Read The Eye of the Abyss Online
Authors: Marshall Browne
The Eye of the Abyss (9 page)
Schmidt would have sympathised with bitterness, but detected none. He was sitting here on the slenderest of pretexts. How ridiculous it must seem to her: a kind of meddling curiosity. What was going on was rotten and terrifically bad luck, but merely saying, thinking that was worse than useless.
Had the knight ever had such self-doubt, been a host to similar powerlessness? He said: âI wish to help but I don't know what I can do.'
âThank you. I've understood that. Herr Wertheim has a new proposal.' She considered how much to say. âHe knows a man, an academic living a reclusive life in a remote place, who he's persuaded to take in a secretary. He believes in this household I'd drop from sight. Until something else can be arranged.'
Silently Schmidt gazed at her. A stop-gap solution. Out of Germany, beyond the reach of the Third Reich was the only safe haven ⦠This was no good. Dietrich's interest in the case
wouldn't cease at the point when she left the bank. The dedicated Nazi, the Munich-trained lawyer, would want to see her before the courts. In prison.
wouldn't cease at the point when she left the bank. The dedicated Nazi, the Munich-trained lawyer, would want to see her before the courts. In prison.
It had been a long and eventful day, but Schmidt didn't feel weary, instead more and more keyed up.
She said, âI've not decided to accept Herr Wertheim's offer. I wish to discuss it with my father.'
He stood up. He'd come here, he realised, to discover what, if anything, was to replace the Prague initiative. At least he'd that answer.Another reason existed, he supposed with a pang of self-disgust. âHerr Otto â¦' she'd said through the door. He had the unpleasant vision of the director and her in the corridor.
She watched him leave. There was to be no repetition of that passionate embrace. He felt he'd been dismissed from her mind as he closed the door. However, when he was gone, Fräulein Dressler remained motionless, staring at the varnished oak. A strange, well-meaning man. That serious, watchful face, his worried concern, awoke her sympathy. Did he realise the danger he might be in? It was far too late in the day to render assistance. They'd all been sleepwalking. A million troubled consciences such as his couldn't make any difference now. She'd felt the sexual pressure upon him, brushing against her spinster's life. It should have been merely a surprising and curious byway, yet the blood had been coursing through her last night, as it did sometimes in her solitary and intimate moments. Eligible men were few, and far between. Affairs had been rare in her life. A generation of mates killed off. Millions of German women shared her predicament. Some nights, she was desperate â less so these days.
Forget that
! She had to move quickly and surely now. And stay calm. There'd be no second chance.
! She had to move quickly and surely now. And stay calm. There'd be no second chance.
T
WO DAYS HAD elapsed since Schmidt had dined with Wagner, and paid his second visit to Fräulein Dressler's flat. In his office, he stared at the wall as if to project Herr Wertheim's latest plan on it; but it remained a sketchy blueprint in his head. He felt like a tram driver whose hand had frozen on the shut-off lever in an emergency. Abruptly, he smoothed his blotter, made a decision, and went to the G-D's anteroom. She wasn't there. He returned to his office.
WO DAYS HAD elapsed since Schmidt had dined with Wagner, and paid his second visit to Fräulein Dressler's flat. In his office, he stared at the wall as if to project Herr Wertheim's latest plan on it; but it remained a sketchy blueprint in his head. He felt like a tram driver whose hand had frozen on the shut-off lever in an emergency. Abruptly, he smoothed his blotter, made a decision, and went to the G-D's anteroom. She wasn't there. He returned to his office.
At 10.00 am, Dietrich terminated this. The Nazi was a specialist in bringing matters to a head. Schmidt looked up to meet the calculating eyes, and the wolfish smile. He'd no idea how the man had arrived so silently in his doorway.
âWhat do you have to report, Schmidt?'
Schmidt began to rise. Dietrich waved him down impatiently. âListen, Herr Auditor, don't bother to stand up for me.You Wertheim people spend half your time lifting your bums off your chairs when a superior appears. We're now close colleagues with the same aims. Remember that.'
Schmidt watched the Nazi; doubtless he'd the guardianship of the Party's business in mind. He collected himself: Feeding time. âHerr Director, one million in from Bremen this morning. Herr Schloss's department's already invested it.'
He husbanded these morsels for Dietrich, to deflect his scrutiny. Probably the Nazi had begun to see through it, hopefully
saw nothing more than an anxious underling's desire to please.
saw nothing more than an anxious underling's desire to please.
