Cafe Gentz and the Silver Pheasants

Adam Bayne

she insisted on sending her driver and Benz to collect us from
Munich to spare us from freezing to death on the journey. Helene’s
husband, Putzi was still in America, so she was alone.
Helene was looking forward to another fine stay at Villa Wahnfried.
Hitler and I were infiltrating the highest levels of German society,
political, intellectual and industrial. I was to find out that Elsa
Bruckmann was genuine royalty. She was the Princess Cantacuzene
of Romania.
Elsa’s chauffeur-driven car picked us up on the Wednesday before
Christmas. We were going to see-in 1926 in style because the year
had been financially excellent for the Nazi party, which was
amassing a large election campaign fund, influential patrons, and
international financial supporters. I reminded Helene to pack her
dirndl dresses.

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Chapter 8 US Federal Reserve, Bank of England, JP Morgan
pledge finance for Hitler.

The Christmas and New Year celebrations were over before we
knew it. Elsa’s chauffeur drove us back to Munich, where we got
back into the reality of life. Helene was looking forward to seeing
her children. She had left them in Uffing with the nanny because
Putzi was still in America. She was not worried about being away
from the children for Christmas because her son Egon was barely
five, and the girl Hertha was but one year old.
It was a few days before Hitler returned from Bayreuth, so I had
time to contemplate the situation here in Germany. I had to be
careful not to become bewitched by Hitler’s charm and charisma. I
must remain an objective observer.
I understood his plans as well as Hess, Goering, or any other of his
besotted inner circle. I had seen his open display of hatred toward
the Jews. I understood the underlying anger of the German people.
They considered the Jews to blame for all their economic woes.
Violence against Jews had surfaced even back in the time of the
Beerhall Putsch in Munich. That night the Brownshirts vandalised
Jewish shops and harassed Jews on the streets. Hitler condoned this.
He said and did nothing. I also witnessed his mood swings from
deep depression to joy and back within a few minutes.
I discussed the concept of Lebensraum with its originator Haushofer
and realised that it must inevitably result in the annexation or
invasion of neighbouring countries. The Versailles Treaty imposed
on Germany by the victors was vindictive and punitive. It was
resented deeply by the German people. The pain of the reparation
payments was nothing compared to the confiscation of 15% of
German territory and the limitations placed on German industrial
production.
While we were partying in Bayreuth and enjoying a comfortable

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lifestyle, Germany had been through the worst inflation crisis in the
world. The Mark became worthless. One barrowload might buy a
loaf of bread. The word hyperinflation was invented to describe
what happened from 1921 to 1925. Before the war, eighteen Marks
(M) could buy one Pound Sterling (£1). Within a month, it fell to
three hundred Marks to the pound. It remained at that rate until July
1921, when the government ran out of money. The monthly
reparation payments were unchanged, so it began to print money.
The result was hyperinflation, such as the world had never seen. By
January 1924, you would need nineteen billion Marks to get one
single Pound Sterling.
Hyperinflation ended in 1925 when the Americans implemented the
Dawes plan, and Germany had a new currency.
Helene tried to explain the Dawes plan to me over dinner one
evening. I understood it involved the US Federal Reserve, the Bank
of England and JPMorgan bank. The Americans were, in effect,
paying the monthly reparation payment in the guise of an overseas
aid package to Germany. It was clear to me there was a political will
in the USA to finance Germany, but could the Dawes plan go on
forever?
By 1926, something monstrous and evil was bubbling up in
Germany. It was as if a volcano was preparing to erupt. I could see
and sense the pressure building. It would make Krakatoa look like a
children’s firework display when it went off. The country was
heading towards an inevitable and disastrous conclusion.
There were some questions I needed to ask myself at the beginning
of 1926:

1. Was there any way the British government could avert
disaster and benefit from a prosperous Germany through me?

2. Was the rise to power of Hitler and the Nazi party
inevitable?

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Café Gentz and the Silver Pheasants

3. Was there a chance of a Communist government in
Germany?

I concluded that Germany’s only options for a future government
were Communist or Nazi. The people would never re-elect President
Paul von Hindenburg and his centrist party. Therefore I must ensure
that the Nazi party wins the upcoming elections and try to steer them
in a more democratic direction. This would be the gist of my XC
report to C setting out objectives for 1926.
Those objectives would be to develop a network of German
industrial patrons to the Nazi party and add as many British and
American financial sponsors as I could. I already knew that Hitler
was an admirer of Henry Ford. He had said, ‘I regard Henry Ford as
my inspiration’ to an American reporter who published it in the
Detroit News.
Hitler arrived back in Munich within a few days, and at a meeting in
his office, we agreed that my priority would be to raise funds for the
upcoming elections. I would spend 1926 developing German and
British sponsors and would work through Putzi to develop
relationships with sponsors in America. Hitler said, ‘at the Putsch,
we tried violence, and it didn’t work’. However, I feared that the
violent streak in his character would overrule that pronouncement
and resurface. He said, ‘now we shall try the democratic method. If
that does not work, we will revert to violence; only this time, we are
stronger, and we shall win’.
He thumped his fist on the desk and repeated, ‘We shall win.’ With
his piercing eyes, he looked down once more into my soul. I
believed him.
The first step to fulfilling my new objective was to discuss it with
Helene. She said her husband Putzi was coming back from the USA
in March. I said I wanted to contact him before he left as I needed
him to make some connections with any American industrialists

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Adam Bayne

who might contribute to the German Nazi party. I explained to Putzi
in a letter what the Party needed. He wrote back, promising to meet
with as many potential financiers and industrialists as possible.
My next meeting would be in Bayreuth. I met with Winifred
Wagner and her husband, Siegfried. I believed they could greatly
assist in drawing up a list of potential German industrial sponsors.
When Siegfried visited Michigan, they had already introduced Kurt
Ludecke to Henry Ford and others. Ludecke came back to Germany
with a promise of support from Ford. Henry Ford never broke that
promise and continued to support Hitler and the Nazi party despite
heavy criticism from the American Government.

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Chapter 9 WR Hearst becomes a major financier of Hitler.

I considered that Hitler’s chances in the upcoming elections were
not promising unless he increased party membership. He needed to
establish a solid foundation of voters. He set about getting new
members in the best way he knew - personally addressing groups of
people, usually in beerhalls. Hitler had seen the membership grow
from fifty-five in 1920 to twenty-seven thousand in 1926. I reported
the figures to my masters in London every year. By 1929 it was one
hundred and seventy-eight thousand. It still had a long way to go to
reach the 1939 figure of more than five million.
Helene and I saw a lot of each other because Putzi was away in
America most of the time. She was a fantastic lady, both mentally
and physically. She was beautiful, and two children had no
detrimental effect on her perfect figure. I could always see why
Hitler was fascinated by her.
We had been back from Bayreuth only a few months when Helene
told me a fantastic story about when she was in America. It was just
before the Munich Beerhall Putsch. She told me she had met
William Randolph (WR) Hearst in early 1923. He was a business
associate of her husband. At that time, Hearst was separated from
his wife, Millicent. She had gotten fed up with Hearst’s blatant
relationship with his mistress Marion Davis. WR and Millicent
agreed the marriage was over, and although they didn’t divorce, they
never got back together. However, Hearst had fallen out with his
mistress temporarily because he was angry that she had fallen
pregnant and had the baby. Hearst was a tall, good-looking man and
was still attractive even though he was over sixty. The split from his
wife and his mistress meant he was available. Helene had a fling one
weekend on his yacht, the Oneida. She too fell pregnant. The result
was a baby girl, Hertha. By the end of 1923, Hearst was back with
Marion, but he remained in contact with Helene. In October, just

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before she returned to Germany, he invited her to a party on his
yacht, but she could not attend as she would be back in Munich by
then. Marion kept in regular contact with Helene by letter and told
her that another wealthy businessman called Thomas Ince was at
that party and had died in mysterious circumstances. Something had
happened, and the doctor was called. Ince was rushed home to his
family but had not survived. Marion also told Helene that Charlie
Chaplin was one of the celebrities on the yacht on that day and that
he was known for his penchant for younger ladies.
The Oneida scandal was something Hearst never got over. His
business went into decline afterwards. Marion said it didn’t matter
much, as he was worth over thirty billion. The next day one
newspaper headline screamed, ‘Man shot on Hearst yacht.’ Hearst’s
power was such that it never appeared again. The official obituary
stated that Ince died of a heart attack. Marion said she was up on
deck and didn’t know what had happened. She did say that Hearst
called all the guests together after Thomas had been taken away and
made everyone swear never to talk about what happened. Putzi took
care of everything for Hearst, and there was not even an enquiry.
Helene said that Marion told her that Hearst had shot Ince in an
argument over a girl. It was well known that Hearst had a terrible
temper.
I made a mental note to add Hearst and Chaplin to my list of
potential Nazi supporters. Hearst owed a big favour to Putzi.
The result was that Hearst became a significant supporter of Adolf
Hitler. All payments were made via Putzi’s business account in
America; naturally, he was sworn to secrecy.
One day, I was in Hitler’s office when he overheard two of his
secretaries talking about the latest Charlie Chaplin movie. He
shouted, ‘Don’t ever mention that Jewish communist in my office
again.’ I didn’t think Charlie Chaplin was Jewish, but I crossed him

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off my list of potential Nazi party sponsors. It was another example
of Hitler’s Jekyll and Hyde personality.
I received another feather in my cap when Hitler asked me if I could
do anything about getting an amnesty issued for the people who had
outstanding arrest warrants issued against them for the Munich
Putsch. He was especially interested in getting Goering back
because he admired his organising abilities. I sent a message to my
masters in London, but the news came back that there was little they
could do to intervene in German criminal proceedings.
Imagine my surprise when Hitler came in one morning and
announced that Goering and his wife were returning because an
amnesty was declared. Hitler came over to me and shook my hand,
‘I will let Goering know it was you,’ he said. I smiled a knowing
smile.
As soon as Goering returned, he was put in charge of the SA or
stormtroopers and did an excellent job. Hitler told me over lunch
that Goering was the only one who had ever run the SA properly. He
took a dishevelled rabble and organised them into an effective force
eleven thousand strong in a short time. The SA was the seed of the
Gestapo and the SS. It depends on your perspective on how effective
the SA, Gestapo and SS were to become. They indeed were effective
in following Hitler’s orders and meeting his objectives.

