felt that if he had
just a little more of this he would be uncontrollably sick, yet he must hear more. “He must have
been rather stupid to be caught,” he said casually. “What was he doing?”
“Oh, running about with a torch,” said Goering. “The police saw him through one of the
windows and collared him as he came out.”
That didn’t sound like Bill, who was never seen if he didn’t want to be, and would
certainly not walk out straight into the arms of the police, unless he had lost his cunning and
taken to drink or something, men did who had lived his life, and he had a slight tendency that
way ... “Lehmann,” said the Chancellor in a tone of authority. Hambledon looked at him in the
light of the fire and noticed as though for the first time his insignificant form, his nervous
awkward gestures, and his mean little mouth set with obstinacy. “You moth-eaten little squirt,”
he thought, but all he said was, “Yes, Herr Reichkanzler?”
“I expect a large majority in the elections at the end of this week, there is no doubt of it
whatever, and the natural indignation of the people against the Communists on account of this
horrible outrage will only serve to augment it. I am, therefore, making arrangements already to
fill the principal posts in my Government. You will, I hope, accept the office of Deputy Chief of
Police.”
Police—the ideal post. If this fellow Van der Lubbe was Bill—”I am honoured, Herr
Reichkanzler,” he said with a bow. “That is well, you may regard the appointment as settled and
you will take office to-morrow. I am anxious to reward my faithful friends as they deserve, and
to surround myself with men I can trust. I know no one upon whom I place more reliance than I
do upon you, my dear Lehmann.”
“I shall continue to deserve it,” said Lehmann untruthfully, “and I thank you from the
bottom of my heart.”
“We are all sure you will know how to deal with the Communists,” said von Papen.
“Rout out the rats’ nests, what?”
Goering broke into another of his uproarious peals of laughter, and Klaus Lehmann took
his leave.
He walked slowly home, thinking deeply, and indeed he had so much to think about that
six minds at once would not have seemed enough to deal with the whole matter. As soon as he
started one train of thought, another would present itself and confuse him again. His reawakened
memory presented him with innumerable disconnected pictures from his past, von Bodenheim at
the Café Palant, the guilty faces of four small boys caught smoking behind the fives court at
Chappell’s School, Elsa Schwiss saying, “We love each other,” Bill in the antique dealer’s house
in Rotterdam saying, “Must I wear these boots?” and a free fight on the station platform at Mainz
between a drunken German private and an official courier. He stood still in the deserted Unter
den Linden and said sternly to himself, “Think of the future, you fool, not the past. If Van der
Lubbe is Bill—” He shook himself impatiently and remembered that he himself would be
dealing with Van der Lubbe in the morning and nothing could be done before then, so there was
no object in thinking about it now. Hitler’s plans, which he had so often heard discussed, the
reoccupation of the Rhineland and the Saar, the push to the East, Austria, Czecho-Slovakia,
Poland, the Ukraine, the Balkan States, one foot on the Black Sea and the other on the Baltic;
then turning West again, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, the subjugation of France and finally the
conquest of the British Empire—Lehmann had often thought the plans too grandiose to be
practical, but as a German they had seemed more than admirable. As an Englishman—he walked
on again—as an Englishman they were definitely out of the question and must be stopped at the
earliest possible moment.
He admitted quite frankly to himself that he had immense sympathy with Germany, he
had lived there for years
just a little more of this he would be uncontrollably sick, yet he must hear more. “He must have
been rather stupid to be caught,” he said casually. “What was he doing?”
“Oh, running about with a torch,” said Goering. “The police saw him through one of the
windows and collared him as he came out.”
That didn’t sound like Bill, who was never seen if he didn’t want to be, and would
certainly not walk out straight into the arms of the police, unless he had lost his cunning and
taken to drink or something, men did who had lived his life, and he had a slight tendency that
way ... “Lehmann,” said the Chancellor in a tone of authority. Hambledon looked at him in the
light of the fire and noticed as though for the first time his insignificant form, his nervous
awkward gestures, and his mean little mouth set with obstinacy. “You moth-eaten little squirt,”
he thought, but all he said was, “Yes, Herr Reichkanzler?”
“I expect a large majority in the elections at the end of this week, there is no doubt of it
whatever, and the natural indignation of the people against the Communists on account of this
horrible outrage will only serve to augment it. I am, therefore, making arrangements already to
fill the principal posts in my Government. You will, I hope, accept the office of Deputy Chief of
Police.”
Police—the ideal post. If this fellow Van der Lubbe was Bill—”I am honoured, Herr
Reichkanzler,” he said with a bow. “That is well, you may regard the appointment as settled and
you will take office to-morrow. I am anxious to reward my faithful friends as they deserve, and
to surround myself with men I can trust. I know no one upon whom I place more reliance than I
do upon you, my dear Lehmann.”
“I shall continue to deserve it,” said Lehmann untruthfully, “and I thank you from the
bottom of my heart.”
“We are all sure you will know how to deal with the Communists,” said von Papen.
“Rout out the rats’ nests, what?”
Goering broke into another of his uproarious peals of laughter, and Klaus Lehmann took
his leave.
He walked slowly home, thinking deeply, and indeed he had so much to think about that
six minds at once would not have seemed enough to deal with the whole matter. As soon as he
started one train of thought, another would present itself and confuse him again. His reawakened
memory presented him with innumerable disconnected pictures from his past, von Bodenheim at
the Café Palant, the guilty faces of four small boys caught smoking behind the fives court at
Chappell’s School, Elsa Schwiss saying, “We love each other,” Bill in the antique dealer’s house
in Rotterdam saying, “Must I wear these boots?” and a free fight on the station platform at Mainz
between a drunken German private and an official courier. He stood still in the deserted Unter
den Linden and said sternly to himself, “Think of the future, you fool, not the past. If Van der
Lubbe is Bill—” He shook himself impatiently and remembered that he himself would be
dealing with Van der Lubbe in the morning and nothing could be done before then, so there was
no object in thinking about it now. Hitler’s plans, which he had so often heard discussed, the
reoccupation of the Rhineland and the Saar, the push to the East, Austria, Czecho-Slovakia,
Poland, the Ukraine, the Balkan States, one foot on the Black Sea and the other on the Baltic;
then turning West again, Denmark, Holland, Belgium, the subjugation of France and finally the
conquest of the British Empire—Lehmann had often thought the plans too grandiose to be
practical, but as a German they had seemed more than admirable. As an Englishman—he walked
on again—as an Englishman they were definitely out of the question and must be stopped at the
earliest possible moment.
He admitted quite frankly to himself that he had immense sympathy with Germany, he
had lived there for years
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