âVery good.'The cigarette case crossed the desk. Dietrich lit both their cigarettes. The oak of the desk creaked under his weight: a subtle Wertheim & Co protest. He waved his big white hand to disperse the outbreak of smoke, and appraised Schmidt with a speculative yet friendly look. âThe Dressler affair finishes today.' He inhaled luxuriously. Schmidt absorbed this as he did all of the Nazi's utterances, with meticulous attention and outward calm. But his heart beat more quickly. âIt will be tidied up this evening. The Gestapo will pick her up at her flat. That'll be that! Another one of them flushed out, extracted from circulation. Just like the Reichsbank's extraction of dirty banknotes! Very correct, eh Schmidt?' He tapped his thick fingers on the cigarette case in a rapid, valedictory tattoo, and smiled at the ceiling.
Schmidt felt his stomach rise and fall. He nodded slowly, automatically reaching deeper within himself for calm. With that smile the Nazi, too, seemed to have reached inside himself. Did Party members receive a bonus for this kind of thing? Perhaps only a testimonial. Schmidt couldn't interpret the tone, the smile. A hint of irony? Possibly. More one of challenge, he decided.
âNothing to say? Never mind. Have you thought over joining the Party? No?' Dietrich grinned. âMy dear Schmidt, you're not one to rush into action are you? When are you going to step up to the plate?'
This last question puzzled Schmidt, but the subject was far from his mind. âIt's an important decision. I wish to discuss it with my wife.' He heard himself saying this.
âAnd she is in Dresden attending to her mother.'The auditor looked hard at the Nazi. How did he know that? âAll right, Schmidt. We'll pursue it another time.' He rocked a little on his perch. âOne picks up many things at the centre of power.
For example, the Social Democratic Party, banned, presumed disbanded, in actual fact survives. Is treacherously running its affairs from Paris. From Paris! Stay alert, Schmidt! Nothing's as safe and sound as we think.'
For example, the Social Democratic Party, banned, presumed disbanded, in actual fact survives. Is treacherously running its affairs from Paris. From Paris! Stay alert, Schmidt! Nothing's as safe and sound as we think.'
He grinned again at the auditor. âBy the way, please recommend me your dentist. I wish to have a check-up.'
He departed with Doctor Bernstein's address in his notebook. Schmidt considered what he'd done. For a moment, he'd thought of giving the Nazi the name of the dentist recommended by Bernstein, or of saying that the practice had closed, though he knew it was open till the month-end. But immediately he was certain these subterfuges wouldn't work; he'd sensed that more was involved than Dietrich's teeth. He picked up the phone to warn the doctor.
After the call, Schmidt stared at the photo of the Wertheim building taken that long-ago summer day. His body felt chilled. His brain seemed to be overloaded. The SPD survived! Wagner had been to Paris several times this past year. Coincidence? He shook his head. Intemperate outbursts were one thing. He couldn't believe his friend would run such a deadly risk as this implied.
Dietrich seemed to be fitting Franz Schmidt's life together like one of Trudi's jigsaw puzzles, and what was this new bonhomie? An intimacy being attempted which was ominous. He must maintain his distance; use his polite, circumspect manner to its full effect. He stubbed out the cigarette.
He knew now what Dietrich had put in motion, but remained ignorant of the situation on the first floor: knew only the general steps of their mysterious shadow-dance. Could she get away in time? Dietrich had served the news to him like a delicacy on a plate; it teased him with its danger. He was perspiring. He straightened in his chair. For him the road ahead had opened up.
Â
Â
Dietrich left with a brooding expression on his face. He was confident that the Dressler situation would be correctly finalised. His revelation to Schmidt of her imminent detention, before he'd dealt finally with Herr Wertheim on the issue, underlined that. He was becoming intrigued with Schmidt's nature, with penetrating his smokescreens. If they were that. He felt attracted to the man.
He arrived at the first floor, and walked straight into the general-director's office. Herr Wertheim gave the Nazi a quizzical look, and motioned him to a chair.
Dietrich believed that the old banker's negligence and intransigence concerning his secretary, now unmasked, had changed the balance of power between them. However, the hierarchal system should be respected. Up to a point. He began by raising one or two routine matters. The banker listened, patiently receptive. Instead of smoking, the Nazi employed his hand in expansive gestures. He paused ⦠âHerr General-Director, I have to inform you the Gestapo will arrest the Dressler woman this evening at her flat. At 6.00 pm, I believe.'
The faded eyes dilated.Wertheim laid a bluish hand on the desk; otherwise he was as inert as the paintings on his walls. After a long moment, he said, âMein herr, you surprise me. I understood it was being held in abeyance pending my consideration. Our further discussion.'
The Nazi raised his open hands, palms uppermost. He lied with an easy conviction: âUnfortunately, the illegality of her position came to the attention of the ever-alert authorities through other channels. It's now out of our hands.'