We attended the Wagner festival in Bayreuth as VIP guests that
year, and it was there we met Edwin and Helene Bechstein, the
famous piano manufacturers. Putzi was with us on this trip, so I had
to drive to Bayreuth alone in the Alfa Romeo.

Sitting next to my love at dinner and pretending to be nothing more
than platonic friends made her very amorous. The result was that
after dinner, we said we needed some summer evening fresh air. We
went for a walk in the Hofgarten, the large park nearby. Suddenly
she pulled me into the bushes, and we made love under the

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moonlight. When we met Putzi in the drawing room on our return, I
was inwardly mortified when he said I must need a drink after all
that exercise. His wife jumped in and said, ‘Just a gentle walk
Putzi.’ Nevertheless, I downed the schnapps that Putzi had
graciously poured for me.

He was over six feet tall and very well-built. Maybe he could see I
was nervous.

Helene told me the next day that Putzi was having an affair with his
friend Hugo Bruckmann’s wife, Elsa. And she is almost old enough
to be his mother, she mocked.

I included all this information in my regular XC reports. London
loved details like that because they could use them for extortion. I
was careful never to mention my association with Helene, though.

The following day at breakfast, Frau Bechstein was doting over
Hitler, bordering on embarrassing. She came and sat on the floor at
his feet, put her head on his knee and, looking up, called him ‘My
Little Wolf.’ We all smiled, drank our coffee, and acted like this was
normal. I suppose it would be if you were a super-charismatic
egoist.

After breakfast, she said all must come out into the garden because
she had a surprise for her Little Wolf. She looked at Hitler and said,
‘Are you still driving that old grey Benz 16/50? You ought to be
driving a car that suits your status and image. Look at that red and
cream Alfa Romeo young Adam is driving; it perfectly matches his
personality.’ That gave everyone a good laugh.

She ushered us into the garden and waved to Emil Maurice, who
was half-hidden by the garage. A few seconds later, he came roaring
out from behind the garage, skidding on the gravel and making a
theatrical stop in front of us. When the dust had settled, we saw he
was driving a bright red Mercedes-Benz 770 Kompressor. This was
the car that everyone wanted that summer. We were all dazzled.

As Maurice got out, he left the driver’s door open. She took Hitler
by the arm and led him up to the car. ‘It’s yours,’ she announced.

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‘This is the type of car in which the Fuhrer and party leader should
be seen.’ Even Hitler was impressed and said he loved her new car
and hugged her until she had to pull away for breath. ‘All in,’ she
shouted, ‘My Little Wolf is taking us for a morning drive.’ And that
is what we did. Hitler drove all seven of us along the Jean-Paul-
Strasse at breakneck speed once he had discovered how to engage
the Kompressor.

He pulled up in a cloud of dust back at Villa Wahnfried, and a
choking Maurice opened the doors to allow the laughing women to
disembark.

Once again, I had seen a side of Hitler that few would ever see, and I
asked everyone to stand in front of that magnificent car while I took
a photograph with my Leica camera.

Goebbels’ rule would be strictly enforced, and only approved
photographs by Heinrich Hoffmann - the official photographer of
the Fuhrer - were ever taken and issued. I still have that illicit photo
on my desk - one of the few that survive.

That evening we were introduced to another Nazi party supporter,
the writer Houston Stewart Chamberlain, the British-born author of
controversial racial theories. He was married to Richard Wagner’s
daughter Eva. Hitler said his books confirmed his own belief in
Aryan racial superiority.
My time at Bayreuth showed me how intertwined were these high-
society communities. The publisher for Chamberlain’s racist books
was Hugo Bruckmann, also Hitler’s publisher. It was the same
arrangement in England and America and would make my financing
work easier.
The next day Putzi asked me if I could do him a favour. He asked
that I take Helene back to Munich if it were no inconvenience. He
said he needed to stay on for a few days for business. I thought
about it for hardly a second before agreeing.
Helene and I stopped for lunch in Ingolstadt at the Augustiner-Brau-

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Adam Bayne

Theresienhof. She made us laugh when she confided that Putzi
believed that Hitler was impotent and that his passion never went
beyond kissing a lady’s hand and sending her flowers.
‘What does he say about me?’ I asked, but all I got in reply was a
beautiful smile.
Hitler’s love life would turn out to be a very deadly business, with
all his mistresses meeting with unnatural deaths at an early age.

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Chapter 10 Rudolf Hess marries Ilse. Hitler Over Germany
airborne election campaign.

Goering soon settled into the busy job of organising the SA into the
vicious weapon the Nazis would use to ensure they had neither
effective opposition nor dissent. None that was visible, that is. Hitler
was to survive numerous assassination attempts over the coming
years, and his survival of each attempt only fuelled his belief that his
destiny was to be the Fuhrer of the Third Reich.

Goebbels also began developing his all-embracing propaganda
machine to infiltrate every section of German society.

Just before Christmas that year, Rudolf Hess married Ilse Proehl on
the 20th of December. Helene and I attended. It was the first
wedding with most of Hitler’s core team as guests.

The next day, we left for Berlin because we did not go to Bayreuth
that Christmas. The Bechsteins had invited us to their Berlin home
along with Hitler.

It had all started the last time we had dinner with Hitler. Elsa
Bruckmann, Winifred Wagner and the two Helenes decided that
Hitler would be coached in the ways of German high society.
Winifred served artichokes, and Hitler looked at them on the plate
and said, ‘Excuse me, my dear, but what is this?’ Without a word,
Elsa went across and sat next to him. She showed him how to pull
off the leaves and then suck the flesh from each one. She made
every action seem like part of an erotic film, ensuring that Hitler
followed her every move. After licking her fingers, she scraped out
the ‘choke’ (the hairy part at the centre of an artichoke) and dipped
the heart into mayonnaise. She then dripped it into Hitler’s mouth
and wiped his lips with a white napkin.

The whole table was mesmerised by Elsa’s performance. Then
Hitler looked up at Elsa and thanked her. He kissed her hand, and
she returned to her seat. The silence was broken, and the dinner
party chatter resumed.

Hitler was in awe of Elsa because not only was she of genuine

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ancient European royal stock, but she was also very wealthy. She
was born Princess Cantacuzene of Romania and was the driving
force behind the ladies and their training program to make Hitler
ready to move among the highest strata of German society. He was
introduced to the Bruckmann’s tailor and had a new wardrobe of
clothes made, all paid for by Elsa.

There were many honoured guests at the dinners at the Bechsteins
over the Christmas and New Year period. One such was Fritz
Thyssen, the steel magnate. He proudly told everyone that German
steel production in 1927 had recovered to pre-war levels. He
predicted that within two more years, it would be top in Europe and
second only to America.

Other guests introduced to Hitler and myself included Ferdinand
Porsche, Fritz von Opel and Gunter Quandt of BMW. Fritz Thyssen
assured me over a glass of cognac that he could guarantee sufficient
funds to support the Nazi party in the elections. The worst fear
among the German industrialists was a Communist government
which would mean the nationalisation of their business empires.
Fritz said he had a war chest of twenty-five million Marks in reserve
if ever a Communist coup or a majority for them at the election was
imminent.

At this time, Goebbels met Gunter Quandt’s young wife, Magda,
and we could all see his immediate attraction to her. Quandt was
twice her age when they married in 1921. She soon discovered that
Gunter had a habit of visiting prostitutes, and it did not help the
marriage that she, too, was having an affair with a young university
student. After two turbulent years of arguing, they agreed to live
together as friends and remained good friends for all the time I knew
them. This meant they were free to have any romantic liaisons they
wanted.

Goebbels was told all this gossip by Winifred, who realised he was
intrigued by Magda, with the result that Magda was soon working as
a research assistant at Goebbel’s office in Munich.

By now, I had amassed an impressive contact list of industrialists

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and financiers who had promised their financial support to Hitler
and the Nazi party. Of course, they would not make written
commitments; even their donations were to third parties. Goebbels
and Goering were the two primary recipients of these transfers from
the German sponsors in the same way that Putzi was in America. I
noticed a change when suddenly everything at the party HQ was
transacted in cash, even my monthly salary, which I would take to
the bank and deposit myself.

