third house on the left, a long, low white brick building with modernistic shoebox lines, was Schneider’s. It stood in several acres of landscaped grounds, terraced down to the cliff edge and surrounded by trees which had been left standing when the house was built. A concrete runaround driveway masked by elms led in from the road. The porch was at the back for the sake of the view, and the front door opened directly onto the driveway.
When I came down the driveway, Schneider was standing in the doorway waiting for me.
“Dr. Branch,” he said, “I was beginning to despair of you.”
“I’m sorry if I’m late. I didn’t hurry particularly because you said you were going to drive into town and I thought you might pass me on the road.”
“Oh, I decided not to go. I can do my errand to-night quite as well. Shall we go in?”
He spoke very amiably but there was awkwardness and strain in his gesture when he moved aside to make way for me. I noticed his eyes when I passed him and they were dull and opaque like brown wood.
He followed me in and took me down the central hall to the living room at the back. The floors were blue varnished concrete, slippery and smooth like semi-precious stones. There was a big Persian rug in the living room with the same deep blue in it, relieved by old, decadent rose. The lights were fluorescent and invisible and came on like dawn when Jupiter pressed the switch. The fireplace was big enough to roast a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound pig.
I wondered where Schneider’s money came from. The Nazi chiefs had always objected to money going out of Germany, except for what they invested abroad themselves. Was Schneider a Nazi investment as Alec thought? It was strange that he had left his son in Germany for seven years after he left himself. But perhaps he couldn’t help himself. I thought of Ruth.
“Won’t you sit down,” Schneider said, nodding towards a chair by the window. “Martini?”
“Thanks, I will.”
He poured and handed me my cocktail and sat down with his own on the curved leather seat in the bay window which overlooked the garden.
I sipped my drink and said, “May I ask how you happened to get in touch with Ruth Esch?”
“Of course, my dear boy.” I have several grey hairs among my raven locks and I dislike being anybody’s dear boy. “It’s really very simple, though it seems strange now that I tell of it.”
“It’s a strange world,” I said. “Melodrama is the norm in 1943.”
“Exactly. Ruth’s story in a case in point. She has had six grim and terrible years, experiences which must have been most arduous to a woman of her culture and sensibility. She was imprisoned by the Nazis for alleged treason activity.”
“When?”
“In 1937, I believe.”
“So that’s what happened. You’ve been in touch with her, then?”
“Yes, of course, during the last few weeks. Ruth has been in Canada for several weeks. There has been some difficulty about her entering this country, but it’s cleared up now. I have been able to prevail upon the Department of Justice to relax, in her case, their somewhat stringent attitude towards so-called enemy aliens.”
He stroked his beard as if it were a trophy he had won, but I didn’t resent his vanity. If he really had helped Ruth to get into the country I’d get up early every morning and currycomb his beard with loving care.
“How on earth did she get out of Germany?”
“She escaped. She has said that she would tell me more when she arrived, but she would not trust the details to the mails. All I know is that she escaped into Vichy France, and from there to Algeria. The Vichy-controlled administration in French North Africa put her in prison in Algiers. This summer I heard of her through the War Department, and was able to procure her release. She was taken to England and from there secured passage to Canada. And now she is to teach here at Midwestern. With her thorough knowledge of the German language and
When I came down the driveway, Schneider was standing in the doorway waiting for me.
“Dr. Branch,” he said, “I was beginning to despair of you.”
“I’m sorry if I’m late. I didn’t hurry particularly because you said you were going to drive into town and I thought you might pass me on the road.”
“Oh, I decided not to go. I can do my errand to-night quite as well. Shall we go in?”
He spoke very amiably but there was awkwardness and strain in his gesture when he moved aside to make way for me. I noticed his eyes when I passed him and they were dull and opaque like brown wood.
He followed me in and took me down the central hall to the living room at the back. The floors were blue varnished concrete, slippery and smooth like semi-precious stones. There was a big Persian rug in the living room with the same deep blue in it, relieved by old, decadent rose. The lights were fluorescent and invisible and came on like dawn when Jupiter pressed the switch. The fireplace was big enough to roast a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound pig.
I wondered where Schneider’s money came from. The Nazi chiefs had always objected to money going out of Germany, except for what they invested abroad themselves. Was Schneider a Nazi investment as Alec thought? It was strange that he had left his son in Germany for seven years after he left himself. But perhaps he couldn’t help himself. I thought of Ruth.
“Won’t you sit down,” Schneider said, nodding towards a chair by the window. “Martini?”
“Thanks, I will.”
He poured and handed me my cocktail and sat down with his own on the curved leather seat in the bay window which overlooked the garden.
I sipped my drink and said, “May I ask how you happened to get in touch with Ruth Esch?”
“Of course, my dear boy.” I have several grey hairs among my raven locks and I dislike being anybody’s dear boy. “It’s really very simple, though it seems strange now that I tell of it.”
“It’s a strange world,” I said. “Melodrama is the norm in 1943.”
“Exactly. Ruth’s story in a case in point. She has had six grim and terrible years, experiences which must have been most arduous to a woman of her culture and sensibility. She was imprisoned by the Nazis for alleged treason activity.”
“When?”
“In 1937, I believe.”
“So that’s what happened. You’ve been in touch with her, then?”
“Yes, of course, during the last few weeks. Ruth has been in Canada for several weeks. There has been some difficulty about her entering this country, but it’s cleared up now. I have been able to prevail upon the Department of Justice to relax, in her case, their somewhat stringent attitude towards so-called enemy aliens.”
He stroked his beard as if it were a trophy he had won, but I didn’t resent his vanity. If he really had helped Ruth to get into the country I’d get up early every morning and currycomb his beard with loving care.
“How on earth did she get out of Germany?”
“She escaped. She has said that she would tell me more when she arrived, but she would not trust the details to the mails. All I know is that she escaped into Vichy France, and from there to Algeria. The Vichy-controlled administration in French North Africa put her in prison in Algiers. This summer I heard of her through the War Department, and was able to procure her release. She was taken to England and from there secured passage to Canada. And now she is to teach here at Midwestern. With her thorough knowledge of the German language and
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