The voice of Tecumseh had become shrill; and suddenly the aged Greek started to his feet. Two steps brought him to Lanny’s side, and he said: “Give me the book.” The younger man, taken aback, handed over his notebook; Zaharoff grabbed it and hastened, almost running, to the door, and went out, slamming it behind him.
VIII
That was the end of the séance. Not another word was spoken, but the medium began to moan pitiably. Lanny was prepared for trouble, because any sort of abrupt action always had a bad effect on her; it was something about which he had warned Zaharoff. Now she was seized by a sort of light convulsion, and sputum began to drip from her lips. Lanny ran and got a towel and wiped it away; he was frightened for a while, but gradually the moaning died, and after a space the woman opened her eyes.
“Oh, what is the matter?” she asked; and then, seeing the empty chair: “Where is the old gentleman?”
“He went away.”
“He should not have done that. Something went wrong; I feel so bad.”
“I am sorry, Madame. He was frightened.”
“Did he hear something bad?”
“Very bad indeed.”
“Somebody is dead?”
Lanny thought that was an easy way out. “Yes,” he said. “He was not prepared for it and did not want to show his feelings.”
“It is terribly bad for me. Tecumseh will be angry.”
“I think he will understand, Madame.”
“It made me so weak; and my head aches.”
“I am sorry. I will call for a little wine, if you like.”
“Please do.”
Lanny ordered some wine and biscuits. She would not eat, but she sipped the wine, and after a while he helped her downstairs and into a taxi. He was interested to note that even under these rather sensational circumstances the woman did not press him with questions. It was her own feelings that she was concerned about. People should not treat her that way; they should be more considerate.
He helped her on board the yacht, and Baby Johannes’s nursemaid, who had become her friend, helped her into bed. Beauty and the others were out seeing the sights of Dieppe, so Lanny went to his own cabin to write up his notes a second time before his memories grew cold.
A really striking experience! He couldn’t judge about all the details—for example, the hundred and sixty-nine sacks of gall—but Zaharoff’s behavior was proof of the general accuracy of the revelations. The young observer was clinging to his theory that these details had come out of the subconscious mind of Zacharias Basileos Zaharoff, formerly Sahar, who had given several names, several birthplaces and birthdates, according to his convenience at the moment. But what a subconscious mind for a man to carry about with him! Were those the things he thought about when he woke up in the small hours of the morning and couldn’t get to sleep again? How much money would it take to compensate a man for having such memories and such feelings?
IX
Lanny could not forget that his own father was a manufacturer and salesman of munitions, and that he had bribed and deceived and had documents stolen in order to promote various deals. Did Robbie have a subconscious mind like that? Certainly he showed few signs of it. His cheeks were rosy, he was sleeping well (so he reported), and he seemed to have his zest for life. But was that all bluff? Was he holding himself up by his bootstraps? Lanny remembered how quickly and how angrily Robbie would leap to the defense of the munitions industry whenever he heard it attacked. That wasn’t the sign of a mind perfectly at ease.
Lanny had learned his father’s formulas in earliest childhood. Budd Gunmakers Corporation was one of the bulwarks of American national security, and what it did was a great patriotic service. To say that it worked for profit was the vilest demagogy, because it put the profits back into the business—that had been the family tradition for nearly a hundred years. To blame them for selling munitions to other countries in times of peace was mere nonsense, for you couldn’t make munitions without skilled labor and you couldn’t have such labor unless you gave it work to do and paid it wages to live. The government wouldn’t order any large supplies in times of peace, but it expected to have a completely equipped plant running and ready to serve it in case of need. What could you do but follow the example of all other merchants and sell your goods whenever and wherever you could find customers?
There was a basic difference between Zacharias Basileos Zaharoff and Robbie Budd. Robbie really considered himself a patriot, and no doubt that is an excellent thing for a subconscious mind. On the other hand, Lanny had heard the old Greek say that he was a citizen of every country where he owned property. Did he want to enable each of his countries to fight his other countries? No, for Lanny had heard him, early in the year 1914, expressing his dread of war, in language which had surprised and puzzled a very young idealist. Robbie had joked about his attitude, saying that the old spider, the old wolf, the old devil wanted to sell munitions but didn’t want them used.