The party was working hard to get leaflets and election materials
ready for the Federal elections in May. We had hundreds of copies
of Mein Kampf for party candidates and VIPs around the country.
Goebbels called a meeting the week before the election and warned
us, including Hitler, not to expect a good result. He assured us that
the country was not ready nor the party, but things would change
soon.

The results proved Goebbels was right, and the Nazi party received
less than three per cent of the vote, but with the tiny compensation
that Hermann Goering was elected as representative in Munich for
the Nazi party. The Nazi party had only twelve seats in the Federal
parliament out of a total of four hundred and ninety-one.

When I received the reply to my XC report communicating these
figures, the instruction was to make sure that Hitler did better next
time or that something drastic would be needed. I never did find out
what that drastic action may have been.

Goering asked me to make an appointment to see Cardinal Eugene
Pacelli, who was still Papal Nuncio for Munich. I asked why he
specifically wanted me to do it, and he said that his wife Carin
reminded him that she and I had met His Excellency just after the
Munich Putsch. I laughed and said we had not met the Nuncio but
used the same taxi. He looked puzzled, and I said he should ask
Carin to explain.

Anyway, I did make the appointment, and I made an official visit
with Goering to the Cardinal on behalf of the Nazi party. I asked
Cardinal Pacelli if he remembered the riot after the Beerhall Putsch,

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Adam Bayne

and he said he would never forget it. I noted that he was having
dinner with the vice President of Bavaria that evening. He looked at
me in amazement, so I told him the story, and he said, ‘God works
in mysterious ways.’

We then went on to discuss official business. Goering asked the
Cardinal to pass on a personal message to His Holiness the Pope
from Adolf Hitler, who would soon be the leader of Germany. He
said he knew the Catholic Church feared repression under any
Communist government. Goering would guarantee that a Nazi
government would not persecute Catholics nor confiscate any
church property. Catholics would be guaranteed freedom to worship
in their churches. In return, Hitler, who Goering reminded the
Cardinal was a Catholic, asked simply that the Pope and the Church
provide tacit support and take a neutral position in German politics.
Cardinal Pacelli asked us to return for His Holiness’s answer in a
week.

We visited again as requested and received Pope Pius XI’s
agreement to Hitler’s request. There would be nothing in writing,
but the Cardinal assured us that the word of the Pope was good
enough.

Hitler was well pleased when we told him the Nazi party would
have no opposition from the Catholic Church, as was London when
I informed them.

With the increasing wealth of the party, Hitler moved into a larger
apartment on Prinzregentenstrasse, taking with him his housekeeper
Angela Raubal, his half-sister. Her seventeen-year-old daughter Geli
also moved in. Angela and her daughter had been Hitler’s
housekeeping team at his previous apartment, and Geli was pleased
to get her own room at the larger, more impressive apartment.
Rumours were already circulating in the Nazi office that Geli and
Hitler were lovers, but no one dared speak it out loud. Hitler was in
total command, and his temper and wrath could turn on anyone at
any time.

His ability to hold a grudge was well known; if you got on the

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Fuhrer’s wrong side, the repercussions could be widespread and
fatal. One secretary he fell out with and then fired discovered that
her father lost his position as a clerk at the Reichsbank within a
month. Everyone said it was a coincidence, but everyone knew it
was not.

The rest of the year went quietly. As Putzi was away in New York
most of the time, he asked me if I would like to move into their town
apartment on Gentzstrasse. I graciously accepted, and Helene and I
hosted so many lunches and dinners there that even Putzi used to
call it Café Gentz. It was more suitable for meeting potential
sponsors unwilling to be seen at the official Nazi party headquarters.

Helene told Putzi that she and the children were living with the
nanny in their country house in Uffing, which was only half an
hour’s drive away. The actual situation was that she went to work
each day at the Nazi party’s Head Office in Schellingstrasse, then
would stay overnight with me but visit the children in Uffing once
or twice a week.

I told her I was concerned that Putzi would be jealous and may
cause a problem, but she replied he had his girlfriends in New York
to keep him company. ‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I told him you had been
wounded in the battle of the Somme in 1916. I said you had
sustained terrible injuries from an exploding shell, and the doctors
could not save your most important parts, you know, down there.’
She almost fell off the bed in uncontrollable laughter.

When she had recovered her composure, she said, ‘And he actually
believes me,’ and the hysterical laughter started all over again until
there was a knock at the bedroom door. Egon came asking what was
happening, followed by the nanny and little Hertha.

The Nazi party headquarters in Munich was a beehive of activity.
Hitler’s charisma and personality dominated the building, and even
his infrequent temper outbursts were forgiven and accepted due to
stress. Goering and Hess and their people were working on the next
election campaign, and Goebbels said they would be ready this time.

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He got approval from Hitler for the campaign to be the first ever to
be conducted using aeroplanes to crisscross the country. It was to be
publicised as ‘Hitler over Germany’ with Goering as a pilot. They
would fly from city to city with great fanfare each time they landed
and took off. Everyone was excited about the idea, and when I
reported to London, they replied that Mr Churchill may be interested
in the idea because, I quote from the classified reply, ‘he needed all
the help he could get to be re-elected.’
Heinrich Hoffmann was Hitler’s official personal photographer and
had a photographic studio in the same building on Schellingstrasse.
Hoffmann notified Hitler that there was space for rent in the
building. After his makeover by the Bayreuth girls and his new
clothes wardrobe, Hitler became very aware of his public image. He
told me he had not done enough to support the Nazi candidates in
the last election, and he and Goebbels were working on his new
image, the image of the Fuhrer.
Goebbels once again issued his rigorous instructions that no
photographs of Hitler were to be taken except by Hoffmann. If
anyone took a photo and Hitler was even in it, Hoffmann must
approve it, and he must have all the negatives.

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Chapter 11 Eva Braun and Geli Raubal

I had become a keen photographer with my Leica 35mm camera
and, as a result, often chatted with Heinrich Hoffmann when I went
to his studio to get my films processed.
I loved that camera. Unlike modern cameras, there were many
things to master even before pressing the shutter. Carefully
trimming the film, winding it on just to the right spot, measuring the
light intensity, deciding on and implementing the settings,
remembering to unlock the lens, framing the subject in the tiny
viewfinder, getting the focus spot on, then eventually hearing that
satisfying click as the shutter slid open and momentarily exposed the
film to light. Then the anticipation as I waited days, sometimes
weeks, to see the results. And I can always recall what I felt when I
took each precious frame. I still have that camera. It is up in my loft.
I wonder if it is worth anything these days.
Although Hoffmann was a dedicated Nazi and totally loyal to Hitler,
he did not particularly like his ‘gang of three’ as he called Goebbels,
Hess and Goering. Hoffmann and I became good friends, and over
cups of coffee in his studio, we could talk freely about Hitler,
something we could not do in the Nazi Party headquarters building.
Those walls certainly had ears. When his wife Therese died
suddenly, he became sad for a while, and we often spent evenings
together when Helene did not stay over at Café Gentz. We would
walk to the Burgerbraukeller and have a beer and our favourite meal
of white sausages. We would soon get onto the subject of the Nazi
party. He was convinced it would rule Germany with Hitler as its
Fuhrer. Hoffmann was devastated by his wife’s sudden death, but I
told him he must become successful in assuring his daughter Henny
and son Heini a promising future. After a couple of months, he came
out of his depression and, within a year, married again. He told me it
was the best thing for his children and swore he would give them a

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wonderful life, which I know he did.
Hoffmann and his new wife Erna became close friends of Helene
and myself. Hoffmann loved a drink, and he was always the life and
soul of any party. However, he did not have the sophistication or the
high-society upbringing of many of Hitler’s friends and sponsors. I
always considered Hoffmann a kind of court jester. He was never
afraid to tell Hitler the truth. Hoffmann and Erna always accepted
the relationship that Helene and I enjoyed. We never felt any
animosity or jealousy that Helene said she sometimes sensed at the
Party office.
One evening Helene and I were having a quiet evening at our Café
Gentz apartment and were going through some old photographs I
had taken at the Bayreuth Wagner festival. Helene knew of
Goebbel’s veto on all pictures of Hitler and suggested that to make
sure I was always beyond reproach, and I should show them to
Hoffman and get them approved.
The next day I took my photo album and the negatives to Hoffman’s
studio and was greeted by a young lady I had never seen before. She
was lovely with short wavy blonde hair. Hoffmann came out, and
we went into his office to look at my photos of Hitler.
‘Who was that young lady?’ I had to ask, and he told me she was his
new assistant and model, the seventeen-year-old Eva Braun.
‘Does Erna know about this?’ I said with a grin.
‘Of course, Erna conducted the interviews, and Eva was her choice.
A clever ploy that, don’t you think, my friend?’ and we both
laughed.
Hoffmann went through my photos, and when I said I would never
release or publish any of them, he said there was no need to get
Goebbels involved. He congratulated me on my photographic
technique and asked how I got on with the new 35mm format. He
picked out the group photo of the Bayreuth girls in front of the new

