The Case of the Nazi Canary

CHAPTER THREE

Begg's first stop after lunch was to the murder scene itself. Prinzregensburgstrasse was the smart area where "Fьhrer" Hitler now lived. On the way, Hess explained how the Winters had called him and he in turn had tried to telephone Hitler in Nuremberg. But Hitler had already left Nuremberg and was traveling to his next appointment. Apparently he was singing snatches of song, entertaining the other occupants of the car with jokes, impressions of people they had just met.

"Many people, Sir Seaton, have no idea what a marvelous entertainer Alf is. He used to keep us in fits of laughter on those long tours. He could impersonate anyone. Pompous innkeepers, party officials, intense old maids, famous politicians! He could have gone onstage as a comedian if he had not been chosen to lead his people."

Hess recollected the question. "Well, the hotel sent a boy after Herr Hitler's car, and when he got the message Alf almost collapsed. Everyone says it was completely unexpected. Indeed the first words from his lips, I understand, were 'Who has done this?' He had the car turned, his appointments canceled, telephoned me the first chance he got, and came back at once to Munich. It was my suggestion I next call the Munich Police Headquarters and he assented. And then I sent you a telegram. My staff arranged your tickets and so on."

"The police weren't suspicious concerning the time you waited before telephoning them?"

"I explained that I myself had been in a state of some shock after seeing poor Geli's body." He paused and then looked with a strange, new innocence into Begg's face. "I know I am a suspect, Sir Seaton, but I seek peace and security and pride from the Nazi Party, not violence. This is what most of us in Germany want. The thought of killing a mouse makes me sick. The thought of killing some poor, foolish creature who had been flattered and cajoled into waters well above her natural depth, that is abominable. You must not judge us all by those who 'goose-step' through the main streets of our towns with banners and bludgeons. Yet remember those poor lads were boys when they went to war, and what they saw in the trenches and learned to do in the trenches never left them, especially when they found they had no jobs…"

Rudolf Hess continued this apologia all the way to the flat in Prinzregensburgstrasse, an imposing modern classical building built on the corner of a broad, quiet avenue. Hitler's flat was on the second floor. It was light, airy, and luxurious in a subdued, up-to-date way. Doors led in several directions from the main vestibule, suggesting servants' quarters and guest apartments. Certainly there was every way in which Hitler, his half sister, and niece could live together in such a flat very respectably indeed.

Minutes later, Sir Seaton was interviewing Herr and Frau Winter themselves. The couple had found Geli on the carpet in her bedroom, only partially dressed, as if she had been disturbed at her toilet.

The Winters were clearly shaken by what had happened. At that moment Frau Winter resembled a bewildered mole, in her gray cardigan, gray blouse, skirt, and stockings. This dour appearance was not, Begg guessed, natural to her. Herr Winter's features, on the other hand, seemed habitually surly, yet his voice was agreeable enough. Neither man nor woman was of very high intelligence. They both confirmed, under Begg's questioning, that Hitler and his niece had quarreled increasingly as his political career made demands on his time. But the party needed Hitler.

"Even I have fallen under his oratorical spell," said Winter seriously. "It is almost impossible to escape his charm when he wants something from you. Crowds love him. Without him the party would be lost. But as a result, he spent even less time with Geli. You couldn't really blame her. She grew restless; he grew jealous."

"He had plenty to be jealous about, too," Frau Winter interjected with an angry twitter. "She was not a good girl, Sir Seaton."

Herr Winter reluctantly conceded. "I think she had plenty of company when Herr Hitler was gone. In particular that tall, blond SS man who wanted her to run off to Vienna with him… Himmler's chap."

"You saw them?" Begg demanded.

"Just as we saw the whips and the blood after one of Herr Hitler's 'sessions,'" she said primly.

"Whips?" asked a startled Begg. "Blood?"

Herr Winter interrupted hastily, too late to silence his wife. "It was Herr Hitler's way of relaxing. He carries heavy responsibilities. It is often the way with important men, not so? We are people of the world here. We all know what goes on in Berlin."

Having verified with the Winters the events of the recent past, Sir Seaton Begg thanked them gravely and made to leave. Taffy Sinclair in particular seemed glad of some fresh air.

Back in the Duesenberg, Begg asked a further question of Hess. "Tell me, old boy, did Herr Hitler ever have his niece watched? And was he ever blackmailed?"

"Aha! I knew I had approached the right detective. You realized. Unfortunately, since the blackmail, he's grown suspicious of everyone. Yes, he did have a couple of SA men in plainclothes keeping an eye on her, but they were incompetent. Himmler wanted to use SS people. He thinks they're more efficient. So yes, he watched her, but you can't really blame him for that."

"Blackmail?" said Sinclair from the shadows in the back, unable to contain himself. "Your leader was being blackmailed?"

"A couple of years ago. That's not what the blackmailer called it, of course, Herr Sinclair. But Putzi, Hitler's foreign-press secretary, handled the details of that. Putzi's half-American, a great source of vitality, you know. We all love him. Only his jokes and piano playing can cheer Alf up when he's really depressed…"

Begg had begun to realize Hess had to be kept on course or he would wander off down all kinds of twists and turns in the story. He slowed the car behind a stopping tram, then indicated that he was going to pass. Slowly he increased pressure on the accelerator. "Putzi?" "A nickname, naturally. Putzi Hanfstaengl was at Harvard. He's an art expert. Has a gallery in Munich. His firm publishes the official engraved portraits of Hitler, Strasser, Rцhm, Goring, myself, and the other eminent Nazis. Anyway, Putzi took the money to the blackmailer-we weren't rich in those days and it was hard to scrape together-and got the material back. Probably nothing especially bad. But, of course, Alf became much less trusting after that."

"Does Herr Hanfstaengl usually enjoy a drink at the Hotel Bavaria?"

Hess's enormous eyebrows almost met his hairline.

"Mein Gott, Sir Seaton! You are indeed the genius they say you are. That is remarkable deduction. Putzi's natural American vitality has been drained, it seems, by recent events. He has never really been at ease since we began to gain real power. A little bit of a playboy, I suppose, but a good fellow and a loyal friend."

After that, Begg asked no more questions. He darted Sinclair a vindicated glance, for he had gotten that information from one of his much-loved "gossip columns." He told Hess he would like to drive around and think the case through for a while. Hess showed some impatience, but his admiration for the English detective soon reminded him of his manners. Heels were clicked as Hess was dropped off at the Brown House. Then Begg had touched the feather-light wheel of the superb roadster and turned her back toward central Munich.