Then he felt the snap of the rope, the shock through his wrists and elbows and felt himself arcing through the air. He smacked against the side of the chalet and his gloved hands began slipping down the length of rope. He let go with one hand, grabbed the rope a foot lower and frantically twisted it around his wrist. It stopped his slide. He was dangling six feet above the balcony.
“Where is
“You know these artists,” he heard the woman answer.
He slid down the rest of the rope to the screening room balcony and sighed with relief, a specter in black hunched against the wall.
Inside the dimly lit screening room, Hitler had settled in his usual chair with Goring on one side and Eva on the other. The rest of the guests found seats around him. Vierhaus was worried. Hitler had no patience when it came to tardiness. Where was Ingersoll?
Suddenly the French doors leading to the balcony burst open and a hideous specter in black whirled dramatically through the doors.
Everyone in the room gasped.
Eva screamed.
Himmler reached for his Luger.
Hitler bolted back against his seat, his eyes as wide as a full moon.
He swept the mask off his head and leaned over in a deep bow.
Ingersoll sat on the bed in his room.
What a day this had been, a personal victory for him. The screening had been a triumph. And his little stunt had, once the outrage disappeared, thrilled the Fuhrer with its daring.
The actor stepped out on the balcony and lit a cigarette. He was exhausted and needed time to think, to plan his future.
One floor below the masters of the Reich were talking business, something both Hitler and Vierhaus had said was usually forbidden.
Somebody opened the doors to the terrace below and he could hear the voices, pick up an occasional word or phrase, although he was not trying to eavesdrop. He was intoxicated by the thought that twenty feet below him, the destiny of Germany was being planned.
“I say do it,” he heard Goring’s boisterous voice say. “And quickly.”
…….. very risky,” somebody said, perhaps Funk. “Of course it’s risky,” Himmler said. “So what
The voice faded away. There was more muffled conversation and he picked up occasional snatches of sentences.
Goebbels: “. . . must convince everyone it was a Communist plot.”
Hitler: “That is your problem, Joseph.”
“Goring: “. . . worry, I know the perfect scapegoat . . . a half-wit who lives . .
Himmler: “. . . five days and I will convince him he is the head of the Communist party for the entire continent,” followed by a chorus of laughter.
More muffled talk and then he heard Goring finish a sentence: “. . . to arrange the fire.”
The
There was more muffled talk. He stepped closer to the edge of the balcony to hear better and heard a snatch of something Goring was saying: “. . . a tunnel from and he faded out again. Moments later.
Himmler: “A rat bomb perhaps
“A rat bomb?”
“Simply starve a rat for a day or two. Prepare the fire in the heating ducts in the basement, set a trap so it will ignite the fire when the trap is sprung. Then we let the rat loose in the duct. A hungry rat can smell food for miles. When he takes his meal, poof. The building is old, it will go up like a dry Christmas tree.”
Someone walked out on the terrace below. Ingersoll snuffed out the cigarette in a drift of snow beside the door and stepped back inside.
He sat at the writing desk in the corner of the room trying to put his mind back on the film. There were several minor things he wanted to change. But he could not shake the events of the day and Hitler’s outrageous proposal to him.
His decision was sudden and irrevocable.
He got up suddenly and cracked the door to his room a couple of inches. He heard the sitting room doors on the first floor open, the muffled voices of men saying their good nights, a ripple of laughter. He left the door ajar and went back to the table.