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red Mercedes Benz. He said he was experimenting with a
colourisation process and asked if he could have the negative to try
the technique. I agreed, and he suggested I bring Hitler over the next
day to see the results of some colourisation. Hoffmann said to come
about two in the afternoon.
The next day Hitler came over to Hoffmann’s studio with me, and
young Eva greeted us. I could see by the look in Hitler’s eyes and
how they followed her back into Hoffmann’s office that he was very
interested.
Hitler and I heard Eva say to her boss, ‘Mr Hoffman, Mr Bayne and
another gentleman are here to see you.’ This made Hitler smile
because it had been a while since anyone had referred to the Fuhrer
as ‘another gentleman.’
Hoffmann told Eva that it was Herr Wolff, and she came back into
the reception area and said in a sweet voice, ‘Herr Bayne and Herr
Wolff, Herr Hoffmann will see you now.’ It was Hoffmann at his
best as the court jester. Eva led us into her boss’s office with smiles
on our faces.
Hoffmann showed Hitler the attempts at colourisation of my photo
and some actual colour photos that Hoffman had taken. Hitler did
not seem too impressed. At that time, colour photography was in its
infancy, and the images, although in colour, were not as clear and
sharp as those in monochrome. Hitler said to wait until the process
and clarity improved before using them for official photographs, and
we all agreed. But he did ask for a print of the girls with his
Mercedes Benz.
Hitler said he did not have time for a coffee, so he returned to the
HQ office alone. As Hoffmann and I sat in his office, Eva came in
and said, ‘Who was that man with the funny moustache and the
English overcoat with a big felt hat? I’m sure you were joking with
me calling him Herr Wolff.’

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We both laughed at the look on Eva’s face when Hoffmann told her
it was the great Adolf Hitler himself. Eva pretended to be angry and
made an exaggerated turn swirling her dress and showing us her legs
as she stormed out of the office.
Hoffmann looked at me and said, ‘Geli better watch out for Eva.
She’s got a personality and the body to go with it.’
Sometimes Helene says I am much too naive because I turned to
Hoffmann and, in a genuinely shocked voice, said, ‘She is his
housekeeper. You don’t think that Hitler is having an affair with his
sister’s daughter, do you?’
Hoffmann poured two glasses of schnapps from the tray he always
kept on the sideboard and brought one for me.
He shook his head, dismayed, ‘Sometimes, Adam, I despair of your
innocence. Of course, he is. Everyone knows, and even her mother
approves. Who would not like to marry their daughter to the man
who will soon become the most powerful man in the world?’
I raised my glass and gulped down the fiery schnapps before
thanking Hoffmann and asking him and his wife for dinner at Café
Gentz the following weekend.
‘White sausages?’ he said with a grin as I left.
When I returned to my office, I hardly sat down when Hitler came in
and closed the door behind him. ‘Who was that girl who called me
Herr Wolff?’ he said.
I told him it was Hoffmann’s new assistant and model. Hitler just
said, ‘Excellent,’ and left my office.
Hoffmann told me that now he had an assistant, he would go over
his archive photos to put them in some order. He called me the next
day to say that Eva had found a negative glass plate showing Hitler
in the Odeonplatz on the 2nd of August 1914 in the crowd cheering
the outbreak of World War I. Hitler was called over and confirmed
he had been there that day and thanked Eva for finding it and spent

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the rest of the day with her, searching through the rest of
Hoffmann’s archive.
Hoffmann enhanced the photo for Goebbels, who had it published in
the March 1932 issue of the Nazi newspaper ‘Illustrated Observer’.
It was soon the weekend, and the Hoffmanns came for dinner as
arranged. We had finished our white sausages and were eating
apfelstrudel when there was a knock at the door. It was Magda
Quandt, standing there looking distraught. Helene and Erna realised
something was wrong and brought her in.
She already knew the Hoffmanns well, so she had no problems
telling us that her husband, Guenter, had thrown her out. Helene
immediately said she could stay with us for the night, and Magda
calmed down once we had consumed a few drinks, as suggested by
Hoffmann.
The Hoffmanns then politely took their leave. Magda was more
concerned that the Hoffmanns might gossip than she was about
being thrown out by Guenter, and we assured her we knew the
Hoffmanns well enough for her not to worry.
From the few times I had socialised with Magda, I came to the
opinion that she was the most cold-hearted scheming woman I had
ever met, and I was pleased to know that Helene, who had met her
many times, shared my opinion.
My feelings were confirmed years later when Magda’s Jewish
stepfather (her parents had divorced when she was a child and later
remarried) was deported to Buchenwald concentration camp, where
he died. Magda could not afford any hint of a Jewish connection
which would ruin her ambitions. She did nothing to stop his arrest,
even though one word from Goebbels would have saved him.
Back in our apartment, Magda had calmed down and told Helene
about the divorce settlement she would get from Guenter. A house, a
car, unlimited access to the Berlin home and a substantial monthly

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allowance of forty-thousand Marks. She stayed the night and left the
next day. Her divorce came through quickly, and Magda was now
wealthy and, more importantly, a free woman.
We could not help but get entangled in Magda’s schemes. I received
a message from Putzi that the American multi-millionaire Herbert
Hoover, not the actual President but his nephew, was coming to
Munich. Putzi had primed him to be a significant financial supporter
of the Party. Putzi added a cryptic footnote ‘Make sure he meets
Magda; he knows her well.’
As requested, I met Herbert Hoover Jnr. and introduced him to
Hitler, who presented him with a signed copy of Mein Kampf. He
then met the other prominent members of the Nazi Party, and I
concluded that he would indeed make significant contributions,
which he did through Putzi.
When I arranged for Herbert and Magda to join us for dinner at Café
Gentz, I was surprised by their greetings and body language that
they knew each other very well. Magda told us they met in America
during a BMW automobile trade tour. Guenter Quandt was head of
BMW and had made excellent contacts with Nazi supporters during
the trip.
It was a pleasant dinner, and Herbert dropped Magda home in his
chauffeur-driven Duesenberg, which almost impressed me as much
as it did Magda.
In the apartment, Helene said, ‘Well, what did you think of that?’
and I replied that I had come to the opinion that Magda was a slut
who would do anything to get what she wanted.
‘Don’t say that!’ Helene chided me.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘You must have heard the office gossip that she even
had an affair with her 18-year-old stepson Helmut Quandt, and that
was what got her thrown out and finally ended the marriage.’
Helene said nothing, and we went to bed. We were awoken at three

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in the morning by a banging on the door. ‘If it is that damn Magda
again, I shall be angry,’ I said as I put on my dressing gown and
answered the door.
But this time, it was serious. A messenger said that poor little Hertha
had been taken ill and was at the American Hospital with her nanny.
We dressed quickly and drove there, where we found Hertha very
poorly. The doctors said they believed she had a previously
undiagnosed congenital heart problem, and nothing could be done. I
went and stayed with Egon in Uffing. Helene remained at the
hospital by Hertha’s side for the next three days. On Sunday
morning, I took Egon to see his sister. She died that night.
We had already sent a telegram to Putzi, and he was almost halfway
across the Atlantic when Hertha passed away. All the senior Party
members attended the funeral, including Hitler himself. Putzi, a
distinguished keyboard player and composer, poignantly played his
own composition ‘Funeral March for Hertha’ at the church. It was a
solemn occasion. After the funeral, Hitler made a touching gesture
and formally asked Putzi and Helene if he could become Egon’s
official godfather, which they accepted. It was moments like this
that made people love Hitler even when they came to know the
horrors of the Nazi war machine.
Work had to go on for me. As agreed, I would stay at the Café
Gentz, close to the Party offices. Putzi and Helene would stay with
Egon at their country house in Uffing.
Helene told me later that she had sent a letter to WR (as she always
called Randolph Hearst) and told him Hertha was his daughter and
the sad news of her passing at such a young age. WR sent back a
lovely letter of condolence, and Helene and WR remained friends
for life. She met him again when he came over to meet Hitler in
1934 with his long-time mistress Marion Davis. Marion and Helene
had always kept in touch by letter since the days of the Oneida

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scandal.
Helene told me she would not tell Putzi about Hertha’s parenthood
as there was no need, and I respected her decision. Little Hertha
should rest in peace.
When Magda phoned me at the office a few days later and said she
wanted to meet me at the Osteria Bavaria for dinner alone, I did not
know what to expect. Osteria Bavaria was in Schellingstrasse, just
along the road from the Party headquarters, so I went right after
work. At a private table in Hitler’s favourite restaurant, Magda said
she knew that Putzi and I were collecting money for the cause (as
she put it) and asked how important Herbert Hoover Junior was to
us. I told her the truth. Putzi had said he was more important as a
channel to the President-to-be Hoover than as a financial supporter.
That seemed to please her because she told me confidentially that
Herbert had proposed marriage, and she had refused. She wanted to
marry Josef Goebbels, didn’t want to cause any problems for Putzi
and seemed frightened to ask him directly. I assumed she wanted me
to pass on this news to Putzi, and he said he had expected that
anyway. Thus my subsequent XC transmission was more like an
American radio soap opera than a political report.
Membership of the Nazi Party was growing steadily and now stood
at one hundred and fifty thousand, and I reported that everything
boded well for the 1930 Federal election. The Dawes plan allowed
German industry to recover without bankrupting the government
and the economy was steady. The Nazi Party had a healthy bank
account and a group of confirmed industrial supporters in Germany,
America and England. As was usual, I am sure they knew more than
they wanted to let on, and their simple reply was to say well done
and ‘stick with it.’
Helene had gotten over Hertha’s death as well as she would, and
Putzi had returned to America. As Hoffmann predicted, Hitler

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suddenly became interested in photography and spent more time at
Hoffmann’s studio. Magda was openly courting Goebbels, and
Herbert Hoover Jnr. had gone back to America without a fiancé.
All seemed quiet to us at Café Gentz, but on the 24th of October
1929, now known as Black Thursday, a catastrophic crash hit Wall
Street. The American economy collapsed, and the Great Depression
began.
The failure of the American banking system brought down the
Dawes plan, and the German reparation payments stopped. Without
American and British support, Germany could do nothing but refuse
to make the payments.
Helene and I got ready to follow the advice of my masters in
London and ‘stick with it.’

