The Hunt

“This isn’t a revolution, it’s banditry. Common theft. He’s stolen the rights from the people. He’s …….

Ingersoll waved him quiet.

“The Third Reich will change history, Freddie. You don’t have the imagination to see that. You have no imagination, Freddie, that’s why you’re the agent and I’m. the actor. I want to be a part of all this. I’m tired of sneaking around in fake whiskers and wigs. Tired of torturing my body in those ridiculous getups. I’ve got more money than I’ll ever spend.” He picked up the paper and held it toward Kreisler. “Great notices on the picture. And a wonderful obituary. Time for Jo harm Ingersoll to die.”

“And become a Nazi blackshirt?”

“Become a Nazi patriot,” Ingersoll snapped back. “I’m giving up everything, everything, for my country.”

“No, you’re giving it up for that little man with the Chaplin mustache.”

“You’re truly straining my patience, Freddie.”

“Oh, come on, we’ve been friends too long for this kind of of. . . for God’s sake, Johann, I’m your friend. I’m concerned about you.”

“And your ten percent?”

Kreisler’s shoulders sagged.

“I was a successful lawyer when I met you and I am still a successful lawyer,” Kreisler said. His voice trembled from the strain of the confrontation. “I can certainly live without the frills your ten percent allows me. I didn’t know you felt that way, Johann. I didn’t know you felt I was cheating you.”

Ingersoll’s mind was racing. He had an image of the night of the premiere, just after the fire in the Reichstag was discovered.

At the first news of the fire, everyone at the party had rushed to the windows and balconies. A few blocks away, flames scorched the night sky and glowing embers swirled up through the twisting smoke.

Ingersoll had laughed at the irony. The fire had ended his gala celebration. And now he understood the conversation he had overheard at Berchtesgaden. He had led Vierhaus away from the crowd and back down the mezzanine to a quiet corner.

“Do you think the Communists are behind this fire?” Ingersoll asked casually.

“No doubt about it. I predict a quick arrest and the downfall of the Communist party for committing this atrocity.”

Ingersoll raised his champagne glass to Vierhaus.

“Another victory for the Fuhrer.”

“You are a nervy one, Schauspiel er, I‘ll say that for you,” Vierhaus said. “Showing up in that uniform and that severe disguise has raised a lot of eyebrows.”

Ingersoll had covered his crown with skin-like rubber latex and deepened the shadows in his cheeks. Bald, almost skull-like, wearing the stark SS uniform, he had startled the sellout crowd, many of whom were foreigners.

“And perhaps softened some attitudes?” Ingersoll had suggested.

“I think the Fuhrer might take issue with your choice of words. He will not put up with softened attitudes. Blind obedience, that’s what he—we all—require. Did the Fuhrer ever mention the German shepherd puppies to you?”

“Yes.” He was apologetic. “He said S.S trainees are usually given a puppy when they begin their training. But in my case..

“Do you know the significance?”

Ingersoll hesitated, shrugged. “They are excellent watchdogs, great pets.”

“And an important part of the ritual of acceptance,” said Vierhaus. “Normally, any officer in the SS must undergo vigorous training. At the beginning he is given a shepherd puppy as a companion through the course. Dog and man come to rely on each other. And on the day they finish their training and take the oath of allegiance to the Fuhrer, they are ordered to slit the dog’s throat.”

“What?” Ingersoll had answered with some skepticism and not a little shock.

“What better way to show that we are loyal to only one master. That we have only one friend, Adolf Hitler, and that we will follow his orders with blind obedience.”

Ingersoll said nothing. His eyes narro.wed and he peered at Vierhaus with a strange new respect.

“The German people must also learn blind obedience,” Vierhaus continued. “If you are not of the party, you are against it. A good rule of thumb. It simplifies things.”

Ingersoll nodded agreement. “And now the Reichstag burns,” he said. “A fortunate misfortune.”

Vierhaus laughed at the contradiction. “Exactly, my friend. A decrepit symbol dies, new ones will take its place. The Third Reich is just that, a new order of thing-s for Deutschland.”

“A new order of things.” Ingersoll ‘echoed the words. Staring deeply into the eyes of the professor, he had said very matter-of -factly, “I think it’s time to die, Professor.”

“I’m sorry, old friend,” Ingersoll said, putting his arm around Kreisler’s shoulder and leading him toward the table covered with newspapers. “Forgive me, all right? I lost my temper. You know how that can be. Can’t let politics stand in the way of a good friendship, can we?”