“By all means, Genosse Monck. Let me point out to you how my profession of art expert serves me in this situation. Would it be possible that you have some family heirlooms, old paintings which I might be trying to sell for you?”
“That would not sound likely with a man of workingclass origin.”
“You might have a rich aunt—that can happen to the poorest. Let us say that you have a Tante Lize, and I have been to inspect her paintings, and I tell you that I am definitely certain I can sell the one showing the French prisoner of war. You would understand that I have got results from some investigations I am having made as to Trudi’s whereabouts.”
“Very good, Genosse Budd. I wish I might have a letter from you saying that you have got a good price for the painting showing the prisoner coming out from a dungeon.”
“There is no limit to the price I would be able to get for such a painting,” declared Lanny, earnestly. “You may assure your friends of the underground that that is the case.”
“Leider, Genosse, such a work of art is beyond our skill to produce.”
“This is one of the subjects I came to consult you about,” continued the visitor. “Can you spare me a few minutes longer?”
“Our regiment has been brought back to rest and recuperate; therefore I am entitled to spend a couple of hours sitting under a shady tree talking with a friend from America.”
“Even though it is a bourgeois person, and mysterious?”
The Capitán smiled. “This war has received a great deal of publicity, and you would be surprised how many tourists have thought of it as a spectacle for a summer’s holiday. By one or another ingenious scheme they wangle a permit to come; they are writers, lecturers, painters, motion-picture directors or actors; sometimes they are businessmen who have goods to sell which we urgently need. Their wives wish to be able to go back to—what are the names of those strange towns in America?”
“Podunk, for example?”
“To Podunk, and say that they have heard the rumble of the cannon and smelled the smoke of powder. They show up here, and have to be fed even though the troops go hungry. They find it highly educational—until they get too close, and the wind brings the stench of human bodies rotting in this blazing Spanish sun. Then they have an attack of nausea and decide that battlefields and picnic grounds are not the same.”
XI
Lanny got down to business. “Genosse Monck, there is a member of the German embassy in Paris, Graf Herzenberg, who has rented the Château de Belcour near Paris. Trudi was quite sure that members of the German underground who have disappeared have been hidden there. Have you heard anything about it?”
“No, but I would expect something of the sort to be done.”
“It may be an obsession, but I am haunted by the idea that Trudi is in that place. It seems likely they wouldn’t kill her so long as there was the slightest chance of getting out of her the information they so badly want.”
“That is reasonable, I agree.”
“Of course they might take her to Germany; but it might be more convenient to have her in Paris where her statements might be checked against those of others. They wouldn’t have much reason to feel worried, for so long as Chautemps is premier of France, the government will be busy with political intrigues, and no one will take any sort of action displeasing to the German ambassador.”
“That sounds convincing, also.”
“I won’t go into details—suffice it that I have social connections whereby I was enabled to make a thorough inspection of the ground floor of the château and of the grounds outside. I have drawn a reasonably accurate plan of the building and its environs. I am now having investigations made to see if I can find out about prisoners inside the place. If I get anything definite, I shall want a dependable man to undertake the job of rescuing Trudi. You understand how I am bound by my promise; I cannot do the job myself, and can only serve as secret paymaster.”
“You will have difficulty in finding a man equal to that job, I fear.”
“One of the reasons I came up here was the hope of persuading you to get a long enough furlough and make a try at it.”
“Aber!” exclaimed the Capitán. “How could I work in France when I do not know the language? I have only my German, and a few words of bad English, and enough Spanish to understand my orders, and to bargain with the peasants for food.”
“You are a man of action and judgment. I have contacts with both the Socialists and the Communists in Paris, and could put you in the way to find dependable French assistance. Also, your contacts with the underground might help. Tell me, have you a family?”
“I have a wife and two children in Germany. The wife is working to support the little ones, against the time when I shall have saved up enough to bring them out.”
“Also! If you will do your best for me, I will, regardless of success or failure, make it possible to bring your family out and to make them secure, at least until you are through with this war.”
The Capitán sat in silence for quite a while. “What you are proposing is, in brief, that we shall burglarize a French château?”
“Possibly that, and possibly more, depending upon circumstances. First, we shall find out if Trudi is there, and second, if she is there, we shall get her out by whatever means it takes.”
“Have you thought of any plans?”
“I have thought of many, some of them rather wild, I must admit. I succeeded in making friends with a member of the embassy staff, and I have thought that we might kidnap him and exchange him for their prisoner.”
“Aber nein, Genosse Budd! The Nazis care nothing for individuals, and would sacrifice many lives to find where our underground has been getting its funds. Cross that one off.”
“I have thought we might force the embassy man to talk, and perhaps to help us.”
“The Nazis have you hopelessly licked at that game, for the reason that they have no scruples, while you have. Do you think you could torture a man?”
“Well, I have the feeling that if I was quite sure the man had Trudi, I would be willing to tear him to shreds to make him talk.”
“You think you would, but you would probably find that the effort would wreck your nervous system. Also, you overlook the fact that the embassy would notify the French police as soon as their man was missing; and you do not enjoy diplomatic immunity.”
