The Hunt

Adler sipped the coffee with his eyes closed, savoring every drop.

“Now, tell me what you know about the Black Lily.”

“Herr Reinhardt was a frequent visitor at the home of a Jewish teacher named Isaac Sternfeld. Sternfeld taught political science at the university here until he was sent to Dachau.”

“Is he a Communist?”

“Nein, a Social Democrat radically opposed to the Fuhrer and the Nazi party. Before the Fuhrer became chancellor, a group of students who were also frequent guests at Sternfeld’s started a pamphlet called Die Fackel. It was aimed mainly at students, a kind of college humor. . . uh, satire thing with a bit of a sting to it. Then after Herr Hitler

“The Fuhrer,” Vierhaus corrected.

“Yes, the Fuhrer, after the Fuhrer became chancellor it became more pointed. That is when Reinhardt became involved, writing occasionally for it and editing it. Sternfeld was the advisor and it was printed by Oscar Probst.”

“The Berlin Conscience,” Vierhaus said.

‘Ja. When the. . . uh..

“Repatriation?”

‘Ja . . . repatriation . . . of the Jews began the students formed the Black Lily to help get Jews out of Germany.”

“Where did they get that name?” Vierhaus asked out of curiosity.

“There is no such thing as a black lily, Herr Professor. They meant it to be a phantom organization, just like the flower.”

“Schoolboy antics,” Vierhaus said, waving him off. “What else?”

“They moved money into Swiss banks, arranged forged passports, transportation, everything.”

“Students?” Vierhaus said with astonishment.

Adler nodded.

“Students are doing this?!” Vierhaus said, shaking his head. He could imagine Hitler’s reaction to that bit of news.

“But very dedicated students,” said Adler.

“Politicized by Reinhardt and this Sternfeld person, hmm?” Adler continued to nod.

“The editor of Die Fackel was a Jewish boy named Avrum Wolffson. He is now twenty-five years old. His best friends are Werner Gebhart and Joachim Weber. It is my understanding that Wolffson is the head of the Black Lily. Gebbart handles the movement of Jews out of the country, and Weber handles money, the paperwork, passports, false ID’s, such things.”

Vierhaus stroked his chin as he listened to Adler. Other things were becoming clear to him.

“So, now I think I know what happened to Otto Schiff and Tol Nathan. These students probably ran them out of the country. And they probably forced Simon Kefar to hang himself.”

“Simon Kefar worked for you, too?”

“You didn’t know that? Schiff, Nathan, Kefar, all very effective Judenhascher like yourself. You knew them?”

“I knew Kefar casually. The others only by name.”

Vierhaus stroked his chin for a moment or two longer.

“How do they finance all this?” he asked finally.

“With contributions from rich Jews and sympathizers here and abroad.”

“This Wolffson and a couple of students created all this intrigue?” Vierhaus said, still unable to accept Adler’s theory.

“Actually I think it was Sternfeld who organized it anticipating the . . . repatriation. But Wolffson was a brilliant student, very pragmatic the way I understand it.”

“How do you know all this?”

Adler stared at him for several seconds. “Joachim Weber is my nephew,” he said. “The boy and I have never been close but I talk to my sister—his mother—frequently.”

“How many people are involved with this bunch?”

Adler shook his head. “Dozens, I assume. In Berlin, Munich, Linz, Paris, Zurich.”

“All Jews?”

“No. They are both Jews and Gentiles.”

“How did this get so far Out of hand!” Vierhaus said almost to himself. The Fuhrer would be outraged. “And where do we find this Wolffson?”

“That is the problem, Herr Professor, nobody knows. There are no lists of the members, it is not a military-type organization.

It is like the flower, it seems not to exist. It is like a train that runs whenever necessary. Nobody has seen Wolffson in months. But I believe he must be in Berlin. And I have this.”