But they had been used, and Zaharoff had had to live and see them used—and evidently that had been bad for his subconscious mind! Zaharoff had attended the Armistice Day ceremonies and laid a wreath on the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. He had thought about that soldier, and now Lanny knew what he had thought! Had he guessed that the national hero of France might be a Jew? Or was it that the national hero really had been a Jew? Was Zaharoff himself a Jew, or part Jew? Lanny didn’t know, and wasn’t especially interested. There were few people in Europe who didn’t have Jewish blood, even those who despised the outcast race. For two thousand years the Jews had been scattered over the old Continent like thistledown in the wind; and the most carefully tended family trees don’t always show what pollen has fallen upon them.
X
Lanny thought: What is the old man going to make of this? He can hardly believe that I planted it on him; that I knew about his uncle Antoniades! No, he will know that the thing must be genuine, and when he cools off he will realize that he wasn’t quite a gentleman. Maybe he’ll want to beg Tecumseh’s pardon and have another try for the duquesa.
Lanny decided that this would be interesting; so he sat down and wrote a note to be mailed in Dieppe:
My dear Sir Basil:
I am truly sorry that the séance turned out to be so disturbing. I want to assure you that I am not telling anyone about it. I have seen many inaccuracies appear at sittings, and I have no interest in spreading them. You may count upon me in this.
Also he wrote a note to Rick, as follows:
I wish you would see if you can find someone to do a job of research for me; that is, go through the records of Old Bailey prison during the 1870’s and see if there is an entry of a prisoner by the name of Sahar, or Zahar, or Zaharoff. I enclose check for ten pounds to start it off, and if you will let me know the cost from time to time, I’ll send more. Please say nothing about this, except to the dependable person you employ.
It wasn’t going to be so easy to keep quiet about that afternoon’s events. Beauty’s curiosity had been aroused, and Irma’s also. Fortunately Lanny had time to get over his own excitement, and to let Madame get over her bad feelings. He told his family that he had tried an experiment with someone who was interested, but the tests had not been conclusive, there were certain matters which had to be looked up, and then a second test might be made; he would tell them all about it later on. This was far from satisfactory, but he stuck to it, and pretty soon there were other séances, and other matters to talk about. Every now and then Beauty or Irma would say: “By the way, whatever became of that Dieppe affair?” Lanny would answer: “It hasn’t been settled yet.”
From Zaharoff he received no reply.
XI
The trim white Bessie Budd steamed away—or, to be exact, was propelled by crude oil, burning in a Diesel engine. At Bremerhaven the owner and his younger son were waiting, both proud and happy—the latter especially so, because he was a father and his fatherhood was new and shiny. How Freddi adored that gentle, sweet wife, and h
ow he shivered with delight while gazing upon the mite of life which they had created! Nearly three months had passed since he had seen them both, and a newborn infant changes a lot in that time. The other Robins, including Bess and the nursemaid, stood by when Freddi came aboard, sharing his happiness, of which he made quite a show, not being an Anglo-Saxon.
They all had a right to share, because this lovely infant was a prize exhibit of their dairy farm, so carefully supervised. Both father and grandfather had to certify themselves free of all diseases before they came on board, and there were to be no contaminating kisses, no demoralizing pettings, pokings, or ticklings. Wash your hands before you permit an infant to clutch your finger, for you can observe that the first thing he does is to convey your collected germs to his mouth.
