Murder Doesn't Figure. Fred Yorg

      CHAPTER NINE

      I turned and faced the front door as the echoes reverberated throughout the great hallway. Von Klamer was now poised in the hallway on the side by the door to his office. He was a small man about 5'8" inches in height and slight of build. He appeared to be well into his eighties but the way in which he carried himself belied his years. He was dressed in a three-piece suit with a starched white shirt and a silk blue tie. The old man was really quite stylish, he could have well been in an ad for Gentlemen’s Quarterly.

      As I walked towards the voice I got a better look at him, his white hair was thinning, had a thin mustache, and wore gold-rimmed glasses. As I approached him, I extended my hand and returned the greeting, “Mr. Von Klamer, I’m Fred Dansk, pleased to meet you.”

      The old man accepted my hand with a firmer handshake than I would have imagined.

      “Won’t you join me,” as Von Klamer gestured to me to enter his office.

      As I entered the office, I was first taken aback by its size. It was the largest office I had ever been in. It struck me that Von Klamer’s office was bigger than my house. Maybe when I got to know him a little better I’d ask him why such a small man needed such a large office. If I’d brought my basketball, the old man and I could have played a little one on one. The ceilings were high enough to accommodate a backboard, as they must have been all of fourteen feet. In the front of the room there was nothing but glass windows. The far wall had a huge fireplace with oversized double hung windows on each side. As I looked to the back wall, I was somewhat surprised, there were no windows. You would have thought with the beautiful view of the Navesink River, there would be another set of French doors leading to the backyard. The other thing that struck me was the length of the room. To my eye it looked to be a good ten feet shorter than the sixty foot hallway. Of course my perspective could be off, it might have been just an illusion.

      Von Klamer’s desk was in the middle of the room, facing the front windows. There were several large Persian rugs covering the polished oak floors. The office was heavily adorned with bronze statues and fine porcelain pieces of all types and colors. Von Klamer seemed to have amassed more Dresden art than any museum that I was familiar with. Behind Von Klamer’s huge mahogany desk there was a built-in bar. Over on the right side of the office, there was an antique table. The antique table was surrounded by articles that had been cut out and framed from Der Angriff, just as Pamela had described. On the antique table, there in the center, was an ornate pedestal with a book on it. I assumed it was Von Klamer’s personalized copy of Mein Kampf. Right about now I had the same uneasy feeling that Pamela had. I had to agree, there was a very good possibility that Von Klamer was a Nazi war criminal. I had no other way of explaining his treasure trove.

      Von Klamer spoke first, “Please sit down, Herr Dansk. Can I offer you a drink?”

      “Please call me Fred, and yes a bourbon neat will do nicely. Thank you.”

      “I don’t usually drink this time of day but I think I’ll join you with a glass of sherry.”

      The old German proceeded to pour two healthy drinks. Von Klamer then walked over and handed me my drink. I thanked him and he took his seat behind the big desk. I noticed how high above me Von Klamer was, he was actually able to talk down on me. Over the years I had observed this ploy on several occasions with other small men of stature. Psychologically it allowed them to become more authoritative, more important. No matter to me, if it the higher chair turned him on, so be it.

      Von Klamer then raised his glass and offered a toast, “To a mutually agreeable collaboration.”

      Not the best toast I’d ever heard but I took a healthy slug of the bourbon, none the less.

      “Now to business, Fred, what has Pamela told you about me?”

      “Very little. I understand you had a buy/sell agreement with your partner. Your partner recently passed away and you now have to fund the five million dollar buy out under the provisions of the agreement.”

      “Quite right, did Pamela tell you anymore?”

      “Pamela did mention that you had an extensive collection of artwork and pre-war memorabilia, and that you may sell off part of your art collection in order to raise the necessary funds. In fact, Pamela mentioned that you had a personalized copy of Mein Kampf. I must say, I found that to be most intriguing.”

      “Tell me, what do you know of the book?”

      “Well, I know that Hitler wrote Mein Kampf while serving a prison term. If memory serves me correctly, Hitler was sentenced to a five year prison term for his participation in the 1923 Beer Hall Putsch.”

      “What do you know about the Beer Hall Putsch?”

      “I’m hardly an expert but as I recall Hitler tried to overthrow the Bavarian government. The authorities suppressed the insurrection and Hitler got a five year prison term. Hitler then used the trial to gain national prominence and political pressure was generated that led to his parole in nine months.”

      “Very good, I’m impressed. Tell me do you agree with the opinion that Mein Kampf is one of the major literary works of this century?”

      “I’ve only read the Americanized version and certainly the subtleties of the text may have been compromised and therefore my opinion suspect. Again, I am no expert but I found the book to be crude and disorganized. The ideas he expressed were by no means original.”

      “Please continue, I find your opinion to be most interesting.”

      “Very well. One misconception that I have found to be most interesting is that most Americans think that Hitler in someway endorsed the writings of Karl Marx. Quite the contrary, politically, Hitler was a fervent German nationalist and a vague anti-Marxist. His most persistent theme was that of social Darwinism; the struggle of life governs the relationship of both individuals and nations. His argument was that the German people were racially superior and could only be threatened from within by liberals, Marxists, and humanistic ideals. The only thing that makes his work significant was that Hitler was able to galvanize millions of people, based on it.”

      “I’m disappointed in your interpretation, Mr. Dansk.”

      I was back to being Mr. Dansk, not a good sign. I had obviously offended him and just when we were getting along so well. I thought it best to bring the conversation back to business, before I offended him again.

      “Shall we get back to business? I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to have an esoteric discussion on Hitler and his creative literary talents.”

      “You are very abrupt Mr. Dansk. You are also quite right. I am in a position where I need five million dollars to satisfy my debt to my deceased partner’s estate. And yes, I may have to sell a part of my art collection to raise that necessary funds.”

      “If I may Mr. Von Klamer, I’ve seen part of your art collection and although it’s very impressive, you’d be lucky to get a million, maybe two million at best before taxes.”

      “You have seen nothing Mr. Dansk, the art in the hallway is nothing more than wall covering.

      The pieces that I have are worth well more than twenty million dollars.”

      “Please go on Mr. Von Klamer, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

      “Very well, the pieces that I was referring to are a Peter Paul Ruben’s black and brown chalk from 1638, a piece from the Mercury and Argus set. Several black and brown inks by Rembrandt on brown paper. Several works by Pieter Bruegel from the sixteenth century, a work by Anthony Van Dyck from the early