She shook her head. “I became acquainted with their movement for liberation while working with Emmeline Pankhurst in Europe.”
“Oh … I see. Is she heading it?”
“No. The Czech Nationalist Leader, Thomas Masaryk, is at the top, and he’s a friend of hers.”
“Is Stobalt in charge over here?”
“No. A man named Victor Voska heads the movement in this country, but I don’t think Stobalt is too far down the line. I really don’t know much about their chain of command over here.”
“So you’re not actually a member.”
“No … though I did promise my support once I got back over here.”
“Did you set me up for all this?”
“No indeed. But when you mentioned Tetzel’s name and I passed it on to Frieda Miles—purely by coincidence—she told me of their suspicions about the man and I agreed to let them talk to you. You’re in a perfect spot. Stobalt traveled a long way to make his appeal today. I do wish you’d reconsider.”
“How do you know they’re not a bunch of radicals, like Pankhurst?”
“Emmeline has a clear head, and a lot of wisdom It’s Sylvia, mainly, who is so hard-headed and overdramatic—the headlines-maker. The people in the BNA are not hotheads like her.”
I looked into her eyes for a few moments, then said, “You’re still hurt that I didn’t follow you into the suffrage movement, aren’t you? And that’s why—”
“No, that was your decision and I respect it. Believe me, I’m only serving as an intermediary here. Though I must say, knowing it’s an important crusade—virtually a life and death situation—I couldn’t help feeling proud of you if you’d co-operate. They’ve assured me they wouldn’t expect much from you … just a little sleuthing and reporting back what you find.”
“You seem to forget you’re asking me to pry into the business of a man I like and respect, and who, incidentally, took a chance on my ability. You heard my feelings when Stobalt was here. Mr. Tetzel just wouldn’t—”
“I’m not calling Tetzel a blackguard, Camille. But people have loyalties, and they’re not always where they ought to be.”
“But you don’t mind traipsing over my loyalty to Mr. Tetzel.”
“Wait a minute. Do you really think the BNA would bother with him if there weren’t good reason to believe he’s up to something? You heard about the plans for blowing up—”
“But in this case they’re wrong.”
“How can you be so positive? You really haven’t known the man that long, have you?”
I just stared at her. It was like a repeat of our arguments over the suffrage movement so long ago. We just couldn’t get through to each other. Finally she said, “Look at it this way. If you prove he isn’t guilty of anything, you will have been doing him a service. Now that they’re on to him, the BNA will have to find some way—eventually—of investigating him. If not you, then someone else who is in a less accessible position will be chosen. If you’re right—and I hope you are, believe me—you have the wherewithal to lay the whole thing to rest.”
I spent the balance of the day and part of the night struggling over what Mother said, and in the end decided to trust her judgment. More than anything, it was her final remark which convinced me.
The following morning I met Stobalt again in Mother’s room. First I made my position clear. I was willing to help the BNA only as long as it took to exonerate Mr. Tetzel. Then I was finished. Stobalt listened attentively while I spoke, then nodded and briskly began, “Now, what you must do first of all is familiarize yourself with his habits. What time does he go to lunch? What time does he leave his office in the evening? Who are his regular visitors? Telephone calls? See if you can overhear his conversations, whenever possible. Note how much time he spends alone in his office, with his door closed.”
“Shall I look after these little incidentals for a week or so, then dash off a little note to you?”
He shook his head. “One week from tomorrow, you will meet your contact, and work with him from there. If you have nothing to report, he will give you further instructions; if you have, he will advise you accordingly.”
Suddenly it all seemed more ominous. “Where will I meet this man? What time? And how will I know him?”
“At one o’clock in the afternoon, on a bench at Alamo Plaza, Menger side. He will approach you. You will know him by this phrase—‘There is rain today in Paris.’”
“All right. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open next week, but I’ll bet you Tetzel comes out looking cleaner than a Golddust twin.”
He nodded. He is more certain than he pretends, I thought.
Mother and I had the rest of Sunday together, until her train left at eight o’clock. As soon as Stobalt was out the door, she began bustling about in her usual way, making plans. “We’ll visit your father’s grave, of course, and I’d like to see your room at the Y and meet your roommate. How about dinner at a really nice restaurant? Honestly, if I see one more roasted chicken half or fruit salad I’ll give up conferences forever.…”
Yet as the day wore on she became more and more subdued, especially after she stood at the foot of my father’s grave. I had been there only once since moving to San Antonio, and, unable to reconcile my memories of him with a small plot of ground marked by a stone with his name, I had not stayed long. Yet Mother lingered, standing perfectly still with arms folded under her bosom, as though her thoughts were somehow communicating themselves to him. Upon his death several years before, she had talked a great deal about what was to be done next. With her stiff-upper-lip attitude she was as much like a soldier as he was. Yet as she stood above his grave that day I realized she must have missed him far more than she ever let on to us kids.
We didn’t speak again of the BNA, but as she was about to board the train she said, longingly, “Do take care of yourself, and eat properly … and … remember to keep your guard up.”
“Mother, you sound like I’m about to be thrown to the lions.”