Freddi had worked tremendously hard all year, and had got himself the coveted title of doctor. He was a handsome fellow, not quite so tall as his brother, but having the same large dark eyes and serious expression. He lacked Hansi’s drive—he was never going to be a famous man, only an earnest student and teacher, a devoted husband and father. Not so Red as Hansi and Bess, but nearer to Lanny’s shade; he still had hopes of the German Social-Democrats, in spite of the timidity and lack of competence they were displaying. Freddi had said that he was studying bourgeois economics in order to be able to teach the workers what was wrong with it. Already he and a couple of his young friends had set up a night school along the lines of Lanny’s project in the Midi. A non-party affair, both the Socialists and the Communists took potshots at it, greatly to Freddi’s disappointment. The workers were being lined up for class war, and there was no room for stragglers between the trenches.
Johannes had bad news for them. Business conditions in Germany were such that it was impossible for him to set out across the Atlantic. He wanted them to go without him, and the rest of the Robin family were willing to do this because of the promises they had made. But the Budds knew that the purpose for which the yacht existed was to get Papa away from business cares, and they knew that the Robins would have a hard time enjoying themselves without him. Beauty talked it over with Lanny and his wife, and they agreed not to accept such a sacrifice. Irma would be sorry to miss seeing her mother, but, after all, it was easier to transport one stout queen mother across the ocean than to put a whole establishment ashore on Long Island. Irma said she really didn’t have much pleasure in any sort of social life when she had to keep within four-hour time limits and have Miss Severne look grim if she came in hot and tired from any sort of exercise. Irma’s smart young friends would all laugh at her and make jokes about cows. So it was better to stay on the yacht, where no explanations or apologies had to be made and where Rahel backed you up by her good example. “Jewish women seem to be much more maternal,” said Irma. “Or is it because she is German?”
XII
It was decided that the Bessie Budd would loaf about in the North Sea and its adjoining waters so as to come back quickly and take its owner aboard whenever he was free. There would be regattas during the summer, and concerts and theaters in near-by cities and towns; art galleries to be visited—yes, one could think of worse ways of spending two or three months than on a luxury yacht based on Bremerhaven. The ship’s library included Heine’s Nordseebilder, also musical settings of some of these poems. Rahel would sing, Freddi would tootle, Hansi would scrape and scratch, Lanny and his sister would rumble and thump, Marceline would caper and prance, and Irma and Beauty and Johannes would raid the orchestra for a fourth hand at bridge.
The Bessie Budd steamed, or was propelled, to Copenhagen, where the party inspected the royal palace and attended a performance at the royal theater—the latter being comfortably within the young mothers’ time limits. Lanny studied the sculptures in the Thorvaldsen museum. Many interesting works of man to be seen, but not many of nature in these low, flat islands and inlets, once the haunt of fishermen and pirates. Having loaded themselves up with culture, they returned Johannes to Bremerhaven, and then set out behind the Frisian islands, visiting Norderney, where a hundred years previously an unhappy Jewish poet had written immortal verses. Sei mir gegrüsst, du ewiges Meer!
Back to port, where the owner of the yacht joined them again, bringing with him a large packet of mail. Included was a letter from Rick to Lanny, as follows:
With regard to your request concerning the Old Bailey, these records are not available, so I had a search made of the criminal reports in the Times. Under the date of January 13, 1873, appears an entry numbered 61: “Zacharoff, Zacharia Basilius, agent pledging goods intrusted to him for sale.” In the Times of January 17 appears a column headed “Criminal Court,” beginning as follows: “Zacharia Basilius Zacharoff, 22, was indicted for that he, being an agent intrusted by one Manuel Hiphentides of Constantinople, merchant, for the purpose of sale with possession, among other goods, 25 cases of gum and 169 sacks of gall of the value together of £1000, did unlawfully and without any authority from his principal, for his own use make a deposit of the said goods as and by way of pledge.”
Rick’s letter gave a summary of the entire account, including the statement: “Subsequently, by advice of his counsel, the prisoner withdrew his plea of ‘Not Guilty’ and entered a plea of ‘Guilty.’” Rick added: “This is interesting, and I am wondering what use you intend making of it. Let me add: Why don’t your spirits give you things like this? If they would do so, I would begin to take them seriously!”
BOOK TWO
A Cloud That’s Dragonish
6
Deutschland Erwache!
