Tempting Fate (30 page)

“You may be sure that we have excellent facilities for such items. BKK will be honored to guard the Graf’s possessions,” Helmut declared at once. There would be a great deal of prestige to the man who brought even a portion of Ragoczy’s fine belongings under this roof. “Please inform the Graf that we are entirely at his disposal.”

“Thank you,” Roger said gravely. “My employer will be relieved to learn this.”

“Five hundred thousand Swiss francs is a good-sized sum,” Helmut said after a moment. “Especially with the Great War so recent and the outrageous demands on Deutschland by the French…”

Roger made a dignified gesture. “During the recent war, my employer was, for the most part, in Russia. You are aware, I assume, that Schloss Saint-Germain has not been occupied by its owner for more than thirty years.”

“Yes, we learned that,” Helmut admitted. “Russia has been in turmoil. It is not likely that we at BKK will be able to act on the Graf’s business there for at least another two years, if then.”

“I would advise you to speak to my employer on that matter. He is not dependent on his income from those holdings, of course.” Roger managed a faint smile that was not the least encouraging to Helmut Rauch.

“Of course,” Helmut nodded, baffled. “What are his present intentions, do you know?”

Roger knew that Ragoczy had recently invested in the company providing electricity to parts of München, and in another company building the cable that would carry both electricity and telegraph to outlying parts of Bayern. “He intends to restore the Schloss properly. His ward has an interest in horses, and my employer has decided to add paddocks and training rings to the cleared land near the stable. In time he has said that he would like to install a swimming pool, for though the winters are dreadful, the summers are really quite pleasant.”

“An extravagance, given the times,” Helmut said severely, and with a trace of scorn. The foreigner, he thought, was as bad as the most hedonistic Münchener he had met, and that, he decided, was saying a great deal.

“You disapprove?” Roger asked, showing little emotion. He was clearly expecting an answer.

Helmut frowned and gave a stiff response. “It is not my place to approve or disapprove, of course. It would be folly for me, as an officer of BKK, to encourage your employer to deplete his resources.”

“My employer has sufficient funds for occasional … extravagances,” Roger said mildly, his faded blue eyes becoming distant. “You do not know the life he has led, or what it has cost him.”

Helmut Rauch was acutely aware that if he antagonized this capricious foreigner, he might well be dismissed from his job, so he forced himself to give what he hoped was a tolerant smile. “Yes, I can understand that. The Great War was very hard on everyone.”

“That is not my only concern,” Roger said, then stood up. “I will assure my employer that you are proceeding on his behalf, and that you are willing to take certain of his more valuable possessions into your protection.”

“Aber ja; selbstverständlich! It is only appropriate that we extend this service to those who bank with us. This is not one of those questionable institutions where we do not look after all the requirements of those who bank with us. You may assure Herr Graf … Herr Ragoczy,” he corrected himself smoothly, “that we will be delighted to deal with him in any way that we can.”

“I will tell him you said so,” Roger said, and turned toward the door.

“Oh,” Helmut called after him, “I have heard that Herr Ragoczy is something of a scholar.”

“That is one of his interests, certainly,” Roger responded, carefully noncommittal. “He has a fair reputation in certain circles, though he is an amateur.”

“It is from such men that the finest discoveries often come,” Helmut declared with the plainest show of enthusiasm he had shown that day. “It is always the greatest mistake to overlook the work of those who are removed from the academic world. Your employer must believe this as much as I do.”

Puzzled at this new excitement on Rauch’s part, Roger paused. “I gather there is something you wish to tell him, a thought you would like to convey?”

“Well, there is something, yes,” Helmut said, faltering now that he had begun. “There are a number of us who are … concerned; yes, concerned, at what is happening to the world, to the
people
of the world, if you understand my meaning.”

Roger’s eyes narrowed swiftly, then once again he was the same self-contained man that he always appeared to be. “I am afraid I do not. Perhaps you will explain.”

Uncertain of himself now, and not knowing if it was proper to discuss such things with a man who was only a servant, Helmut turned and opened one of the lower drawers of his desk, taking a book from it. This he held out to Roger. “Here, this is for your employer. Dinster shows the problem much better than I can; we have so little time. When your employer has read it, I will look forward to discussing it with him.”

