The Hunt

The five-day-old newspaper lay on top of a scattered pile of current papers on an oak table in the living room. The inside pages had been pulled out so the carryover lay beside the front page opener.

FILM IDOL INGERSOLL DEAD IN CAR CRASH

Valet Also Dies in 3,000-foot Alpine Plunge

By Bert Rudman Herald Tribune Correspondent

BADEN-BADEN, Germany. March 7. Johann Ingersoll, Germany’s newest movie star, vacationing after the triumphant world premiere of his new film, “Der Nacht Hund,” was killed instantly today when his touring car skidded off a mountain highway near here and plunged 3,000 feet to the ravine below.

Otto Heinz, onetime makeup artist who quit films to become Ingersoll’s personal attendant, was also killed in the crash.

The two victims were identified by Friedrich Kreisler, Ingersoll’s attorney and agent.

“It was difficult for him,” said Burgermeister Louis Brunch, of nearby Baden-Baden, where the bodies were taken after their recovery by alpine teams. “Both bodies were horribly mangled in the fall.”

Ingersoll was a bachelor and had no heirs, according to Kreisler, who was obviously stricken by the death of his friend and client.

Ingersoll was a colonel in the SS and a personal favorite of Adolf Hitler. He shocked some of the guests at the premiere by appearing- in full SS uniform for the first time.

“Germany has lost a national treasure,” Chancellor Hitler told the press. “He was on the verge of becoming one of the world’s great film stars and as such would have brought new glory to the Fatherland.”

Ironically, the film’s world premiere, a gala affair held at the Kroll Opera House, was overshadowed by the burning of the Reichstag which was discovered during the party that followed the screening. Guests crowded the balconies of the theater to watch the blaze a few blocks away or rushed to the scene from the party.

Ingersoll’s last film, “Der Nacht Hund” was praised by critics as his most difficult and terrifying role. His work was compared favorably to that of American film star Lon Chancy.

Fritz Jergens, who directed Ingersoll’s final picture, praised him as an “astounding performer who seemed to actually get inside the grotesque characters he played. He had great potential as a dramatic actor.”

Ingersoll was known as an obsessively reclusive star who was never seen without makeup. He went to extraordinary lengths to conceal his true identity from press and public alike. In his two-year rise to international stardom, no pictures were ever released or taken of Ingersoll. Biographical data was sketchy at best. The only known photos of the actor are stills from his films. Publicity stories included only the names and background details of his films.

Ingersoll leaned over the table, chortling with glee, rereading the story and sipping a glass of wine. He was dressed in his black SS uniform, the dagger hanging ominously from his hip in its ebony scabbard. The uniform fit him perfectly. Hitler’s tailor had done a magnificent job.

Imagine, he thought, being upstaged by the Reichstag. He strutted around the room, stopping for a moment in front of the hail mirror to admire himself. The uniform was a marvel of stark elegance. Coal black, its stiff puttees arcing from hip to knee, ending at the top of dazzling black riding boots. The death’s head on the field cap, the sterling silver belt buckle, emblazoned with the words “Loyalty Is My Honor,” the silver SS runes on one collar like double bolts of lightning, all stark against the black wool uniform. He straightened his shoulders and pulled in his chin.

“Achtung,” he snapped at the reflection.

Ingersoll strolled back to the table, rustled through the newspapers and reread part of one of the stories on the fire.

Marinus van der Lubbe, a Dutch Communist, was arrested while the building was still ablaze and charged with setting the fire.

Marshal Hermann Goring, head of the State Police, said van der Lubbe was found hiding in Bismarck Hall, behind the Reichstag. According to Goring, van der Lubbe readily admitted setting the blaze “for the glory of the Communist Party.”

Goring also said Communist pamphlets and other paraphernalia were found in van der Lubbe’s apartment.

“It was clearly a Communist-inspired tragedy,” Goring said. “It is a miracle nobody was hurt.”