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Chapter 12 Lunch with Governor of the Bank of England,
dinner with Henry Ford.

While all of us in Munich read the newspapers with interest about
the Great Depression in America, it did not affect us immediately.
However, the economic collapse of many American banks made
waves worldwide. International trade fell precipitously, and
inevitably German employment suffered. Most German
industrialists had financed their expansion with American bank
loans and came under pressure to repay. Companies started to fail
and close under bankruptcy. The German Civil Servant Bank
collapsed, and thousands of government workers lost their life
savings.
Hitler called an emergency meeting of all hands at Nazi
headquarters. Goering addressed the assembled group. He said
Germany could ride out this depression and blamed it on an
International Jewish plot. He then explained that any Nazi party
employee who had lost money in the Civil Servant bank would be
reimbursed by the Nazi party, but this must remain secret.
Then Goebbels said his election campaign would now have the Jews
as scapegoats. Hitler closed the meeting with a rabble-rousing
appeal to work hard and win the election in September. When the
German people were suffering, this was the time for Hitler to
become the nation’s saviour.
Just as it did in the hyperinflation period ten years ago, life went on
as usual for the more affluent in Germany, including all of Hitler’s
close associates. Magda continued having her affair with Goebbels,
and we continued to host, albeit smaller, parties at Café Gentz.
As usual, we were all invited to the Bayreuth Wagner Festival, but
this year’s festival ended with a sad event. Winifred’s husband
Siegfried suddenly died at the age of only sixty-one. It was a

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massive shock to us all and left poor Winifred with four children
aged five, six, seven and eight. We spent the Festival looking after
the children and consoling her. Hitler did his share as a comforting
Uncle Adolf.
The Bechsteins invited Winifred to stay at their mansion in Berlin,
but Winifred was adamant she would take over running future
Festivals from Villa Wahnfried, as she did.
When we all returned to Munich, there was only one month until the
Federal elections in September 1930. The party had established
efficiently organised branches in all constituencies, and the election
machine was well-oiled under Goebbels. Goering had passed on
control of the para-military SA Brownshirts or storm-troopers to
Major General Otto Wagener, a professional soldier, and they had
become a formidable force. They intimidated voters in all districts
and clashed with Communist groups, resulting in violent and bloody
street fights.
After the elections, Goebbels called one of his staff meetings and
announced that our Nazi party now had one hundred and seven
deputies in the Reichstag. The Communists had only seventy-seven.
Hitler received six and a half million votes which was eighteen per
cent of the electorate. The election was deemed a success for Hitler.
Hitler started seeing Eva Braun more often, and Hoffmann confided
to me on one of my frequent visits to his studio that Eva had said
Hitler was going to buy her an apartment for herself in Munich.
We spent Christmas 1931 in Munich for a change. The Bechsteins
had had their apartment in Karolinenplatze re-designed and re-
decorated by some famous interior designers, and they wanted to
show it off to their friends. We had a relatively quiet holiday period
without too many guest visits. Hitler brought Eva Braun to Café
Gentz one evening and introduced us formally. Eva and Hitler took
his godson Egon to the Christmas market while Helene and I stayed

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Adam Bayne

at the Bechstein’s home. Egon had a wonderful time and loved his
Uncle Adolf and Auntie Eva.
In the New Year, Helene said she wanted to go to New York to see
her parents, who had not seen their grandson Egon since he was a
baby. I suggested that we make it into a holiday and drive to Calais
in the Alfa Romeo, take the new car ferry across the channel and sail
from England to New York. I said I would check with Hitler if we
could have three months away.
Helene and I started planning the trip. We would drive to Calais,
then across to Dover on the ferry and then up to Liverpool via
London, where we could briefly meet my family. We made
preliminary arrangements to cross the Atlantic on the liner Caronia
I. We planned to cross the channel on the new Townsend ferry,
which could carry fifteen cars and four hundred passengers.
When I arranged the meeting with Hitler to clear the three-month
absence, he was agreeable as long as I set up some meetings in
London and New York with potential Nazi party sponsors. When he
heard we were sailing from Liverpool, he told me that he had been
in that city before the war visiting his brother Alois and his British
wife and son. I was amazed, and Hitler said he did not publicise his
visit because he had left Austria to avoid conscription into the army.
When he returned, he went straight to Germany because there was
an Austrian warrant for his arrest for being absent without leave. He
swore me to secrecy because he did not want anyone to take
advantage of his draft dodging. He also told me it was in Liverpool
at his brother’s club that he met members of the revolutionary and
secretive Irish Republican Brotherhood. Hitler could not hide his
antisemitism, and his theory of a Global Jewish plot to enslave the
masses stuck a chord with the Irish revolutionaries.
‘Anyway, enough of the past,’ Hitler said suddenly, ‘We are here for
the future and the destiny of the Nazi party. Adam, tomorrow I shall

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arrange an appointment for you to meet Hjalmar Schacht, President
of the Reichsbank. And by the way, how are you getting to
Liverpool?’
When I told him by car, he said, ‘For God’s sake, Adam, don’t go in
that little car made in Mussolini’s factories; take the red Mercedes-
Benz. At least you will be seen in a German car.’
I thanked Hitler, and when I told Helene we were going in the red
Mercedes, she seemed relieved. I told her there was nothing wrong
with my little Alfa Romeo, and she replied, ‘Nothing except its top
speed is only eighty mph.’ She could see from my face that I loved
my Alfa Romeo, and she never mentioned it again, but truthfully I
was glad we were going in the Mercedes if only for the extra space
it had for luggage. We decided the Benz needed a name, so we
called her the Red Dragon.
The next day I went with Hitler and was introduced to Hjalmar
Schacht, who looked every bit the President of a central bank. He
wore an immaculately trimmed moustache, a black morning coat
and a quiet polka dot tie. His stiff white collar had been out of
fashion since the war.
Hitler told Hjalmar that he could discuss matters with me and trust
me one hundred per cent. He stated that he authorised me to finalise
sponsorship agreements on behalf of the Nazi party. Hjalmar went
on to say he had arranged for me to meet Montagu Norman,
governor of the Bank of England in London, and then Thomas
McKittrick, President of the Bank of International Settlements
(BIS), when we were in New York.
I said I had never heard of the BIS, and he said that was the way the
BIS liked it. Hjalmar explained that the BIS had been established by
McKittrick, Norman and himself only last year. There were main
offices in New York and Threadneedle Street in London, with a
Head Office in Basel, Switzerland. The BIS has the full support of

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the seven major industrial countries, including America, Britain and
Germany
Hjalmar continued, ‘The BIS is, to use plain language, an
International Central Bank for National Central Banks. In short, it
provides banking services to other banks. The BIS has guaranteed
independence and tax-free status. Its mission is to help and support
national banks with problems and promote monetary and financial
stability in the international banking community. As you can
imagine, this requires an exceptionally low profile due to the
delicate diplomatic situations in which the BIS intervenes.’
Quite an introductory speech, I thought to myself.
Hitler said that the Weimar Government held the German
shareholding in the BIS. He said, ‘as Hjalmar knows, this will be
replaced by my Nazi Third Reich. On my behalf, I authorise you to
promise my full support to the BIS when we are in power.’
I was to meet two of the world’s most powerful bankers and discuss
Germany’s future with them. I was taken aback by Hitler’s trust in
me, but that is what I had been working on for the past ten years,
and I was pleased to realise I had succeeded.
‘Oh, by the way, there is one other thing which we believe you can
discuss with Montagu Norman,’ said Hitler, ‘As you know, Adam,
the Nazi party banks with the Austrian bank Creditanstalt. I want
you to ask Norman to ensure it does not go bankrupt. We cannot
afford to lose the party funds.’
‘And I hope you can understand, Adam, that I cannot appear in any
minutes or reports as asking the BIS for this.’ He continued, ‘That is
why we have asked you to have formal meetings on behalf of the
Nazi party.’ I was beginning to understand the complex and
treacherous world of international finance.
Before we left, Hjalmar gave me a copy of Time Magazine 1928.
Montagu Norman appeared on the front cover. ‘Here’s your man,’

