The Eye of the Abyss by Marshall Browne Read Free Book Online Page A

Otto was trying to combine aggression and charm, a feat well beyond his ability. Hastily he stepped back, and glared at the auditor. Schmidt passed by, his eye fixedly ahead, felt their eyes on his back in the sudden silence. However, he’d caught the mordant humour in the twist of her red lips.
    Out of sight he paused, considered afresh Wagner’s portrait of a passionate woman, and marvelled at sighting her like this, given the mission he was on. Otto’d been steaming with lust. A coolish location for a tryst.
    The bank seemed to be awaking from a long hibernation !
    Schmidt unlocked a door and entered a room. He found the ten-year-old dossier, and read the birth certificate. It was clear-cut. Coming into the room he’d felt keyed-up but now he was calm. He removed the certificate, put it in his pocket, returned to his room, and burnt the document to ash in his metal wastepaper basket.

    Â 
    â€˜What fascinating developments do you report today from your end of the good ship Wertheim?’ Wagner demanded. He’d had his first mouthful of beer.
    Schmidt raised a shoulder, as if to deflect the inquiry. He inspected the café, the patronage. Five thirty pm. Outside, the streets were as black as a Rhine coal-barge’s hold. Dark at 4.30 pm. In a month it would be 4.00 pm. He’d decided to keep both of Dietrich’s instructions quiet, for the present.
    He turned to Wagner. His colleague’s unkempt hair draggled over his collar. Wertheim men wore hats to the bank, mostly homburgs, though not Wagner. ‘Herr Dietrich’s gone to Berlin. He returns in a few days.’
    â€˜Not fascinating, but interesting.’The deputy foreign manager exhaled a stream of smoke. ‘Doubtless he hastens to his masters to report on our bank.’
    â€˜In that sense, all seems to be going well.’
    Wagner assessed the remark. ‘Do I pick up a doubt? By any chance, has our new director already unearthed the taint of Jewishness nourished and harboured by our eccentric General-Director?’
    Schmidt stared at his colleague. It was hard to keep Wagner out of any picture. But tonight he was implacably resistant to the deputy manager. Depression had come down on him. And worry. His thoughts moved away from the cafe, from Wagner. Where was she at this moment? What was her state of mind? More to the point, what was he going to do with his particular knowledge of her peril? He felt hemmed in by much more than the early nightfall.
    Wagner shrugged, not put off. ‘I see one-point-five million came in today for our esteemed client from Ruhr industrialists.’
    Schmidt came back, nodded. ‘They can afford it. Business is booming.’
    â€˜And the more the Nazis push to rearm the higher the
profits, eh? A nice little cycle. ‘Wagner paused, glass half-raised. ‘Thank God the summer’s over! It’s an end for a while to those vile rallies. Those obscene flags.You couldn’t see the buildings for their damned swastikas.’ All summer this had infuriated him. ‘It’s a wonder old Wertheim in his new manifestation isn’t after the account of that damned flag-making company!’ He drank beer. ‘I’ve been watching him for thirty years and I tell you, his brain’s jumped the points. Take it from your troublesome friend.’ Schmidt smiled despite himself. ‘Ah, my dear Franz, a smile at my expense? You don’t believe me? Listen. The G-D’s placed the bank like a high-value chip on the roulette table. From now on, he’s going to unravel like a piece of thread being pulled. And Christ, look at the succession! Otto, the bank’s pervert and ace-farter. Even more insane! The only hope is Schloss.’
    Schmidt turned aside from his colleague. Herr Wertheim mad? Tonight, Wagner was laying out his own paranoia. He’d seen nothing in his meetings with the G-D to match what the deputy manager was claiming. Though there was a