“Die Sünde wider das Blut,”
Roger read, and could not entirely keep from a fleeting smile. To give Ragoczy, of all men, a book called
The Sin Against Blood.
He knew that Helmut Rauch was watching him closely, and remarked, “I will tell him that you sent it.”

“It is an important work,” Rauch insisted. “It has gained something of a following since it was published at the end of the war. Dinster has some quite important points to make. Your employer ought to be aware of them.”

“I’ll tell him you said so,” Roger promised, adding deferentially, “It is not my place to say whether or not he will wish to discuss it.”

“Quite proper,” Helmut Rauch said, beginning to feel approval for this man. “Not many of those in service remember such things, these days.”

Roger reached to open the door. “Is there anything else, Herr Rauch? It will please my employer to learn that you’re willing to deal with his requirements, of course, but as he is a foreigner, do you have anything you may want him to be aware of?”

Helmut glanced at the window, toward the narrow building on the opposite side of Kriegskönigstrasse, toward a high-walled house that had been built in the fifteenth century. His family had once owned such a house, but that was before Bismarck’s dream had shattered and the Kaiser had begun to listen to greedy sycophants. “Your employer,” he said after a moment, “is not aware of how things are with us in Deutschland. He imagines himself safe because he had fled the desolation of Russia. But this is not so. It is true that the Spartacists are gone, and that the Communist weed has been eradicated, but that is a simple matter, an obvious matter. There are dangers much more insidious here, subtle betrayals and influences that have sapped our country to its heart. Most good citizens are blind to the menace around them, and think that the only thing that dishonors them is the disgusting terms of our so-called peace. That is nothing. Who caused that war? Who profited by it, nurtured it, prolonged it? The people have not asked themselves those questions yet, but in time they will—they must. And it will mean that they are awakening from the sleep that has brought them to their knees.” His voice had changed, becoming at once harsher and deeper. “Your employer might not think that there is any hazard here, but there is a great deal, and it is more degrading than he knows. Not only is our nation dishonored, it is polluted. Yes! Polluted! I myself have seen it. At the Front, I saw the face of the enemy—our inner enemy—everywhere. I could not consent to countenance this situation. But such is the power that I was denied the right to lead my soldiers in battle, to show my contempt for their aims. Your employer may fall into the error of thinking that those who appear helpless are so, and that smiles are not insinuating. Foreigners are often so eager for friends that they give their confidence where it is least deserved. The architect your employer has retained, for example, is not the kind of man that Herr Ragoczy should trust too far. You may not see the reason for this, but for those of us who have made a serious study of the matter, the difficulties are readily apparent. It is not simply that there are motives that you do not conceive of, but that the conspiracy—and you must not doubt that there is a conspiracy—has been going on for years, perhaps centuries.” His eloquence suddenly deserted him and he felt unreasonably shamed that he should spend so much time talking to a servant.

As Roger opened the door, he said, “I know that you are sincere in your concern, Herr Rauch. My mas … employer is not much given to involving himself in the affairs of the country he lives in. He is, as you have already pointed out, a foreigner.”

Helmut scowled. “This goes far beyond mere national borders. It is imperative that your employer realize this. Ragoczy is a distinguished name. Had things been otherwise, they might have been our leaders during the war, and their long traditions of service and valor might have broken the crippling hold that kept us from victory.”

Inwardly Roger was very much alarmed, but his expression did not alter. Perhaps his blue eyes were darker for a moment, and perhaps his hands tightened, but there was nothing obvious in his demeanor that would show his anxiety. “I will give your book to my employer. Whatever else comes of this, my employer will initiate, if that is his wish.”

“Ich verstehe,” Helmut said, becoming more controlled again. “You must pardon me. I saw such things in the war that—”

Roger was curious, but did not want to have the conversation resume. “It was a great catastrophe. There can be no question of that.”

“Ja; schrecklich. It haunts me to this day.” He forced himself to give Roger a stern smile. “It was good of you to come. We’re most pleased to have Herr Ragoczy as one of our depositors.”