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he said with a smile.
I assured Hitler and Hjalmar that I would complete my task to the
best of my ability, and the meeting closed. On the way home, I
wondered if I was being set up as a scapegoat.
My next XC report confirmed my plan to be away for three months,
outlined my meeting with Hitler and Hjalmar, and noted that
Hjalmar had arranged my meeting with Montagu. It was essential to
the mission’s success that MI6 in London must act as if they knew
nothing about it. The same for the New York meeting. A typically
curt reply came back. ‘Well done. Carry on.’
On the 3rd of February, we celebrated Egon’s tenth birthday with a
small party at Café Gentz. Hitler gave his godson a model of the red
Mercedes - Egon loved it.
On Friday afternoon that week, Helene and I said our farewells at
the office and early on Sunday, 8th March 1931, we drove away
from Uffing with Egon comfortable and excited on the back seat of
the Red Dragon.
Helene had the new edition of the Michelin guide, which included
for the first-time recommended restaurants awarded with one, two or
three Michelin Stars.
We had estimated the nine-hundred-mile journey would take us
under four days based on an average speed of thirty mph. We
planned to drive for eight hours per day. Luckily, Helene was
American and had been driving from a young age, so we could share
the load. We headed for our first stop at Stuttgart.
We arrived at Calais on Tuesday and watched the red Mercedes
swing aloft the following day as a crane on the ferry loaded her.
This amused Egon, and he swung his model harmoniously as the
real Red Dragon swayed in the breeze.
We were soon unloaded at Dover and drove straight to London. On
Thursday, we checked into Brown’s Hotel. So that I could have the

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next day free for meetings, I arranged a guided tour of the London
sights for Helene and Egon.
I met Montagu Norman as arranged at his club, the Naval and
Military in St. James, which he called the In and Out. We were
ushered into a private room where lunch was served. His appearance
was in stark contrast to the presidential Hjalmar Schacht. He was
medium height and had a well-trimmed full beard. He always
seemed to wear the same style of felt hat that Hitler wore. He had
worn it on the cover of Time magazine and often sported a
flamboyant bowtie which was in complete contrast to the muted
dark ties of Hjalmar. Montagu looked more like an artist or a poet
than one of the most powerful bankers in the world.
We soon settled down to a light lunch of a watercress salad and
lamb cutlets Reform Club. I had been to the Reform Club years ago
with some friends from Cambridge, so I could not help but ask
Montagu why the famous cutlets were being served at a rival club.
He returned immediately, ‘Adam, my man, you are under a
complete misunderstanding. The Reform Club will tell you that
Chef Alexis Soyer invented this cutlet recipe while at the Reform
Club. The truth is that Soyer’s original recipe included black
truffles, and the cheapskate Liberals at the Reform said it was too
expensive for their menu. Our chef here includes black truffles, and
you will taste the difference. That’s Liberals for you,’ he said as the
waiter poured a glass of Chateau Margaux 1926 for him to approve.
‘Just about ready for drinking,’ he pronounced and indicated to the
sommelier to pour me a glass.
‘Now, Adam, what are we supposed to talk about?’
I said I was to convey Adolf Hitler’s commitment to the BIS and ask
the BIS to support the Austrian Creditanstalt bank because the Nazi
party kept their money there.
‘So basically, Hitler wants me to keep an eye on the Austrian bank

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and to let me know he will support the BIS when he is the Fuhrer,
which he undoubtedly will be.’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Fine, all agreed,’ he said, ‘Tell your boss we will oblige. Now then,
shall we get stuck into these cutlets?’
In the general conversation that followed, I told him that Helene and
eleven-year-old Egon were with me. He asked if Egon was my son,
and I explained he was Ernst Hanfstaengl’s boy, and I was taking
him to New York with his mother.
‘Ah, dear old Putzi. Give him my regards when you see him.’ I
mentioned that Hitler was Egon’s godfather, and Montagu said that
Hjalmar was his grandson’s godfather. ‘It’s a small world in the
International Banking business,’ he said and laughed, ‘Have another
glass of this excellent claret.’ I was beginning to realise there was
indeed a small group of people planning to control International
Banking, and it was not the Jews.
I liked Montagu and started to speak to Helene about him over
dinner back at Brown’s, but she and Egon just wanted to tell me
about Big Ben, the Crown Jewels and Buckingham Palace, so I let
them.
My parents were unexpectedly and unavoidably away at a relative’s
funeral, so we arranged to meet them on our way back. On Saturday
morning, we left Brown’s after what I told Helene was a Full
English Breakfast. We decided to drive the three hundred miles to
Liverpool in one day, which would put us in Liverpool ready to
board the liner on Sunday.
We arrived at Liverpool docks on schedule and had a local garage
take the Red Dragon into storage until we returned. We were soon
settled into two adjoining first-class cabins (with private bathrooms),
me in one and Helene and Egon in the other. We could not afford
any scandal this close to New York.

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Adam Bayne

On Friday, 20th March 1931, only sixteen days after leaving Munich,
we walked down the gangway onto the dock and were in New York,
New York. Putzi was waiting for us with a massive bouquet for
Helene. His chauffeur-driven Cadillac Sixteen was also waiting, and
I was offered the front seat. What a car, I thought. Ferdinand
Porsche and von Opel had better watch out. We drove straight to
Putzi’s apartment, and he refused the offer that I stay in a hotel.
On Monday morning, we were driven in the Cadillac to our meeting
with Thomas McKittrick. Thomas perfectly matched my image of
an American executive. Short hair, clean shaven and wearing a non-
descript but bespoke suit. It was to be held at the offices of the
Federal Reserve Bank of New York. After introductions (Putzi knew
him well, I could see) and the usual weak American coffee, I
repeated the same opening I had given Montagu the week before. I
was to convey Adolf Hitler’s commitment to the BIS and ask the
BIS to support the Austrian Creditanstalt bank because the Nazi
party kept their money there.
Thomas looked at Putzi. ‘That’s all?’ he asked, ‘Tell Mr Hitler he
can be assured of American support all the way to the top. Now, Mr
Bayne, I have someone who would like to meet you.’
Thomas reached for his intercom and instructed his secretary to
bring Mr Ford. I stood up as I was somewhat in awe of the great
man. He once again looked every bit like the average American
executive.
He came over and shook my hand, obviously already knowing
McKittrick and Putzi and said it was an honour to meet Adolf
Hitler’s representative in New York. ‘Please be seated,’ he said, ‘I
would like you to tell Mr Hitler that he has my moral and financial
support in his struggle against the Global Jewish threat.’
This was the time for me to reach into my briefcase. I presented
Henry Ford with a signed deluxe edition of Mein Kampf. It isn’t

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easy to give presents to multi-millionaires, but I could see that
Henry Ford was incredibly pleased with this gift.
‘Please pass on my thanks to Mr Hitler, and I look forward to
meeting him in Germany next time.’
Putzi said he had booked a table for us all to have dinner that
evening at Schildkraut’s Vegetarian Food Emporiums, two-two-five
West 36th. Henry Ford suggested Mrs Hanfstaengl and her son
should join us.
To my dismay, we spent the evening at a vegetarian restaurant. I had
been looking forward to New York’s legendary steaks and other
unhealthy specialities. Helene told me the same later and that it was
one of Putzi’s little jokes. Regardless, I enjoyed Henry Ford’s
vegetarian, teetotal company and conversation even though he had
vehemently antisemitic views, and I considered him a friend at the
end of the evening. Egon had a wonderful time because Henry made
a big fuss about him.
On returning to Putzi’s apartment in the Cadillac, we agreed it had
been a highly successful day for Hitler and the Nazi party.

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Chapter 13 Fishing with Egon on Lake George, N.Y. Dinner
with JPMorgan Banker

After the successful meeting with McKittrick and Henry Ford, my
official duties were over, and I could spend the rest of the time
relaxing. To let Helene and Putzi have some time on their own, I
asked if I could take Egon upstate to Lake George and maybe do
some fishing and other outdoor activities.
The Hanfstaengls agreed, and after another night in their New York
apartment, I drove the two hundred miles to beautiful Lake George,
where Putzi had booked us into the Sagamore Hotel. Before we left,
Putzi said he had a contact there, the owner of a lakeside mansion on
Bolton Road known locally as Millionaire’s Row. Russell C.
Leffington was an executive who specialised in international
banking at JP Morgan and said he would like to meet me.
Putzi had established an impressive network of American bankers,
financiers and industrialists willing to support Hitler and the Nazi
party. With foresight, the BIS was set up so that money could be
transferred between countries that were at war with each other. For
example, Hitler received financial support from the Bank of England
after Dunkirk. The US Federal Reserve supported Germany after
Pearl Harbor right up to the war’s end. Hitler was going to be very
pleased with developments in America.
Egon and I had a great time at the Sagamore, a majestic hotel
opened when Victoria was Queen of England, and Grover Cleveland
was the US President. We went fishing and canoeing on the lake and
steamboat tours. Lake George had been a favourite vacation resort
for New Yorkers for years. With the rising wealth of the middle
classes and Henry Ford’s production of affordable automobiles, it
was destined to become even more popular.
I received an invitation for dinner on Friday night to Erlowest,
Russell C. Leffington’s mansion. I left Egon with the hotel’s