She hugged me tight and kissed me, then looked as though she might add something. But the train whistle blew and she scurried down the walk, weighted down yet balanced equally between her proverbial enormous purse, carried by the strap in the one hand, and her bulging portfolio packed in the other. It occurred to me when I stepped away that my remark might have hit a little too close to home.
I made it through most of the next week with growing confidence. I was thorougly convinced that anyone who spoke so fondly of life in the United States, and particularly anyone who had been able to amass so much in terms of wealth and position in a foreign society, could not possibly be involved in what the BNA people were trying to pin on Tetzel. He had no reason, first of all. He had been here since he was a kid. What could he gain by working with agencies of the government he had fled as a youth? Why risk the loss of everything to help them?
Mr. Tetzel ate lunch in his office, door closed, on Monday and Tuesday. Both days Claude brought him a sandwich and a cup of coffee. On Wednesday Tetzel went to a regular meeting of San Antonio bankers, which included a luncheon at the St. Anthony’s. After he left I wondered if I should have followed him, but by then I was convinced the BNA was all wrong, and counted the days until Sunday so that I could tell them so. On Thursday Tetzel spent much of the day behind closed doors, speaking on the telephone. I could hear little of the conversation because Claude had me working on a file near the front of my office, but whenever I did catch a phrase as he slipped into Tetzel’s office or came out, to leave a message or take one, the words seemed to pertain to banking and certainly gave no indication of anything outside the law. Another point was that he had only one phone, which was connected into the bank switchboard. Early it occurred to me that if he were carrying on cloak and dagger activities, surely he would have had a separate phone direct to outside. Arranging for it would have seemed innocuous on the surface—an understandable executive luxury. I made a mental note to tell my contact of my sound rationale.
<
br /> When I left at six o’clock on Thursday night, Tetzel was still in there. After putting on my coat I stepped up to his door and knocked softly.
“Come in,” he answered immediately.
I asked if I could get anything for him before I left.
“Nothing,” he said, and smiled. “I was just going to call it a night myself. Can I drive you home?”
“No, thanks. I don’t live far from here.”
I saw nothing unusual on his desk. There were a lot of papers, but I couldn’t make an issue out of glancing down at them, so I could only assume, from his relaxed behavior, that I had not been threatening discovery by coming in when I did.
On the way out I looked up at the windows—his office faced the Navarro Street side of the building. The lights were still on. I was really feeling smug and crafty by then, and spending a lot of time thinking how I’d impress my contact—whoever he was—with my thoroughness in proving there was nothing wrong with Tetzel. I decided to go by a little cafe for some Mexican food, then double back after I had eaten and look up at the windows, to see if he had left. I pulled my coat collar up around my chin. The winter air was chilly, especially near the river.
An hour later I was back on the spot. I did a double take when I noticed Mr. Tetzel’s office lights were still aglow. Too late for the cleaning people to be in there. By seven o’clock they were up on the fourth floor. Half the windows on that floor, Navarro side, were now glowing, proof my timing was correct.
I walked back to the Y, crestfallen. I’d have to mention this to my contact. Yet, what could it mean? He’d been tied up longer than he expected? It was only an hour, for heaven’s sake. In a week of absolutely normal routines, what did an hour prove?
I had more nervous energy than usual that evening, and scrubbed floors, then emptied the bookcase along the wall of Cecelia’s books, dusted each one, and put them back into place. I repotted a languid ivy and mended a blouse. I was so involved in my own thoughts that I stared at Cecelia dumbly while she repeated twice, “It’s almost nine-thirty. Aren’t you ever going to bed?”
“I—I just remembered … I have to go out for something,” I told her, pulling on my coat. I know what nagged at me was Stobalt’s certainty. I had a feeling he already knew plenty, before my help was enlisted. And if that were true, I just had to be extra suspicious of anything unusual. Maybe Tetzel did pal around with some unscrupulous characters, not knowing that’s the sort they were. Then I would be doing him a favor by clearing his reputation. I walked back to the bank building to check once more. To my relief, all lights were out. I turned to walk back, a smile on my face, when I caught a glimpse of him, crossing a street just a few feet ahead of me. With the streetlights on, there was no mistaking it was him. Should I follow, I wondered? Just fifteen minutes left before curfew at the Y. I didn’t have time. He was probably going home anyway, but what if not?
No, I just couldn’t risk it. I didn’t have any money with me, and could not possibly catch him up, once he’d gotten into his car, without hiring a taxi. This is ridiculous, I thought angrily. Here I am feeling obligated to go chasing after a perfectly decent man, right on the point of spending my own money to rent a taxi I can’t afford, all for some organization that means nothing to me. I slipped upstairs and into my room—stubbing my toe on a table because Cecelia had turned the lights off—undressed quickly, and got into bed. Cecelia turned over and said sleepily, “I was worried about you, Camille. It’s awfully late for a single girl to be out on the streets. Anything could happen to you.”
“Thanks,” I told her, and was soon asleep.