“I have thought that we might have a small vessel and take the fellow out to sea.”
“In that case, you would be a pirate, and any nation that caught you might hang you.”
“Theoretically, yes; but practically, if you have money, you are sent to prison for a few weeks or months, until the scandal has blown over.”
“You are speaking as a member of the leisure classes, Genosse Budd. You are accustomed to having your own way, and are annoyed by the idea of having to submit to law. But you must remember that I am a Socialist and a so-called Red fighter, and we are not privileged to break the laws of France or any other country; if we do, the police are prompt to proceed against us, and what is still more important, the capitalist press leaps to put all the details on the front page. You must bear in mind that our comrades of the underground in France are in that country as guests, and have to proceed with the utmost circumspection. The reactionaries are ceaseless in their watch to get something on us, to support the demand that we be expelled from the country. We face the fact that if crimes are committed against us, the police manifest very little interest, but if we dare to reply with a counter-crime, every form of power in the land rises up in wrath against us.”
Said Lanny: “All that you tell me is right, and it means just one thing—that in whatever we plan to do, we must not fail.”
“In other words, the perfect crime!” replied the officer, smiling for the first time in this colloquy.
XII
They discussed back and forth for quite a while, and at the end Monck said: “I cannot tell how long this battle will last. We have forced the enemy to retire al
l along the line, but we have not been able to rout him or surround him, and I doubt very much if we have the resources to do either. What happens in such clashes is that we extend our communications as far as we dare, and use up our supplies, both food and ammunition; then we have to halt, and there follows a long wait, perhaps a couple of months, while both sides bring up fresh troops and supplies. During that interval I can with honor apply for leave for a month, and I will meet you in Paris and see what you have been able to discover and what plans you have been able to work out. If you could present me with a really perfect crime, I might be willing to commit it; but I warn you in advance that I will take no chance of compromising our movement, and would strongly urge you not to do it either. That is what the Nazis would most desire, and what Trudi would forbid, if she had a say in the matter.”
Sorrowfully Lanny had to admit that this was correct. He asked: “At your best guess, when should I expect you in Paris?”
“I would say three weeks, possibly four.”
“That is a long wait for a woman under torture, Genosse Monck.”
“You must not put that sort of pressure on me. There will be a long wait for men who are dying up in these hills while we talk, and for the hundreds of thousands of our comrades in all the concentration camps and prisons of the dictators—Spanish, German, and Italian.”
“I say no more,” replied Lanny. “I will go back to Paris, see what has been learned, and perhaps start further investigations. It may be then that I will take a fast steamer to New York, where I have a chance to get a large sum of money, and also to speak some important words to an influential person. One never knows, in dealing with our governing classes, when one is having any effect. It is like shooting arrows into the dark.”
“We in this place do a lot of shooting into the dark. We prefer to use bullets and shells, when we can get them. Do what you can to move the hard hearts of the profit seekers and their politicians, and get us whatever help you can—that is, of course, without endangering your social position.”
Again there was a smile upon the face of the speaker; but it faded quickly as there came a burst of machine-gun fire that sounded nearer, up in the hills to the left. “That may be a flanking attack,” he said. “I am afraid I cannot talk any longer. Adios, Compañero.”
8
This Yellow Slave
I
The return to Valencia was uneventful. Raoul talked about adult education in the army, and also about the great victory in the making. He was sure the Fascists were finally on the run—all the fighting men agreed on it. Lanny didn’t tell him what the Capitán had said; in fact he didn’t mention the officer, saying merely that his own purpose had been accomplished and that he was deeply grateful. Raoul said: “Come as often as you can.”
They discussed the problem of getting a painting out of Spain. It was against the law, but laws were not being strictly enforced amid the confusions of war, and Raoul knew that the money was meant for the cause. “Our art treasures won’t be of any use to us if Franco gets here,” he conceded, and went on to say that Lanny might have trouble getting by the border carrying a rolled-up old master under his arm; some official might insist on adhering to the regulations and referring the matter back to Valencia, with endless red tape and delay. “Also it might cause publicity,” Raoul opined.
Obviously, the thing to do would be to walk on board a foreign steamer, preferably one leaving for Marseille. No one would pay any attention to the baggage which a passenger took on board; the submarine pirates had been driven away, and the trip would be quick. Raoul undertook to visit steamship offices and make arrangement for the passage; Lanny would drive in the car to get the painting, and then proceed to Raoul’s lodgings, pick him up and drive to the harbor of Gráo, where the steamers docked.
The address which Señor Jimenes had given was to the south of the city, beyond the cemetery. La gasolina was just about equal to the trip, and Lanny found the peasant home without too great difficulty. The gray-haired old servant was working in a vegetable patch, wearing a black sleeveless waistcoat attached to his cotton trousers with a broad faja of dark red. His eyes lighted up with delight when this foreign gentleman offered him a cigarette, something he had not seen for a long time. Lanny said: “I have a letter from the Señor, and he told me to show it only to you.”