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babysitting service. It was a novel American idea which I found
fascinating. If there was one thing England could learn from
America, it was customer service.
Erlowest is a Queen Anne-style mansion with magnificent views of
Lake George and the Adirondack Mountains. I was picked up at the
Sagamore by a uniformed chauffeur in yet another Cadillac Sixteen,
which put even the Red Dragon to shame. I was the guest of honour
and was welcomed to the table by Lucy, Russell’s wife as such. I
was then further surprised to be introduced to JP Morgan Junior and
his wife Jane, both of whom were in their sixties. JP was head of the
eponymous JP Morgan bank and the Morgan Guaranty bank
Over dinner, Russell brought up the subject of Adolf Hitler and the
Nazi party, and it was to be an evening of surprises for me. JP
Morgan, ‘Call me Jack,’ said he was an avid supporter of the Nazi
party and that his banks were ready to provide financial assistance to
Hitler in his quest to become the leader of Germany. He was keen to
remove the existing Weimar government, which he said was run by
‘useless aristocrats with Victorian values.’
Jack said Albert H. Wiggin, chairman of Chase Manhattan bank,
who could not make the dinner, but confirmed his bank’s full
support for Hitler. I could make a very positive report to Hitler when
I returned to Munich.
I told them I had met with Montagu Norman in London, and he
mentioned the support Hitler would receive from the BIS. Jack said
it was part of the Anglo-American consortium ready to put Hitler in
power in Germany. He said he knew Montagu well and that they had
both appeared on the front cover of Time magazine. I noted these
millionaire bankers had a streak of narcissism, just like Hitler. I filed
that information away for later.
‘Let’s not talk so much business,’ said Lucy, so I asked about the
mansion’s history.

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‘Good idea,’ said Jane, and Lucy explained that her grandfather built
Erlowest in 1883. The name, which everyone asked about, was
based on his hometown Westerlo near Albany. I said I had driven
past Albany on the way to Lake George. Lucy went on to say that
the family called the mansion Sun Palace. I said it was a marvellous
way to escape the city’s hustle, and everyone agreed.
Dinner was a gigantic Lake George trout, and I remarked I had
never seen such a large trout. It was served grilled with sautéed
green beans and cauliflower cheese bake, typically American, I
thought but did not mention it. The butler brought in some well-
chilled Brotherhood Winery Champagne, which was excellent, apart
from being much too cold (an American trait). I did not think asking
Jack how he acquired the wine during the prohibition was
appropriate, but he was proud to tell everyone anyway.
Jack explained with a glint in his eye, ‘the Brotherhood Winery has
a legal dispensation to produce medicinal and religious wine but
also continues to make its genuine method-champenoise sparkling
wine. We cannot sell it, but some cases seem to come our way.’
When the butler brought in the Brotherhood’s Riesling, I said, ‘I
suppose this is medicinal wine too?’ which brought a laugh from
everyone.
The delightful gourmet dinner concluded with a traditional New
York cheesecake, which the Champagne complimented perfectly.
After the farewells, I was driven back to the Sagamore. Everyone
had a great evening. Egon was fast asleep on the couch with the
remains of his cheesecake on the side table.
The next day Egon and I went canoeing on the lake, and we spent
the next four days relaxing at the Sagamore. It was soon time to
return to New York, and as we took a leisurely drive back, I noticed
the sign for Westerlo.
Back in New York, I was introduced to Helene’s parents, who were

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so pleased to see Egon. He could not remember them as he was an
infant the last time they met. His grandparents told Helene they had
already enrolled him in Harvard University (Putzi’s Alma Mater)
and that he must return to America when he was eighteen, to which
Putzi and Helene agreed.
Before I knew it, we were due to return to Liverpool. We were taken
to Pier fifty-four in Manhattan, where our liner was waiting. Helen
and Egon said their goodbyes to Putzi, and we were soon checked
into our cabins, ready for the crossing.
Sitting in a secluded corner of the vast lounge, I picked up a copy of
the Daily News and called Helene over to show her the report I had
seen. It said that Winifred Wagner had strenuously denied the
rumours that the Bayreuth Wagner festival was to be cancelled this
year. ‘We must go to give her our full support,’ she said, and I
agreed.
Helene folded the newspaper on her knees and leant forward
towards me. ‘Adam,’ she said, ‘there is something we need to clear
up.’
‘Of course, my love, nothing should come between us.’
‘I will come straight to the point. I work for William Donovan, who
reports directly to Herbert Hoover, the President of the USA. My
boss is known as Wild Bill, and he has established an overseas
intelligence agency.’
‘Wait a minute,’ I said, ‘you mean the US government does not have
such an agency?’
‘That is exactly what I mean. Which is why Wild Bill has
established his own.’
I breathed and said, ‘So you are a spy.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Well, that does not change anything between us because…’ and I
paused.

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‘Because what?’ she almost shouted.
‘Because I am a spy too, keep your voice down.’
I got up and reached over to her, giving her a huge hug, ‘Oh Helene,
I love you,’ I said, and she responded with a long kiss.
‘I’m so glad you work for London, not the Russian communists’,
she said, ‘otherwise I would have to kill you.’
‘Don’t make jokes like that,’ I said, but I could see she was not
joking. That’s my Helene, I thought.
Five days later, we were in Liverpool, and the Red Dragon was
delivered to us at the quayside. After our luggage was transferred,
we drove directly back to London and the thirty miles out to
Tunbridge Wells, where my parents had their charming retirement
home. Helene and I met them for a quick lunch, and they said they
hoped she would not take me away to America. She looked at me
and smiled, ‘You never know, but I am sure your parents would visit
us wherever Adam was.’ I explained we had no time to stay over for
the night, and they replied that they were used to it with a son like
me.
We were soon at Dover, watching the Red Dragon swinging
precipitously over the ferry again as it was lowered into the hold. I
thought they would surely figure out a better and more efficient way
of loading cars onto a ferry.
We arrived in Munich on Saturday, 9th of May 1931, without
incident. We were now seasoned European travellers. The next day
Hitler came to see us at Café Gentz to have a private briefing. I
reported to him that he could be assured of the full support of British
and American banks for himself and the Nazi party. I gave him a
written report of whom I had met and a summary of the
conversations. Hitler was, as I predicted, very pleased with the
results. He told me that Goebbels was away on a visit to Pope Pius
XI in Rome and said it would be good news to give to Goebbels on

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his return.
My XC report was almost an exact copy of my report to Hitler,
which made me chuckle as I typed it. I guess that Helene’s report to
Wild Bill was the same too. Who says you cannot work for two
bosses at the same time? I thought to myself.
I was soon back into the office’s hectic routine, organising an
industrialist meeting at the Hotel Kaiserhof in Berlin. My confirmed
guest list included senior representatives of some of the largest
industrial complexes in the world. To name a few, Siemens, Allianz,
Demag, Dr Oetker and Hoechst. Once again, Hitler received
promises of full support.
Despite high security, there was a scare that the food prepared for
lunch was poisoned. Hess said he detected a strange taste when
checking the lunch. He immediately stopped anyone from eating the
hotel food but were no cases of poisoning. Later analysis proved he
was correct, the food had been tampered with, but no one was
arrested. Hess sent out to the Hofpfisterei bakery in Berlin and
commandeered their entire day’s production, having it delivered to
the Kaiserhof. He assured us he could guarantee the food from there,
and he was right.
The hotel staff was purged of Jews and Communists, and from then
on, the Kaiserhof became Hitler’s residence whenever he was in
Berlin.
It was also a wake-up call for Hess and Goering. They immediately
increased security for Hitler. This was a complicated process
because Hitler made over eighty speeches annually throughout
Germany. That was continuously one or two per week, with travel
time in between.
To my surprise, Hess came to see me right after the Kaiserhof
incident and asked my advice about increasing Hitler’s security. He
said he was impressed by the British army system and asked what I

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thought of his plan, which he outlined to me as follows.
He would reinforce and reorganise Hitler’s bodyguard unit of the
SA. It was called the Stosstruppe-Hitler group (Hitler’s Shock
Troops). Hess proposed to form a special company with four
platoons reporting directly to himself. They were to be headed by
Julius Schreck, Emil Maurice, Bruno Gesche, and Ulrich Graf.
Schreck and Maurice were assigned as chauffeurs and travel
security, and Gesche and Graf as personal bodyguards. Erich
Kempka was Hitler’s primary chauffeur and effectively his assistant.
I said it sounded perfect, and I knew the four platoon leaders he
proposed were all committed to Hitler and ruthless men. I
remembered Graf on that terrible day after the Putsch in Munich. I
saw him go down presumed dead because he had taken five bullets
meant for Hitler. ‘He was tough to survive that,’ I said to Hess.

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Chapter 14 Bayreuth Wagner Festival. Geli Raubal suicide.