What a brilliant political move! Even the revelation that van der Lubbe was nearly blind and mad as a hatter had been largely ignored by the German people. They didn’t care. A frenzy of reaction had started almost immediately. In the five days since the fire, thousands of Communists had been arrested. The political power of the party had been broken. On the pretense of protecting the state against violence from the Communists, Hitler had announced a decree “for the Protection of the People and the State” and in a single stroke he had revoked all the freedoms guaranteed by the Constitution.

Five days since the fire and the man was now ruling Germany by decree.

Ingersoll went to the kitchen to refill his glass. Hitler is now the Emperor of Germany, he thought. He is the ruler of Germany. Laughing aloud, he raised his glass in a silent toast to the Führer.

Then he heard a key click in the front door lock, heard the tumblers clink.

My God! he thought. It’s Friedrich. I-Fe’s the only one who has a key. What the hell was he doing here?

He heard the door open, the floors creak, the door close. He moved to the edge of the kitchen door and sneaked a look. Kreisler was taking off his coat. He looked at the table, walked over to it and began leafing through the papers. He looked around the room.

“Hello,” he called out, confused. ‘Is someone here?” Well, Ingersoll thought. What the hell.

He stepped into the living room.

“Hello, Freddie,” he said casually.

Kreisler was stunned, shocked to speechlessness. He stared at the ghost standing before him.

“My God,” he said and his voice was barely audible. “My God, it’s you, Johnny!”

“In the flesh, pardon the pun.”

“I don’t understand. . . what in God’s name.

“It’s a long, rather involved story, Freddie. Relax. I’ll get you a glass of wine. Châteauneuf-du-Pape, twenty-nine. Incredible year.”

“What in hell is going on?” Kreisler demanded, finding his voice. “My God, what kind of publicity stunt have you dreamed up now? Where’s Heinz? How did you get him in on this?”

“Heinz is dead. For real.”

“Then who was that other poor devil I identified? He was wearing your clothes. He was .

“I have no idea who he was, Freddie. I never saw the man. I don’t know anything about him and I don’t want to.”

“What happened? Did Heinz pick somebody up on the road? How did he get into your clothes?”

The lie came as easily as whistling a tune.

“He was Heinz’s lover,” Ingersoll said. “I assume they were going down to the village from the ski camp. The road was icy . .

“But why did you . . . ?“

Kreisler stopped and looked Ingersoll up and down, realizing suddenly that he was wearing his SS uniform.

“And what are you doing in that uniform? What’s come over you, Johann? What is going on?”

There was no way to lie to Kreisler. No way to explain. Freddie had made an error by coming to the house. A fatal error.

“What are you doing here, by the way?” Ingersoll asked.

“I wanted to check the place over, figure out what to do with all these antiques, the paintings. The wine. You’ve got a fortune in wine downstairs, Johnny.”

“It’s all taken care of. The house will be closed up as is. Caretakers will keep it up. The apartment in Berlin will be sold.”

“What are you doing in that uniform?”

Ingersoll stared across the room at his friend. His face turned cold.

“It may be the last time I’ll get to wear it for a long time,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be wearing it at all.’

“Why not,” Ingersoll said proudly. “My appointment was made directly by the Führer.”

“Christ, Johnny, do you know what that madman’s up to? He’s abolished the Constitution, taken away all our rights. He decreed it, for God’s sake. He decreed away all our rights. Freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom to think, to make a phone call, to send a damn letter without having it intercepted. The SA is tearing up Berlin. Hitler’s become a damn dictator in just a few weeks.”

“Days, actually,” Ingersoll said smugly. “Oh, the process of getting elected chancellor, building up the party, all that took years. But actually he’s completely taken over a failed, corrupt, rotten government, and done it in only five days.”

He laughed and held up five fingers.

“How can you support this, Johnny? You’re a creative artist . .

