32
THE FOLLOWING DAY, BERNHARD Stempfle found the NSDAP treasurer, Franz Xaver Schwarz, in his office at the Brown House.
Schwarz, a pudgy man with round glasses and a full mustache, had long been the most trusted financial adviser to Hitler, meticulous in his accounting and efficient in his administration.
“It’s all there, Bernie.” Schwarz slid an envelope across his desk.
“Five hundred marks. And needless to say, we’d like as much information as possible on this mysterious…
uh, benefactor. The Führer is especially interested in how this man obtained these drawings.
They were kept inside the Führer’s residence at Prinzregentenplatz.
And there were five sketches, the Führer said, not four. ”
“Of course, Franz.” Stempfle stuffed the envelope inside his trench coat. “This mystery man has been anything but forthcoming, but I will do my best to learn what I can.”
“When does this exchange happen?” Schwarz asked.
“Over lunch,” said Stempfle. “I’d best be on my way.”
Stempfle left the Brown House and caught a tram at Luisenstra?e.
He got off at Theresienstra?e and walked a half block to the Maximilian Hotel, an old inn with a grand chandelier in the lobby.
The NSDAP rented several rooms here for special guests staying in town, as Stempfle often did.
He took the lift to the fourth floor and entered his room.
He reached under his bed and removed the five pornographic sketches. He had spent a fair amount of time with them since he’d stolen them from Hitler’s flat. Yes, he had quite enjoyed looking at them.
The first one—well, he appreciated Hitler’s care and detail in the up-close anatomical drawing, but it was almost too close, almost too obscene even for Stempfle.
He preferred the one of Geli with her back arched, naked, allowing him to get a better look at her curves.
And the added benefit of that particular drawing was that it was unsigned—unlike the other sketches, on which A. Hitler was inscribed in the corner.
Yes, that one, then, the unsigned one. That would be the one he would keep. He carefully laid the single drawing back under his bed.
He rolled up the other four and placed them inside a cardboard tube. He stashed the envelope of reichmarks into his luggage. He lay down on his bed and took a short nap. He awoke but made sure he waited a full hour before his return.
He took the tram back to the Luisenstra?e stop near the Brown House. Franz Schwarz was waiting for him at his desk when Stempfle entered the office. He handed the tube to Schwarz, who took it gingerly.
“How was the lunch?” asked Schwarz.
“Very businesslike.”
“Well, thank God you got them, Bernie. That’s the last thing we need right now. They’re in here?” he asked.
“They’re all there,” said Stempfle. “The man wouldn’t give me his name. And he insisted he only had the four sketches.”
Stempfle traced the route back to the Maximilian Hotel. He whistled all the way to his hotel room door. He was now five hundred marks the richer, and with a souvenir to boot.
When he entered the hotel room, the pornographic sketch was lying on top of the bed.
“Afternoon, Father Stempfle.”
Stempfle jumped. To his left, a man emerged from the bathroom. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”
“The name’s Bauer,” the man said, showing his police card. “And I might ask you the same thing, Father.”