I
The autumn storms begin early on the North Sea, and judging from his text the poet Heine had stayed to witness them. The storm rages and whips the waves, and the waves, foaming with fury and leaping, tower up, and the white water mountains surge with life, and the little ship mounts upon them, hasty-diligent, and suddenly plunges down into black wide-gaping abysses of flood. O sea! Mother of beauty, arise from the foam! Grandmother of love, spare mine!
But when you are running a floating dairy farm you cannot take chances of your stock’s becoming seasick; you must put them on dry land before the equinoctial season and learn about storms from the pages of a book. Hansi and Bess had a concert tour, Freddi was going to apply the economic knowledge he had gained, and Lanny wanted to examine some pictures which might come on the market. Lanny, his wife, his mother, and her husband were urged to confer distinction and charm upon an oversized Berlin palace. “What else did I buy it for?” argued the proprietor.
To Lanny the young wife said privately: “Do you think it is a good thing for us to be associating with Jews all the time?”
The husband smiled. “You can meet anybody you want in that house. I assure you they will come.”
“Maybe so; but won’t they think there must be something wrong with us?”
“I assure you, my dear, they all know exactly what you are worth.”
“Lanny, that’s a horrid view to take of people!”
“You can save yourself a lot of unhappiness by taking my word about Europe. I have lived here most of my life.” Lanny might have added: “Remember Ettore!” But he rarely permitted himself to mention the dashing Italian duca with whom she had once fancied herself in love.
“But, Lanny, we have been living off the Robins for nearly five months! Am I never going to spend any of my own money?”
“If your conscience worries you, give Freddi a good check for his new school. Nothing will please Johannes more.”
“But if he wants that done, why doesn’t he do it himself?”
“I think he may be afraid to; it would make too many enemies. But if you do it, he will have an alibi.”
“Is he really that much of a coward, Lanny?”
The young husband chuckled. “Again I tell you, take my word about Europe!”
II
The German-Jewish money-lord had several of his guest-suites opened up, dusted, aired, and supplied with fresh flowers. He would have had them
redecorated if there had been time. The one assigned to Irma and Lanny had a drawing-room with a piano in it; also a bedroom, dressing-room, and bath for each. Each dressing-room had a clothes closet which was almost a room and would hold all the imitations of Paris costumes which the couturiers of Berlin might persuade Irma to purchase. She didn’t have gold bathroom fixtures and Lanny didn’t have silver—one had to go to America for styles such as that; but they had drawings by Boucher and Fragonard, Watteau and Lancret on their walls, and Lanny knew these were genuine, for he and Zoltan had purchased them and divided a ten per cent commission. Irma found that rather embarrassing, but Lanny said: “It was what enabled me to dress properly while I was courting you!”
Next door to their suite was one for the baby and the dependable Miss Severne. Feathers had been telegraphed for, and was on hand to take charge of Irma’s affairs: writing her letters, paying her bills, keeping track of her appointments. Johannes had provided an English-speaking maid, ready to serve her from the moment of her arrival; indeed, he would have ordered a baby giraffe from the Hagenbeck zoo if he had thought that would have added to her happiness.
Feathers had only to telephone to the steward’s office downstairs and a car would be at the door in a minute or two. There were theaters, operas, concerts, and cabaret entertainments for every sort of taste, high or low. The palace was in the fashionable district, convenient to everything, so the two young mothers had no trouble in keeping their schedules; lying back in the cushions of a limousine, they had time to recover from any excitement and thus avoid displeasing the head nurse. Their babies, being so well cared for, rarely cried at night, and, anyhow, that was the night nurse’s affair. In the early morning hours this nurse would steal into Irma’s bedroom, bringing Baby Frances for her first meal, and Irma would suckle her while still half asleep. Oh, yes, modern science can make life pleasant for those fortunate ones who have the price! Fond dreamers talk about making it that way for everybody, but the daughter of a utilities magnate would repeat an ancient question: “Who will do the dirty work?” She never found out who would, but she knew quite certainly who wouldn’t.
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