Herr Wertheim didn't doubt that it was. He stared past the Nazi to the far wall, meditated on the so-called degenerate picture. He sighed to himself. This Nazi was not as subtle as
he thought he was. It was distressing to hear the reference to âthe Dressler woman'. They'd accelerate her departure to his cousin in Saxony.
he thought he was. It was distressing to hear the reference to âthe Dressler woman'. They'd accelerate her departure to his cousin in Saxony.
With narrowed eyes, Dietrich watched the Silver Fox. He said, âIt would be a mistake for the fräulein to try to avoid arrest. For example, to attempt to hide in some well-meaning but misguided household â even in a region as remote as say ⦠Saxony.'
Herr Wertheim's gaze broke contact with the unblinking eye on the wall. His face had assumed its most profound urbanity. But he was thunderstruck. So they were tapping his private telephone line! He felt the slightest film of moisture on his hands, a palpitation of his heart. His fertile plan was a frozen ruin. He was stunned. From a controlled defence to defeat, in one move.
Dietrich stared at the banker, wondering how he'd taken it. He still couldn't tell.
The general-director glanced at the big clock on his wall. This was a city of clockmaking and it had been presented to him by a famous manufacturer; it resembled those they suspended above prizefight rings. The innovative sweep-hand seemed to devour time. He smiled. âHerr Dietrich, I won't detain you any longer from your important work.'
Fräulein Dressler watched the Nazi stride out through the anteroom, as though on parade at a rally. The man seemed to possess a ragbag of poses. All he lacked was a uniform. Herr Wertheim's red light was flashing. She took up her notebook and went in, and sat in the chair still unpleasantly warm from Dietrich's bodyheat. Herr Wertheim was emitting hints of strain. After ten years, she detected what others couldn't; more so than his wife, she liked to believe.
âMy dear fräulein ⦠bad news. To my deep regret.'To another he might have said, âPlease stay calm.'
The absence of urbanity in his voice froze her heart. Then
he startled her by rising, and coming around the desk to stand looking down at her, his hands caressing the air. She thought: My God!
he startled her by rising, and coming around the desk to stand looking down at her, his hands caressing the air. She thought: My God!
âThe authorities intend to detain you for questioning this evening. Six pm. At your flat. They've discovered our plan. They're listening to my private line!'
Now Herr Wertheim was speaking in a strange voice. It seemed as if she'd been watching a moving picture of herself caught up in a dramatic plot, a climax coming, the interweaved skeins of the Prague solution, the Saxony solution, her father's quest for a solution. And a minor thread: the inexplicable intervention of Chief Auditor Schmidt. On the physical plane, her life had become unbelievable; yet intellectually it was as clear-cut as this building on its granite foundations. She thought:
Please God help me
!
Please God help me
!
âThere's no time to lose.' Wertheim spun around and went into an alcove. He came back with an envelope, and gave it to her.
Five thousand: his emergency travel funds.
âGo to one of your father's sisters. I can only recommend that. You must leave immediately.' He knew she'd three aunts in different cities.Years ago, he'd sent flowers to one who'd become widowed. He couldn't recall which cities. âAll else being equal, go to the largest city.' He paused and lightly rubbed his cheek with a veined hand, feeling events closing in, ice freezing around his heart. He became dizzy; his temples had begun to pound. âAstonishing,
my
telephone line! Presumably they can trace calls made to it. To contact me, do so through Herr Schmidt. But be very careful.' He pursed his lips; the implications went beyond Fräulein Dressler's case.
my
telephone line! Presumably they can trace calls made to it. To contact me, do so through Herr Schmidt. But be very careful.' He pursed his lips; the implications went beyond Fräulein Dressler's case.
She thought: He's breathing rapidly. Someone else will have to remind him about his pills. But he'd never reveal such agitation to others.
âWe'll get money to you â through your father.' He smiled
painfully, took her hand and formally shook it. She felt his deep sadness; also, his will to deal with this problem and put it behind him. She knew him too well. Suddenly, he lifted her hand to his lips. Ah, yes, she thought, but we do return, briefly, to the old days.
painfully, took her hand and formally shook it. She felt his deep sadness; also, his will to deal with this problem and put it behind him. She knew him too well. Suddenly, he lifted her hand to his lips. Ah, yes, she thought, but we do return, briefly, to the old days.
Ten minutes later, Fräulein Dressler, loyal and irreplaceable private secretary to the general-director of Bankhaus Wertheim & Co AG, quit the bank and the life in which she'd hoped to be grounded for the rest of her working days. Departing by the tradesmen's entrance, she thought: Now I must really move fast.
Stay calm
. As she hurried into the street she said to herself: âFarewell dear Wertheims. I'll leave you my ghost.'
Stay calm
. As she hurried into the street she said to herself: âFarewell dear Wertheims. I'll leave you my ghost.'
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