him?
“Of course, you’re old friendsl” The Englishman put away his pistol and
laughed.
Howl How? She wouldn’t dare challenge himl The only thing she valued was
the Scarlatti name, its heritage, its future. She knew beyond a doubt that
he would stamp it outt Howl Why?
“That woman can’t be trusWl She can’t be trustedi”
Charles Pennington pulled down his blazer so the
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shoulders fell correctly, the jacket cloth concealing the slight bulge of
his holster. He walked to the door in calm anticipation of chorizo. “Really,
Heinrich? . . . Can any of us?”
The Englishman closed the door leaving only a faint aronig -of Yardley’s.
Heinrich Kroeger uncrumpled the telegram in his palm
Thornton was panic-stricken. Each of the remaining thirteen in Zurich had
received identical cablegrams, from Elizabeth Soarlatti. But none save
Thornton knew who he was.
Kroeger had to move quickly. Pennington hadn’t lied. He would be shot if he
ordered Elizabeth Scarlatti’s death. That did not, however, Preclude such
an order after Zurich. Indeed, after Zurich it would be mandatory.
But first the Thornton land. He had instructed Thornton for his own safety
to let it go. The frightened Thornton had not argued, and the idiot attach6
was playing right into his hands. For the glory of Jesus and another blow
against atheistic- communism.
The money and title would be transferred within a week. Thornton was
sending his attorney from San Francisco to conclude the negotiations by
signatum
As soon as the land was his, Heinrich Kroeger would issue a warrant for
death that no one could deny.
And when that misfit life was snuffed out, Heinrich Kroeger was free. He
would be a true light of the new order. None would know that Ulster
Scarlett existed.
Except one.
He would confront her -at Zurich.
He would kill her at Zurich.
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CHAPTER 40
The embassy limousine climbed the small hill to the front of the Georgian
house in Fairfax, Virginia. It was the elegant residence of Erich Rheinhart,
attach6 of the Weimar Republic, nephew of the sole imperial general who had
thrown his support to the German radical movement given the name of Nazi, by
philosophy, a fullHedged Nazi himself.
The well-tailored man with the waxed moustache got out of the back seat and
stepped onto the driveway. He looked up at the ornate facade.
“A lovely home.”
“I’m pleased, Poole,” said Rheinhart, smiling at the man from Bertholde et
Fils.
The two men walked into the house and Erich Rheinhart led his guest to a
book-lined study off the living r6om. He indicated a chair for ~oole and
went to a cabinet, taking out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey.
“ro business. You come three thousand miles at a loathsome time of year for
ocean travel. You tell me I am the object of your visiL I’m flattered, Of
course, but what can. – .”
“WU ordered Bertholde’s death?” Poole said harshly.
Erich Rheinhart was astonished. He hunched his padded shoulders, placed his
glass on the small table, and extended his hand,% palms up. He spoke
slowly, in consternation.
.My – dear man, why do you think it concerns me?
mean—in all candor-you are either deluded as to my infliience or you need
a long rest.”
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I
“Labishe wouldn’t have killed him without having been ordered,to do it.
Some one of enormous authority had to issue that order.”
“Well, to begin with I have no such authority, and secondly I would have no
reason. I was fond of that Frenchman.”
“You hardly knew him.”
Rheinhart laughed. “Very well. . . . All the -less reason. . .”
“I didn’t say you personally. I’m asking who did and why.” Poole was
betraying his normal calm. He had good reason. This arrogant Prussian held
the key if Poole was right, and he wasn!t going to let him go until he
found out. He would have to prom nearer the truth, yet not disclose it.
“Did Bertholde know something the rest of you didn’t want him to know?”
“Now, you’re preposterous.”
“Did he?”
“Jacques Bertholde was our London contactl He enjoyed a unique position in
England that approached diPlomatic immunity. His influence was felt in a
dozen countries among scores of the industrial elite. His death is a great
loss to usl How dare you imply that any of us was responsiblel”
“I find it interesting that you haven’t answered my question.” Poole was
exasperated. “Did he know sonmthing the men in Munich might consider
dangerous?”