They found a seat under a heavily laden grape arbor, and the huertano, whose name was Tomás, took the letter in his hands and looked at it solemnly; he didn’t know how to read handwriting, but was ashamed to confess it. His former master, having foreseen this, had told Lanny how to proceed; he was not to allow the man to take the letter to the village official who served as scribe, but talk to him patiently and convince him that the visitor was a friend of the family. To that end the master had provided various details, and Lanny now told the news about how they were living, the children in school, and so on. Lanny explained that he had agreed to buy the painting if he decided that it was genuine, and described the work as the Señor had described it, including the fact that one of the six little ragamuffins was eating a bunch of grapes. “That will convince Tomás,” the owner had said. “He has seen it hanging on the wall most of his life, and his idea of art is the perfect texture of the grape skins.”
“Bueno, Señor,” said the man at last. Putting the letter into his pocket, together with the carefully extinguished cigarette butt, he led the way into the barraca, a cabin with a thatched roof, blue-washed sides, and a cross on top. The three women and as many children were not introduced, but Lanny greeted them kindly; the women bowed politely, while the little ones stared with open mouths. Tomás fetched a stool, and from up among the rafters, carefully concealed by old boards and rags, chains of garlic, of onions, and of dried figs, he drew forth a canvas cylinder about four feet long and perhaps a foot in diameter. The dust of a year was wiped from it and it was spread out and held open before the visitor’s eyes.
Ars longa! Nearly three hundred years had passed since oils and pigments had been mixed and spread upon this well-woven cloth; kings and queens had reigned and perished, conquering heroes had been acclaimed and turned to dust—but here were half a dozen street urchins who had survived the ravages of time and were still laughing and full of energy. Their costumes were not so different from those of the little ones in this cabin, but their faces had that softness, that angelic quality of love, which must have been the basic ingredient of the soul of Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, for it manifested itself in everything he painted, whether it was cherubs out of heaven or disorderly little urchins on the narrow and crooked streets of old Seville.
If Lanny carried this painting out of the peasant’s cabin he was obligated to release to Señor Jimenes the sum of a hundred and ten thousand French francs, which was something over four thousand dollars. If the painting proved not to be genuine, it might possibly be sold for as much as four hundred dollars. So Lanny was not satisfied with the thrill of beauty; he spread the canvas on the heavy wooden table which stood in the center of the all-purpose room and studied the signature and brushwork under his glass. When he was satisfied that it was an early Murillo, he said: “Està bien, Tomás,” rolled up the treasure, and tied it with the ragged hempen cord. He said his “Buenas dias” to the women, and saw the man carry the roll out and stow it in the car. He knew that Tomás was in a state of suppressed anguish at the idea of parting with this precious object on the basis of no more than some marks on a scrap of paper; he wasn’t used to living by paper, like the gente de la capital. Having known the peasants of Mediterranean lands since childhood, Lanny spoke reassuring words, patted the old man on the back, and made him feel better with a whole packet of cigarettes and a ten-peseta note.
II
Raoul was waiting in front of his lodgings. He ran upstairs and got the typewriter and the suitcase, and while Lanny drove he explained that he had found a French freighter due to sail for Marseille that evening. He had engaged passage for the American traveler for the sum of fo
ur hundred and fifty francs. “Not very elegant,” he apologized; but Lanny said: “It’s all right if you got a guarantee against torpedoes.” Raoul, having learned the American habit of “kidding” about the most serious subjects, replied: “A life-preserver goes with every ticket.”
As a matter of fact, it was perfectly safe, for there was a gray-clad French destroyer patrolling off the port and a British light cruiser visible to the north. Chanticleer had crowed and the lion had roared; the Spaniards might kill one another and sink one another’s ships all they pleased, but right at the moment nobody was going to sink French or British ships. Lanny walked on board with his precious roll under his arm and his Spanish friend carrying the rest of his luggage. Nobody asked any questions, and before long the engines of the rusty old tramp began to rumble and pound and she stole out past the long mole with her French flag proudly floating over a load of cork, hides, and other raw materials for the factories of Marseille or Lyons.
Lanny, who liked all sorts of people, made the acquaintance of two officers of the French merchant marine, and of sailors from two or three thousand miles of Mediterranean shore. He told the officers that he had a painting in his cabin, but didn’t offer to exhibit it, and no one manifested curiosity. In his tiny cabin, reasonably clean, he wrote some notes for his Big Boss, telling what an officer of Loyalist forces on the Belchite front thought of the prospects of that battle and of the supplies which the opposing forces were getting from Germany and Italy.
The trip took two nights and a day. On his arrival, Lanny’s first act was to phone to his mother, to ask if by any chance there had come a letter from his amie in Paris. No such luck; so he told her that he was alive and on his way to her. He had to come because his car was there, but of course he wouldn’t say anything so tactless to an adoring mother. He asked her to phone to Señor Jimenes and tell him that the painting was safe, and that the money would be released as soon as Lanny could get to the bank. He sent a cablegram to a dear old lady in Chicago who purchased babies in paint, telling her that he was making a special trip to her home in order to show her the half dozen most charming urchins who had ever romped on the streets of old Seville. After which he engaged a taxi as the quickest way of getting himself and the aforesaid urchins to Juan-les-Pins.
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