The Hunt

“I am sure that was a difficult decision for you.”

“Yes. And there is something else that is difficult.”

“What might that be?” Hitler asked.

“There are two problems we must deal with,” Ingersoll said and calmly explained what they were.

Hitler did not flinch. His expression did not change.

“You shall learn,” he said to the actor, “those are the kinds of problems we deal with extremely well.”

Their eyes met and slowly, very slowly, Johann Ingersoll raised his hand in the Nazi salute.

Adolf Hitler saluted back and smiled.

The five-day-old newspaper lay on top of a scattered pile of current papers on an oak table in the living room. The inside pages had been pulled out so the carryover lay beside the front page opener.

FILM IDOL INGERSOLL DEAD IN CAR CRASH

Valet Also Dies in 3,000-foot Alpine Plunge

By Bert Rudman Herald Tribune Correspondent

BADEN-BADEN, Germany. March 7. Johann Ingersoll, Germany’s newest movie star, vacationing after the triumphant world premiere of his new film, “Der Nacht Hund,” was killed instantly today when his touring car skidded off a mountain highway near here and plunged 3,000 feet to the ravine below.

Otto Heinz, onetime makeup artist who quit films to become Ingersoll’s personal attendant, was also killed in the crash.

The two victims were identified by Friedrich Kreisler, Ingersoll’s attorney and agent.

“It was difficult for him,” said Burgermeister Louis Brunch, of nearby Baden-Baden, where the bodies were taken after their recovery by alpine teams. “Both bodies were horribly mangled in the fall.”

Ingersoll was a bachelor and had no heirs, according to Kreisler, who was obviously stricken by the death of his friend and client.

Ingersoll was a colonel in the SS and a personal favorite of Adolf Hitler. He shocked some of the guests at the premiere by appearing- in full SS uniform for the first time.

“Germany has lost a national treasure,” Chancellor Hitler told the press. “He was on the verge of becoming one of the world’s great film stars and as such would have brought new glory to the Fatherland.”

Ironically, the film’s world premiere, a gala affair held at the Kroll Opera House, was overshadowed by the burning of the Reichstag which was discovered during the party that followed the screening. Guests crowded the balconies of the theater to watch the blaze a few blocks away or rushed to the scene from the party.

Ingersoll’s last film, “Der Nacht Hund” was praised by critics as his most difficult and terrifying role. His work was compared favorably to that of American film star Lon Chancy.

Fritz Jergens, who directed Ingersoll’s final picture, praised him as an “astounding performer who seemed to actually get inside the grotesque characters he played. He had great potential as a dramatic actor.”

Ingersoll was known as an obsessively reclusive star who was never seen without makeup. He went to extraordinary lengths to conceal his true identity from press and public alike. In his two-year rise to international stardom, no pictures were ever released or taken of Ingersoll. Biographical data was sketchy at best. The only known photos of the actor are stills from his films. Publicity stories included only the names and background details of his films.

Ingersoll leaned over the table, chortling with glee, rereading the story and sipping a glass of wine. He was dressed in his black SS uniform, the dagger hanging ominously from his hip in its ebony scabbard. The uniform fit him perfectly. Hitler’s tailor had done a magnificent job.

Imagine, he thought, being upstaged by the Reichstag. He strutted around the room, stopping for a moment in front of the hail mirror to admire himself. The uniform was a marvel of stark elegance. Coal black, its stiff puttees arcing from hip to knee, ending at the top of dazzling black riding boots. The death’s head on the field cap, the sterling silver belt buckle, emblazoned with the words “Loyalty Is My Honor,” the silver SS runes on one collar like double bolts of lightning, all stark against the black wool uniform. He straightened his shoulders and pulled in his chin.

“Achtung,” he snapped at the reflection.

Ingersoll strolled back to the table, rustled through the newspapers and reread part of one of the stories on the fire.

Marinus van der Lubbe, a Dutch Communist, was arrested while the building was still ablaze and charged with setting the fire.

Marshal Hermann Goring, head of the State Police, said van der Lubbe was found hiding in Bismarck Hall, behind the Reichstag. According to Goring, van der Lubbe readily admitted setting the blaze “for the glory of the Communist Party.”

Goring also said Communist pamphlets and other paraphernalia were found in van der Lubbe’s apartment.

“It was clearly a Communist-inspired tragedy,” Goring said. “It is a miracle nobody was hurt.”

What a brilliant political move! Even the revelation that van der Lubbe was nearly blind and mad as a hatter had been largely ignored by the German people. They didn’t care. A frenzy of reaction had started almost immediately. In the five days since the fire, thousands of Communists had been arrested. The political power of the party had been broken. On the pretense of protecting the state against violence from the Communists, Hitler had announced a decree “for the Protection of the People and the State” and in a single stroke he had revoked all the