By Friday I knew my case wasn’t as strong as it had been on Monday, but I was still sure my evidence against Tetzel was minimal. Then around noon I happened to walk in while his safe door was open—Claude was putting something into it—and noticed there was undeniably a separate compartment in the left side. I approached and said, “Oh yes, before you go you’ll have to give me that combination. What would happen if you got off to California without telling me? Oh say, how do you get into that little door inside?”
“I don’t go into that, and neither will you,” he said without turning around. “Mr. Tetzel keeps the key himself.”
3
By the end of the week I knew I was bound to get involved more deeply, because I had learned just enough to cause the BNA to want more. Sunday was a clear, breezy day with blue skies and white clouds crossing over like brush strokes. I sat out on a bench, enjoying the sun’s warmth on my face. Within a couple of minutes I saw a man come from the front door of the Menger lobby, fold a newspaper under his arm, and cross the street. Certain to be him, I thought, then was surprised to see him stroll off toward the post office, passing me by. Just after, another man approached from behind and sat down on the bench. His complexion was light and his hands were long and slender, with prominent veins. His hat brim covered his forehead, so I didn’t get a good look at his face or his eyes. Though he proved to be the man with whom I would have frequent and intimate meetings, I never did get a good view of his facial features.
I looked ahead. In a moment he said the code words, in a clipped dialect. I sighed and said, “All right, mister—what shall I call you?”
“My code name is Edwin.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you have learned this past week.”
“Who do you report to?”
“Stobalt.”
I still couldn’t look at him, but I knew he was smiling at my thoroughness in checking him out. I reported fully, playing up the fact that my evidence was very inconclusive, hoping the frailty of what I said would cause him to suggest we part company forever. Instead he nodded slightly, and replied, “Your next step will be to have a look at the general ledgers to see whether any unusually large amounts are being transferred regularly into individual accounts. I’ll need a list of the names and addresses of these accounts, along with amounts and dates over the past three months.”
“Now see here, maybe Michael Stobalt didn’t enlighten you on this, but I don’t work with ledgers. I work for Mr. Tetzel directly. I couldn’t possibly get my hands on them without arousing suspicion.”
“You will display a desire to learn all you can about the running of the bank, in order to be of more help to Tetzel by better understanding your job,” he said. I had an uncomfortable feeling Edwin had been reading my thoughts. He continued, “One day, you will ask to be taken to the room where the records are kept, and have a brief lesson from a bookkeeper or whoever is in charge. Then one night, after everyone has gone, you will find a way of getting back into the room to look around.”
I was aghast!
“It may take several nights, of course, to get the job done. By the way, have you got to go through the main lobby to get to the other floors?”
“No. There’s an employees’ entrance, with a separate staircase.”
“Is there a night guard?”
“One, but he stays around the main lobby most of the time.”
He nodded, and I thought the instructions were over, but I was mistaken.
“Oh, and we will need pictures of Tetzel and all his immediate staff, and as time goes by, anyone who proves to be involved with him in his espionage activity. There’s a vest-pocket camera in the package I’ve brought along here. When I leave, you should pick it up. Instructions are included on how to use it. Of course, if you could find another way to get pictures—maybe you’re a Kodak enthusiast—you could easily find excuses to photograph people. They don’t have to know your reasons. Usually people love to have their picture taken.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, you must move into a private place. Find an apartment.”
“I can’t afford an apartment—they’re expensive,” I protested. At that point I was boiling mad, and talking louder, using my hands. Edwin put a finger to his mouth and folded his arms. I took the hint and said softly, “Do you expect your organization to pay the bills?
”
“Unfortunately, we’re a poor bunch of amateur spies. We don’t have much money. Many of the top people in our outfit are spending from their own private funds. We aren’t like our enemies, who have unlimited amounts to spend in this country. I’ll try and get some extra cash for you, though, and maybe in a few weeks you could ask for a raise in pay.”
“I just got one.”
“Prices are going up everywhere. Use that excuse. It’s for—”
“I know, a good cause.”
“Is there any way you could get access to that little compartment in Tetzel’s safe—maybe you could search his suit coat for a key, or his desk—”
“Look, I always considered myself brave, even reckless at times. But do you realize you are endangering my job if I get caught? Do you know what kind of position you are putting me in?”
“Keep in mind that what you are doing might ultimately save not only the jobs, but the lives, of many innocent people. And if you act discreetly, no one will have reason to suspect you’re up to anything.”
“At least tell me what you expect me to find in his safe, and in those confounded bank ledgers.”
“He may have some vouchers or invoices for the sale of arms or metals in his safe. As for the ledgers—just have a look and give me the information. I can instruct you from there.”
“Well he certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to carry on that kind of business through the records of the bank.”
“We have certain evidence ammunition is being sold to Francisco Villa, as it has been sold to Victoriana Huerta in the past. We want to find out whether any of these sales are channeled through Tetzel’s bank, via other parties. Nothing would be shown on the bank’s registers except amounts of money. From the list of names you get, we can check out the sources.”
I let out a long breath. “I’ll do it, but you have to get me more money.”
“I’ll work on that. Meantime, if you could also be put in charge of carrying outgoing mail—you might find an apartment with the post office between it and the bank, so you could feasibly suggest taking on the job of dropping it off—except that you also have to be in charge of posting it.
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