find
another line of guards across the road fifty yards ahead. He glanced over his shoulder and saw
that a third detachment had formed up behind him. He was trapped.
He decided that nobody could possibly be expected not to notice all this display of armed
force, however tactful they might be, so he abandoned his nonchalant manner and scurried along
like all the rest of the scattered handful of people whom ill fortune had sent abroad on the night
of the Nazi purge.
He saw that the front door of a house opposite to him was ajar, so he ran across the road,
dived in, and shut the door after him. In the passage he encountered a gentleman who was
presumably the master of the house, for he blocked the way and said “ Wer da ?” in an
authoritative tone.
“Sigmund Dedler from Zurich,” answered Denton, introducing himself. “I beg ten
thousand pardons for inflicting my uninvited presence upon you in this abrupt and ill-bred
manner, but if you would permit me to occupy some inconspicuous corner in your house till the
streets are a little less unhealthily exciting, my immeasurable gratitude will outlast several
reincarnations. I suggest the cupboard under the stairs.”
“Impossible,” said his host firmly, “my wife is there already. Nevertheless, no one shall
say that Hugo von Einem turned out a stranger into a storm more pitiless than the wrath of God,
come in.”
“Thank you, I have,” said Denton.
“Yes,” said von Einem absent-mindedly. “Yes, I suppose you have. Listen!”
Running footsteps approached the door, but passed by without pausing.
“Did you shut the door?” asked von Einem in a low voice.
“Yes,” answered Denton in the same tone. “I thought it made the house seem more home-
like, don’t you know? Did you want it left open?”
“I left it open for a friend, but I doubt if he will come now. He said he would try and
come to me if this happened.”
“What, exactly, is happening?”
“There is trouble in Berlin to-night.”
“I thought they were playing ‘Nuts in May,’” said Denton sarcastically. “Perhaps they
are, only it’s June and the wrong sort of nuts.”
Von Einem stared. “ ‘Nuts in May’? What’s that?”
“A childish game little girls play in my native canton of Zug.”
There was the sound of rifle fire from farther down the street. “There is nothing childish
about this game, Herr Dedler. Where are you staying?”
Denton told him and von Einem said, “But that is quite near.”
“It is in theory, but there are two cordons of S.S. guards between, which in practice
makes it rather far off.”
“How true. You might, however, reach it across the gardens at the back if you would not
mind climbing a few walls.”
“Not at all, a pleasure, believe me. May I look?”
Denton walked through to a room at the back of the house, threw the window up, and
looked out. There was a drop of about five feet to a dull little town garden, bounded by the walls
of which von Einem spoke, beyond them were more gardens and more walls; one of that row of
houses half-right must be his hotel.
He went back to the hall where von Einem was still listening for a footstep he knew, and
said, “I think your idea is excellent—I propose to act on it at once. I am very grateful—”
“Listen,” said von Einem. The steps of several men were heard outside in the street, they
stopped, and there came a quiet knock at the door.
“At last,” said von Einem, and opened it as Denton retired modestly to the back of the
hall. Three men with automatics in their hands entered hastily, pushed von Einem back against
the wall without saying a word, and one of them shot him dead.
Denton was through the back room and out of the window before his host’s body had
slumped to the floor. “Just a garden wall or two,” he thought, “and I’ll be—”
As his feet touched the ground something hit him on the back of the head and he fell
through millions of roaring
another line of guards across the road fifty yards ahead. He glanced over his shoulder and saw
that a third detachment had formed up behind him. He was trapped.
He decided that nobody could possibly be expected not to notice all this display of armed
force, however tactful they might be, so he abandoned his nonchalant manner and scurried along
like all the rest of the scattered handful of people whom ill fortune had sent abroad on the night
of the Nazi purge.
He saw that the front door of a house opposite to him was ajar, so he ran across the road,
dived in, and shut the door after him. In the passage he encountered a gentleman who was
presumably the master of the house, for he blocked the way and said “ Wer da ?” in an
authoritative tone.
“Sigmund Dedler from Zurich,” answered Denton, introducing himself. “I beg ten
thousand pardons for inflicting my uninvited presence upon you in this abrupt and ill-bred
manner, but if you would permit me to occupy some inconspicuous corner in your house till the
streets are a little less unhealthily exciting, my immeasurable gratitude will outlast several
reincarnations. I suggest the cupboard under the stairs.”
“Impossible,” said his host firmly, “my wife is there already. Nevertheless, no one shall
say that Hugo von Einem turned out a stranger into a storm more pitiless than the wrath of God,
come in.”
“Thank you, I have,” said Denton.
“Yes,” said von Einem absent-mindedly. “Yes, I suppose you have. Listen!”
Running footsteps approached the door, but passed by without pausing.
“Did you shut the door?” asked von Einem in a low voice.
“Yes,” answered Denton in the same tone. “I thought it made the house seem more home-
like, don’t you know? Did you want it left open?”
“I left it open for a friend, but I doubt if he will come now. He said he would try and
come to me if this happened.”
“What, exactly, is happening?”
“There is trouble in Berlin to-night.”
“I thought they were playing ‘Nuts in May,’” said Denton sarcastically. “Perhaps they
are, only it’s June and the wrong sort of nuts.”
Von Einem stared. “ ‘Nuts in May’? What’s that?”
“A childish game little girls play in my native canton of Zug.”
There was the sound of rifle fire from farther down the street. “There is nothing childish
about this game, Herr Dedler. Where are you staying?”
Denton told him and von Einem said, “But that is quite near.”
“It is in theory, but there are two cordons of S.S. guards between, which in practice
makes it rather far off.”
“How true. You might, however, reach it across the gardens at the back if you would not
mind climbing a few walls.”
“Not at all, a pleasure, believe me. May I look?”
Denton walked through to a room at the back of the house, threw the window up, and
looked out. There was a drop of about five feet to a dull little town garden, bounded by the walls
of which von Einem spoke, beyond them were more gardens and more walls; one of that row of
houses half-right must be his hotel.
He went back to the hall where von Einem was still listening for a footstep he knew, and
said, “I think your idea is excellent—I propose to act on it at once. I am very grateful—”
“Listen,” said von Einem. The steps of several men were heard outside in the street, they
stopped, and there came a quiet knock at the door.
“At last,” said von Einem, and opened it as Denton retired modestly to the back of the
hall. Three men with automatics in their hands entered hastily, pushed von Einem back against
the wall without saying a word, and one of them shot him dead.
Denton was through the back room and out of the window before his host’s body had
slumped to the floor. “Just a garden wall or two,” he thought, “and I’ll be—”
As his feet touched the ground something hit him on the back of the head and he fell
through millions of roaring
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