“If he did, I have no idea what it might bel”
But Poole knew. Perhaps he was the only oue who did know. if he could only
be sure.
1Td like another drink, please. Forgive MY temper.” He smiled.
Rhembart laughed. “You’re impossible. Give me your glass…. You’re.
satisfied?” The German crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured. “You
travel three thousand miles for nothing. It’s been a bad trip for you.”
Poole shrugged. He was used to the trips—some good, some bad. Bertholde
and his odd friend, the Misshapen Heinrich Kroeger, had ordered him over
barely six months ago. His orders had bien simple then. Pick up the girl,
find out what she had learned from old Scarlatti. Held failed. The
-Canfield -an had stopped him. The golicitous lackey, the
salesman-cum-escort had prevented
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it. But he hadn’t failed his other orders. He’d followed the banker named
Cartwright. He’d killed him and broken into the railroad station locker and
gotten the banker’s agreement with Elizabeth Scarlatti.
It was then that he had learned the truth of Heinrich Kroeger’s identity.
Elizabeth Scarlatti’s son had needed an ally and Jacques Bertholde was that
ally. And in return for that precious friendship, Ulster Scarlett had or-
dered Bertholde’s death. The fanatic had commanded the death of the man who
had made everything possible for him.
He, Poole, would avenge that terrible murder. But before he did, he had to
confirm what he suspected was the truth. That neither the Nazi leaders nor
the men in Zurich knew who Kroeger was. If that was the case, then Kroeger
had murdered Bertholde to keep that identity secret.
The revelation might cost the movement millions. The Munich Nazis would
know this, if they knew anything.
Erich Rheinhart stood over Poole. “A penny for your thoughts, -my dear
fellow? Here, a bourbon. You do not speak to me.”
“Oh? . . . Yes, it’s been a bad trip, Erich. You were right.” Poole bent
his neck back, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. Rheinhart returned
to his chair.
“You need a rest. .- . . Do you know what I think? I think you’re right. I
think some damned fool did issue that order.” Poole opened his eyes,
startled by Erich Rheinhart’s words. “Jal In my opinion you are correct.
And it must stop I . . . Strasser fights Hitler and Ludendorff. Ekhart
rambles on like a madman. Attackingl Attackingl Kindorf screams in the
Ruhr. Jodl betrays the Black Wehrinacht in Bavaria. Graefe makes a mess in
the north. Even my own uncle, the illustrious Wilhelm Rheinhart, makes an
idiot of himself. He speaks, and I hear the laughter behind my back in
America. I tell you we are split in ten factions. Wolves at each other’s
throats. We will accomplish nothing! Nothing, if this does not stopl” Erich
Rheinhart’s anger was undisguised. He &Wt care. He rose again from his
chair. “What is most asinine is the most obvious I We can lose -the men in
Zurich. if we can not agree among ourselves, how long do you think they
will 4tay with us? I tell you, these men are not interested in who has next
week’s power base in
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the RCICIStag-not for its own sake, They donI care a Deutschemark for the
glories of the new Germany. Or the ambitions of any nation. Their wealth
puts them above political boundaries. They are with us for one rea. son
a10116-dwir own power If we give them a single doubt that we we not what we
claim to be, that we are not the emerging order of Germany, they will
abandon us. They will leave us with nothingi Even the Germans among thenil”
Rheinhares fury abated. He tried to smile but instead drained his glass
quickly and crossed to the cabineL
It Poole could only be sure. “I understand,” he said quietly.
“Ja. I think you do. You’ve worked long and hard with Bertholde. You’ve
accomplished a great deal . . ” He turned around facing Poole. “That’s what
I mean. Everything that all of us have worked for can be lost by these
internal hictions. The achievements of Funke, Bertholde, von Schnitzler,
Thyssen, even Kroeger, will be wiped out if we can not come together. We
must unite behind one, possibly two, acceptable leaders . . .”
That was id That was the sign. Poole was now sure. Rheinhart had said the
namet Kroegerl
“Maybe, Erich, but whor, Would Rheinhart say the name again? It was not