“He is a very wealthy man,” Roger said, as if it explained everything, which, in a sense, it did.

“And it would appear, an unconcerned one.” He had not intended to say that aloud, but the thought had rankled within him so that it was out before he could stop it.

“Do you think so?” Roger asked, with such an expression in his eyes that it silenced the defense Helmut had been about to make. When he knew that Rauch would not speak again, Roger gave a stiff little bow. “Thank you, Herr Rauch, on behalf of my employer. I will see that he gets this book.”

“It is my pleasure,” Helmut muttered, not wishing to admit how glad he was when he heard Roger’s footsteps growing softer. He stared at his desk as if trying to recall what it was, then rang for Schildwache. As he waited for his secretary to appear, he began to scribble a hasty note on one of his small sheets of memo paper. By the time Schildwache stepped through the door, Helmut was sealing the note.

“This is for Herr Doktor Friedrich Krohn at Starnberg. It is essential that he receive it today. Either hire a messenger or deliver it yourself.” He stood up as he held out the paper.

“Starnberg? That is twenty kilometers, at least,” Schildwache said, aghast. “How am I to get there?”

“You or a messenger. Herr Kegel has a motorcycle: I am sure he would be willing to let you use it.” Helmut suspected that the guard whose motorcycle he was volunteering would be in full sympathy with the errand, if only he knew its purpose.

“But I don’t know how to—” Schildwache protested, and was silenced by Helmut’s firm voice.

“It is not difficult. Children have learned. Ask Kegel and he will show you. This letter is very important. A great deal of money is at stake.” He saw with satisfaction that Schildwache was capitulating. “Here. Take it. Talk to Kegel. I will not expect to see you until tomorrow, and at that time, you had better give me proof that the message has been delivered. No excuses. The roads to Starnberg are fairly good. You should have no trouble along the way. You may get fuel at Sauting, if necessary.”

“But I—” Schildwache attempted to interrupt.

“It must be done.” Helmut felt indignation burning within him. It was so difficult to deal with these simple clerks! He had given the man an understandable order, his language was concise, and yet the secretary persisted in objecting.

Schildwache sighed. “If you insist. But truly, I don’t know how to ride one of those contraptions. I have never even driven an automobile. Herr Kegel may not want to release his machine to me.”

“You tell Herr Kegel where you are going, and to whom you are taking a message, and I am confident that he will assist you. Come, Schildwache, it isn’t so difficult. Children of fourteen can do it, so you must be able to, as well. You may like it.” He had to work to conceal his contempt for this sniveling man. How could Deutschland not have been defeated, if creatures like this one were the flower of the country’s manhood? It had gone too far. He folded his arms. “You must go now, Schildwache. If you are not familiar with the road, you will not want to try to drive it after dark, and that might well happen if you wait much longer.” He had the satisfaction of knowing that would spur the little man on.

“Of course, Mein Herr,” Schildwache said miserably, bowing again as he retreated.

“And tell Frau Aufrecht that I will want to make a telephone call, will you? I will be down in a few moments to give her the number.” He waved the man away and reached to close his window. He was still apprehensive about the exchange he had had with Roger and did not entirely know why. Helmut Rauch did not spend much time in introspection, so now he did not pause to examine his feelings. Telling himself that action was called for, instead of these unrewarding ruminations, he rose once more and prepared to go down to Frau Aufrecht’s telephone desk. He comforted himself with the thought that once his note was delivered to Friedrich Krohn, he would not have to be idle.

As Helmut Rauch was placing his call to Dietrich Eckart, Roger had driven the Benz touring car around to Ardisstrasse, about two blocks north of Alte Pinakothek. The building he wanted was across the street; a barn of a place, which had been at one time a tavern, at another a saddler’s, and now was one of the five theatres in München where moving pictures were shown. Roger checked his watch, then reached to the carry-compartment between himself and the passengers’ seats. Three books were there. He pulled out one in a faded leather binding, with the title
Una delle Ultime Sere de Carnevale.
Smiling slightly, he began to read.