Ingersoll cut him off,

“I’m an actor in scary movies, Freddie, that’s all. Until now.

Now I’ve been invited to play an important role in the greatest revolution in history.”

“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 Führer.”

“You are a nervy one, Schauspieler, 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 Führer 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 Führer 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 Führer, 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?”

He pointed to the papers on the table.

“Think about it. A chance to read your own obituary. Don’t you see, I couldn’t resist the temptation. You know me. Could I really pass it up?”

“That’s why you did this? To read your own obituary. Is that why you accepted a commission in the SS?”

“I am a Nazi, Freddie. You have known that for years. I never concealed that from you.”

“But to present yourself in public in that uniform. Do you realize what this has done to your standing in foreign countries? The United States will not book your pictures anymore. Neither will England or France.”

“The hell with all three of them. One of these days we will have a Johann Ingersoll retrospective in Paris, London, New York.”

“I don’t understand. What are you going to do?”

“Not me. Us, Freddie. What we’re going to do.”

“What the hell are we going to do”

“We’re going to die, Freddie,” Ingersoll said. His hand swept up from Kreisler’s shoulder, grabbed the back of his hair and snapped his head back. The other band drew the long knife from its scabbard and swiftly drew the gleaming blade from just below Kreisler’s left ear straight across to his right.

Kreisler did not feel the cut at first, the SS knife was that sharp. Then he felt a burning sensation under his Adam’s apple. He looked down and saw geysers of his own blood gushing from the gaping slice in his throat.

He tried to scream but managed only a wracking gurgle. He couldn’t breathe. He grabbed for Ingersoll but the actor stepped back and plunged the knife upward, under his ribs and into his heart.

Kreisler’s eyes rolled back and he fell like a rag doll in a heap on the floor, landing in a kneeling position, his forehead on the rug and his arms stretched back toward his feet.

Blood flooded the rug.

Ingersoll leaned over and wiped the blade clean on Kreisler’s suit jacket and put it back in its sheath. He rolled Kreisler over on his back and stuffed several newspapers in the wound to stem the bleeding. Kreisler stared up at him with vacant eyes. Ingersoll closed them with one hand. Then he rolled Kreisler up in the rug. He felt a rush of adrenaline. He started to get hard and he was almost out of breath. He leaned his head back, breathing heavily through his mouth. The rush of excitement continued for a full minute or two, swelling his groin, pumping blood into his temples. Then he slumped down on the edge of the table with a gasp of air.

In a few moments, he was able to walk across the room to the telephone and put in a long-distance call to Vierhaus in Berlin.

“Professor Vierhaus here,” came the oily answer.

“This is Swan.”

“Swan?”

“Yes, Swan. You understand?”

“Of course.”

“I had to take care of part of it myself.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I just killed Freddie Kreisler. He’s rolled up in a rug in my living room at the Bergen House. I had no choice.”

Vierhaus paused for only a moment. Ingersoll could almost hear the gears clicking in the professor’s head.

“Have you finished your business there?”

“Yes. All the papers are in a strong box in the wine cellar. I trust you will handle all those affairs for me.”

“Of course.”

“You know about the wine, yes?”

“Yes. I am sure the Führer will enjoy every bottle. Now listen carefully. I want you to leave there as quickly as you can. Leave in Kreisler’s car. Wear his coat and hat. Drive to the train station in Bergen. Leave the car keys under the seat. Someone will be there to meet you.”

“How will I know him?”

“He’ll be watching for Kreisler’s car. You’ll know him, he’ll address you as Herr Swan. We’ll take care of the body.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s not all that much trouble,” Vierhaus said. “I’m . sorry you had to do it. We had more elaborate plans.”

“Unavoidable. By the way, remember what you told me about the dogs?”

“The dogs?”

“The German shepherds.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

When Ingersoll spoke next, he spoke with just a touch of pride.

“I don’t think I’ll be needing a dog when I begin training,” he said.