roaming bands of hoodlums.
Crown leaned closer to Ludendorf and asked, "How often is Hess like this?"
"Well, most of the time he just sits and stares. And sometimes, like now, he whines for hours about almost anything, the food, his bed, or the company, meaning me." Ludendorf smiled depreciatingly. "Other times, he is ingratiatingly polite, complimenting me on my tie, my coat, my ancestors, anything. And once in a while he will pompously lecture about the Fatherland and how it is the seedbed of Western civilization. He talks about the purity of the Aryan race and the insidious effect the Jews are having on his pure German stock. You do not know how hard it is for me to sit through that stinking pap."
"I've only heard him a few minutes, and I'm already getting the idea," Crown answered. "I don't care what the psychiatrists say, our friend Hess is crazy."
The convoy turned north on Kimbark and continued past a few scurrying students with heads bent against the wind. College students differ from campus to campus, Crown thought. He had graduated from the University of Oregonin 1930. It was a fine academic institution, but an enterprising student could drown the academic flavor with football, beer, coeds, and sultry Oregon spring evenings. It wasn't done here. The University of Chicago undergrads Crown had seen in his days in Hyde Park were invariably intense, with brows furled in concentration even as they walked. Most looked at the sidewalk a few feet ahead of them, perhaps afraid the beauty of the Quad would disrupt their problem-solving. Their arms were always full of books on abstruse subjects reserved by other colleges for graduate students. A few had furtively glanced at Crown as they passed in the Quad, instinctively knowing he was an outsider and would never understand academic pressure and zeal. Crown had never seen so many pimples in his life.
The convoy slowed in front of a nondescript brick house on Kimbark near Fifty-sixth Street. That is, nondescript to an untrained observer. The home was heavily, though discreetly, fortified. Like Smithson's house a block away, an iron-spike fence surrounded the small yard. The spikes were made of one-half-by-two-inch iron bars set only four inches apart, thereby making it impossible to look into the yard from anywhere but directly in front of the house.
Crown emerged from the Ford and walked to the gate. After several seconds, he located the hair-width strand of wire that completely circled the house on the fence. If it were depressed or broken by an intruder climbing over the fence, an alarm would sound in the house. Crown looked up to the dormer and casually touched his nose. A dull red light flickered behind the gauze window shade. Crown's hand brushed his chin, and he heard the faint click of the gate lock being electronically thrown open.
Smithson's gardener had done an expert job disguising the second warning signal. A strip of turf crossing the front yard and circling the house had been lifted from the lawn just long enough to place a pressure-sensitive mat under it.The turf was replaced and the yard watered heavily. Only a few strands of dying grass indicated the lawn had been tampered with. Even the weight of a small dog on the strip of grass would toll bells in the house.
The draperies of the large picture window facing the porch were drawn, and a subdued light shone through the fabric. The light was a ruse. Three feet behind the window, a bulkhead made of three-inch walnut planks had been constructed from the living-room floor to the ceiling. A guard was permanently stationed between the bulkhead and the window, where he could see the yard easily through the deceptively transparent draperies. The light bulb that gave the home a lived-in appearance was in a small box to prevent light from dulling the guard's vision. A bullet might make it through the fence, the window, and the guard, but it would not penetrate the plank wall.
Crown felt under the mailbox near the
Crown leaned closer to Ludendorf and asked, "How often is Hess like this?"
"Well, most of the time he just sits and stares. And sometimes, like now, he whines for hours about almost anything, the food, his bed, or the company, meaning me." Ludendorf smiled depreciatingly. "Other times, he is ingratiatingly polite, complimenting me on my tie, my coat, my ancestors, anything. And once in a while he will pompously lecture about the Fatherland and how it is the seedbed of Western civilization. He talks about the purity of the Aryan race and the insidious effect the Jews are having on his pure German stock. You do not know how hard it is for me to sit through that stinking pap."
"I've only heard him a few minutes, and I'm already getting the idea," Crown answered. "I don't care what the psychiatrists say, our friend Hess is crazy."
The convoy turned north on Kimbark and continued past a few scurrying students with heads bent against the wind. College students differ from campus to campus, Crown thought. He had graduated from the University of Oregonin 1930. It was a fine academic institution, but an enterprising student could drown the academic flavor with football, beer, coeds, and sultry Oregon spring evenings. It wasn't done here. The University of Chicago undergrads Crown had seen in his days in Hyde Park were invariably intense, with brows furled in concentration even as they walked. Most looked at the sidewalk a few feet ahead of them, perhaps afraid the beauty of the Quad would disrupt their problem-solving. Their arms were always full of books on abstruse subjects reserved by other colleges for graduate students. A few had furtively glanced at Crown as they passed in the Quad, instinctively knowing he was an outsider and would never understand academic pressure and zeal. Crown had never seen so many pimples in his life.
The convoy slowed in front of a nondescript brick house on Kimbark near Fifty-sixth Street. That is, nondescript to an untrained observer. The home was heavily, though discreetly, fortified. Like Smithson's house a block away, an iron-spike fence surrounded the small yard. The spikes were made of one-half-by-two-inch iron bars set only four inches apart, thereby making it impossible to look into the yard from anywhere but directly in front of the house.
Crown emerged from the Ford and walked to the gate. After several seconds, he located the hair-width strand of wire that completely circled the house on the fence. If it were depressed or broken by an intruder climbing over the fence, an alarm would sound in the house. Crown looked up to the dormer and casually touched his nose. A dull red light flickered behind the gauze window shade. Crown's hand brushed his chin, and he heard the faint click of the gate lock being electronically thrown open.
Smithson's gardener had done an expert job disguising the second warning signal. A strip of turf crossing the front yard and circling the house had been lifted from the lawn just long enough to place a pressure-sensitive mat under it.The turf was replaced and the yard watered heavily. Only a few strands of dying grass indicated the lawn had been tampered with. Even the weight of a small dog on the strip of grass would toll bells in the house.
The draperies of the large picture window facing the porch were drawn, and a subdued light shone through the fabric. The light was a ruse. Three feet behind the window, a bulkhead made of three-inch walnut planks had been constructed from the living-room floor to the ceiling. A guard was permanently stationed between the bulkhead and the window, where he could see the yard easily through the deceptively transparent draperies. The light bulb that gave the home a lived-in appearance was in a small box to prevent light from dulling the guard's vision. A bullet might make it through the fence, the window, and the guard, but it would not penetrate the plank wall.
Crown felt under the mailbox near the
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