The baron led the way out of the parlor, through the corridor, and toward the front door. As they emerged around the corner, two men hastily scampered up the grand stairway and out of sight.

“So you do have visitors after all!” said the countess, in a tone of annoyed surprise as she followed them with her gaze.

“Just family, Ingrid,” said the baron, continuing toward the door.

“Nonsense, Baron.”

“They’re brothers of mine, Ingrid.”

The baron opened the door.

“Don’t lie to me. Those men are perfect strangers. I’ve never seen either one of them before.”

Suddenly the countess was in no hurry to leave. The baron, however, began walking steadily toward her car.

“I tell you the truth, Ingrid: Those two men are my brothers.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know all your family, Baron! Whom do you think you’re talking to, a fool?”

“Not for a moment, Ingrid,” said Heinrich politely, opening the door and courteously helping the countess inside. “It’s just that those two brothers of mine you’ve never met before.”

“I want to meet them, then.”

“Now would not be convenient, Ingrid. I’m sorry. Hans is waiting for me, and we must get the tractor operational again.”

“When will be convenient?” insisted the countess.

“We shall call you.”

She eyed him steadily with a look of high irritation and suspicion, then started the engine.

The baron returned her gaze with a smile and wave, then turned and walked back with Marion toward the house.

The moment they were inside and the door closed behind them, he breathed an enormous sigh of pained relief.

“What have I done, Marion?” he said. “Have I lied to protect the fellowship? I cannot let myself become as unprincipled as those who threaten us!”

“You did not lie, Heinrich.”

“The lines are fuzzy and grey for many people, Marion,” rejoined the baron wearily. “But I worry when they become grey for me.”

35 Suspicious Inquiry

35

Suspicious Inquiry

The roar of two loud cars speeding up the driveway could hardly be disguised. Spewing dust and gravel, they raced to the top and circled around the horse. By the time they braked to a reckless stop, the baron and his wife, with most of the household staff, stood at the door watching the spectacle with amazement.

A cloud of dust still trailing in the air behind them, four black car doors shot open almost simultaneously, while several more men jumped off two motorcycles with sidecars, and within seconds eight Brownshirts stood facing the house, rifles poised, feet planted firmly on the ground, helmeted faces staring expressionless straight ahead.

The two agents in charge, dressed in plain clothes, got out of the automobiles more slowly and now approached the house.

With grave expression, the baron nodded to Marion and the others to remain back, then approached to meet them.

“I am Baron von Dortmann,” he said. “What may I do for you gentlemen?”