Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/97

"Brunette or not-I don't give a pfennig," snorted Elsa. "I never waste a glance on these Jew creatures..."

The crowd at the table laughed. Loudest of all was the cackle of Heinz, as he bared his fang-like teeth.

Fritz hadn't been paying much attention to the talk. Now he leaned closer to the others at the table. "What's going on here?" he asked with authority. "A conspiracy, eh? Let me in on it."

"Well of course, my dear sir. With pleasure." This from Heinz, who was in the habit of assuming the exaggerated comic role. He was like a wolf who had a secret desire to be a laughing hyena, or like a cannibal who tried to be a clown as the missionary was roasting on the fire. He struck a fantastic pose and recounted the story of Eric's troubles. Fritz' round face shone with a violent redness; his short-sighted eyes peered narrowly from behind his glasses.

"A shame! A shame!" he ejaculated. "Sabotage in our own ranks! And all you do is laugh about it. A fine thing, I must say. Instead of lending a hand to build up the new world you're all busy digging the ground away from under your own feet." His shifty eyes darted back and forth, and when they came to rest on Heinz, the latter's face changed color.

"It's not my fault," he began to mutter apologetically.

"Not your fault, eh?" Fritz confronted him as though he were a victim brought in for a pagan sacrifice. "Not your fault, you damned fool! It's about time you understood that each one has to bear responsibility for the other. You, me, all of us-we're all responsible! One for all and all for one-." He rose suddenly, clicked his heels, and with eyes blazing fanatically, exclaimed: "Heil Hitler." Heinz flashed back: "Heil Hitler."

Heinz had more than one reason to want to stand in