."

"Really, Herr Budd, I don't know how to apologize."

"Your presence is apology enough, Herr Oberleutnant. You are, as we say in America, a sight

for sore eyes."

"I am sorry indeed if your eyes are sore," declared the staff officer, gravely.

It was like waking up suddenly from a nightmare, and discovering that all those dreadful things

had never happened. Lanny followed his friend up the narrow stone stairway, and discovered

that there were no more formalities required for his release than had been required for his

arrest. Doubtless the officer's uniform bore insignia which gave him authority. He said: "I assume

responsibility for this gentleman," and the S.S. man repeated: "At command, Herr Oberleutnant."

They went out to the official car which was waiting. Rain was falling, but never had a day

seemed more lovely. Lanny had to shut his eyes from the light, but he managed to get inside

unassisted. Sinking back in the soft seat he had to struggle to make up his mind which was real

—these cushions or that dungeon! Surely both couldn't exist in the same city, in the same

world!

29

Too Deep for Tears

I

LANNY was living in a kaleidoscope; one of those tubes you look into and observe a pattern,

and then you give it a slight jar, and the pattern is gone, and there is an utterly different one.

He was prepared for anything, literally anything. But when he heard his friend give the order:

"Seine Exzellenz's residence," he came to with a start, and became what he had been all his

life, a member of the beau monde, to whom the proprieties were instinctive and inescapable.

"Surely," he protested, "you're not taking me to Seine Exzellenz in this condition! Look at my

clothes! And my beard!" Lanny ran his hand over it, wondering again if it was gray.

"Where are your clothes, Herr Budd?"

"When last heard from they were in a hotel in Munich."

"A most preposterous affair! I will telephone for them this morning."

"And my money?" added the other. "That was taken from me in Stadelheim. But if you will

drive me to the Adlon, I am sure they will cash my check."

The orders were changed, and the young staff officer entered with amusement into the

enterprise of making his friend presentable by the magic of modern hotel service. While the

guest bathed himself, a valet whisked his clothes away to sponge and press them, and a bellboy

sped to the nearest haberdashers for a shirt, tie, and handkerchief. A barber came and shaved

him—and collected no gray hairs. In half an hour by the Oberleutnant's watch—Lanny had none—

he was again the picture of a young man of fashion, ready to meet all the world and his wife.

It was truly comical, when they were motored to the official residence of the Minister-

Präsident of Prussia and escorted up to his private apartments. This mighty personage had all

the sartorial appurtenances of his office: blue trousers with a broad white stripe; a coat of lighter

blue with a white belt and broad white sash from one shoulder crossing his chest; numerous gold

cords and stars, epaulets and insignia of his rank—but it was a blazing hot day in mid-July, and

all this honorificabilitudinitatibus had become intolerable to a fat man. He had it hung on a

chair near-by, and was sitting at his desk in his shorts and that large amount of soft white skin

with which nature had endowed him. Beads of perspiration stood out on the skin, and before

Lanny's mind flashed the vision of a Jewish banker. Impossible to keep from imagining this still

larger mass of flesh and fat laid out on a blood-soaked and slimy bench, bottom up!

II

It was the General's intention to take Lanny Budd's misadventure as a comic opera

divertissement in the midst of very grave business; and it was up to Lanny to be a good sport

and do the same. "Ja aber, mein lieber Herr Budd!" cried Seine Exzellenz, and caught Lanny's

hand in a grip that showed he was by no means all fat. "Was ist Ihnen denn passiert?"— he

insisted upon hearing all about a playboy's misadventures. "Were you afraid?" he wanted to

know; and Lanny said: "Wait until your turn comes, Exzellenz, and see if you're not afraid."

That wasn't so funny. The great man replied: "You had the misfortune to get caught in the

traffic at a very busy hour. We have some wild fellows in our party, and it was necessary to

teach them a lesson. I think they have learned it thoroughly."

Lanny had done a bit of thinking while he was in the bathtub at the hotel. He would never

trust any Nazi again. It seemed unlikely that the head of the Prussian state had no information

as to what had been happening to one who claimed to be his friend; almost incredible that his

efficient secret police had failed to send him any report during the past two weeks. A thousand

times more likely that there had been some purpose in what had befallen an American visitor; also

in this sudden change of front, this explosion of friendliness and familiarity. Last-minute rescues

belong in melodramas, where they are no accidents, but have been carefully contrived. Lanny

had begun to suspect this particularly hair-raising denouement.

The Minister-Präsident of Prussia didn't keep him long in suspense. There was a large stack

of papers on his desk and he was obviously a busy fat man. "Jawohl, Herr Budd!" he said.

"You had the opportunity of studying our penal institutions at first hand; also our methods of

dealing with Jew Schieber! You can testify that they are effective."

"I had no opportunity to observe the outcome, Exzellenz."

"I will see that you are informed about it, if you so desire. Do you have any idea who that

Jew was?"

"It so happens that I had met him in Berlin society."

"Indeed? Who was he?"

"His name is Solomon Hellstein."

"Ach! Our w eltberühmter Shylock! You will indeed have an interesting story to tell the

outside world."

Lanny thought he saw a hint. "You will remember, Exzellenz, that you asked me to say nothing

to the outside world about the case of Johannes Robin. Fourteen months have passed, and still I

have not done so."

"I have made a note of the fact, Herr Budd, and appreciate your good judgment. But now

there is a quite different set of circumstances. We have a saying in German: Es hängt ganz

davon ab."

Lanny supplied the English: "It all depends."