On my first afternoon back at Nazi HQ, I saw that Hitler was free
and went into his office to tell him about the American newspaper,
which reported the rumour that the Bayreuth festival was to be
cancelled this year due to Siegfried’s death.
‘Nonsense,’ Hitler remarked, ‘I have just spoken to Winifred and
made our bookings. They are hosting a complete performance of the
Ring of the Nibelung over four consecutive days. Siegfried
Wagner’s original stage directions will be maintained, and the
conductor will be Karl Elmendorff,’ he went on excitedly.
‘I expect you and Helene to join us for fifteen hours of the finest
opera in the world. Oh, and by the way, I will bring Eva Braun with
me.’
Unfortunately, I did not share Hitler’s enthusiasm for Wagner’s
operas or his music. I considered it was a ‘German thing,’ but my
ears pricked up when he mentioned Eva Braun.
‘You mean that delightful girl at Hoffmann’s studio?’ I said
diplomatically.
Hitler replied, ‘Yes and for the sake of decency, I must now be seen
as the future Fuhrer. I have taken Goebbels’ advice and have invited
her sister Ilse as her chaperone.’
Of course, I confirmed that Helene and I would attend. We enjoyed
the festival immensely, especially the dinners with Winifred and the
Bechsteins. The opera I could take or leave, but as Helene
suggested, I should always put on a happy face.
As expected, we had some wonderful dinners at the Bechsteins, and
Eva and her sister Ilse were excellent company. Both were good-
looking and intelligent girls, and Eva was captivated by Hitler.
When we had a small dinner with Winifred, she got on very well
with Eva, which pleased Hitler. It was as if Winifred was his
mother, and he had brought his proposed fiancé to meet her for

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approval.
Early next morning, unplanned and coincidentally, I went for an
early walk and met Hitler in the gardens. I was clearing a hangover
when Hitler came up to me and blurted out, ‘She likes her!’
‘I beg your pardon,’ I replied, trying to clear my thick head.
‘Winifred,’ he said, ‘Winifred likes Eva,’ and he went off humming
Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries at a brisk pace, his arms flying as if
he was conducting the orchestra.
Hitler was seen with Eva and Ilse, and the gossip mongers had a
field day, but all within the bounds of decency, which pleased
Goebbels.
Before I knew it, my birthday had come around again, and we
decided to have a party at Café Gentz. Helene was coming out of the
shower and joked I would soon be forty. ‘Six years to go,’ she said
as I pulled the towel off her. ‘Four years less than you,’ I replied as I
admired her beautiful body. ‘Give me that towel back,’ she shouted,
but we fell on the bed together, and I was late for work that
morning.
For my birthday dinner, we invited Hitler (assuming Eva), Joseph
Goebbels (assuming Magda), and Rudolf Hess with his wife Ilse -
the only legally married couple - Helene remarked. Hitler had an
electioneering speech scheduled in Hamburg on the nineteenth, but
he graciously agreed to attend my party as long as he could leave by
nine-thirty that evening. Accordingly, we invited our guests for an
early dinner at six o’clock. Hitler and Eva Braun arrived on time and
said Emil Maurice was waiting outside in the new Duesenberg. I
wondered why he had a new car and was to find out later that
evening.
Although we knew Hitler ate very little meat, he was never a total
vegetarian, and we knew he liked Leberknoedelsuppe, the Austrian
soup with liver dumplings. Helene guessed it brought back fond

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memories of his childhood in Austria, and she was right; he loved it.
She had also commissioned a special order of chocolate eclairs from
the Hofpfisterei bakery, each one with a swastika on it. Hitler’s face
lit up when he saw them on the chiffonier next to my birthday cake.
Eva was delighted when she saw the eclairs, but Hitler wagged a
finger saying, ‘Wait until dessert is served, my dear.’
He then turned to address Helene and said, ‘Thank you for using the
swastika, which is recognised as the symbol of the German Third
Reich. Did you know it is five thousand years old? I designed the
Nazi party version of the symbol myself based on the Thule
society’s sun wheel and added the German Imperial colours, red,
white and black. The Nazi swastika will become a symbol of
inspiration for the German Aryan people and a symbol of terror and
destruction for our enemies. But enough of politics; we are here to
celebrate a birthday.’
We seated ourselves at the table, and Helene served the dumplings. I
surprised them when I served a not-too-chilled Chateau d’Yquem
1921 white wine with the liver dumplings. It was something my
mother had taught me and had been handed down by her
grandmother. The wine was spectacular and turned out to be the
century’s vintage, though sadly, I have never been lucky enough to
try another 1921 vintage since.
After we had eaten the swastika-emblazoned eclairs, Helene lit the
candles on my own Hofpfisterei cake, and I blew them out. Hitler
stood up and announced he had a special birthday present for me. He
thanked me for my outstanding work raising finance for the party
and said the Red Dragon was now mine. The only condition was that
I gave the little Italian car to Helene.
We were both taken aback, and everyone broke out into spontaneous
applause. All agreed it was a fabulous party and they looked forward
to next year. Our guests left, and we went to bed early, not knowing

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the hurricane which would hit us in the morning.
I was quietly enjoying my morning coffee in my office when
Hoffman burst in. ‘Oh my god, Adam, I’ve just found Geli dead in
the apartment. Her stepfather came in screaming at six. They found
her dead on her bedroom floor.’
‘Bloody Hell,’ I said in English, ‘Are you sure?’ and realised what a
stupid question that was.
‘Of course, I’m sure, she’s got a big bullet hole in her chest, and
before you ask, she is not breathing. The body is as cold as ice,’
Hoffmann said with a visible shudder.
I told Hoffmann to take a seat, and we would decide what to do, and
he then drank my coffee. ‘Got anything stronger?’ he asked, and I
poured him a schnapps from the tray on my sideboard.
I suggested we get Hess and Goebbels with Magda to meet at Geli’s
apartment; Magda would be the female if needed. ‘Tell them not to
say a word yet,’ I shouted at Hoffmann as he made the phone calls.
Hoffmann was right; it was a bloody mess. Magda tried to calm
Geli’s mother, Angela, and stepfather as best as possible. We
decided not to call the police until we had contacted Hitler and
prepared a statement for the press. Hitler seemed too calm when we
eventually got through to him in Hamburg, but he said he would
return to Munich without delay.
Goebbels instructed Adolf Dresler, the head of his press department,
to come over immediately. Goebbels got some paper, and when
Dresler arrived, he was given a hand-written note from Goebbels
instructing him to tell the press that Hitler had gone into deep
mourning after his niece’s sudden and tragic accidental death.
Hitler was on his way. We had to have a quick and intelligent
damage limitation plan for when he arrived. We were obliged to get
the police involved, so Hess called his contact, Dr Muller, the police
doctor for Munich.

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Dr Muller’s report stated that Geli Raubal had been shot near the
heart, and her clothes were soaked with blood. When the doctor
examined her, she was dead and had been for at least eighteen hours.
She was lying face down with one arm stretched towards the
Walther 6.35mm pistol on the couch. The police doctor reported the
most probable cause of death was an accident involving the loaded
firearm, and there were no signs of foul play or violence. Dr Muller
concluded that if Geli had intended to commit suicide, the gunshot
would have been to the head as in most suicides, and so he had no
doubt that death was accidental.
Goebbels contacted his friend Franz Gurtner, the Minister of Justice
in Bavaria, and we planned that the body be taken to Austria for
burial as soon as possible. Geli’s mother, Angela, requested Vienna,
where she had relatives. They arranged the paperwork for moving
the body out of Germany. This would prevent any possibility of an
exhumation if there were an inquest later.
By now, it was midday, and Hitler had arrived. He went straight to
his office, called us in to see him, said he did not want to see the
body and asked for a situation report. We outlined what we had
arranged, and he told us we had done the right thing.
He looked at me with his piercing blue eyes. He said, ‘Adam, I
appoint you with full authority to conclude this unfortunate affair
with the least possible damage to the Nazi party and myself,’ he
turned to the others, ‘you will give Adam your full cooperation and
support in all matters. Thank you, now sort out this mess.’ And then
he dismissed us.
The body was gone before the end of the day, and Geli Raubal was
given a Catholic funeral in the Zentralfriedhof Cemetery in Vienna
on 23rd September 1931. The problem was that in Catholicism,
suicides were not allowed to have a Catholic church funeral or be
buried in consecrated ground. Magda overcame this by arranging for

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Father Johann Pant of the Frauenkirche Munich to conduct the
service. He was taken to the funeral in Vienna by Emil Maurice and
two armed guards, and on the way, he became convinced that poor
Geli’s death was an accident. However, on his return, he
immediately packed his bags and fled to Paris, where he lived
throughout the war. His friend Father Bernhard who had refused to
conduct the service when first asked by Magda, was later found
dead, presumed murdered. Father Pant had made a wise decision.
With the body gone, the apartment clean, and Geli’s parents well
paid, we thought we were in the clear; however, we did not realise
other forces were at play.
The Munchener Post (or the Munchener Pest as Hitler called it), in
April 1931, had published a series of front-page stories about
homosexual orgies attended by Nazi SA members. They later
admitted the stories were based on forged documents. The editor had
no qualms about printing fabrication and downright lies in his
propaganda campaign against Hitler. The Nazi party sued the
newspaper for libel and won. The newspaper’s defence lawyer
Edward Meyer was arrested and later found hanged in prison. It was
assumed to be suicide. The Communist party would do anything to
defeat Hitler in the elections. They needed all the ammunition they
could get.
The following day the Munchener Post carried a shocking leading
story. The newspaper reported that the dead woman’s nose was
broken, and other serious bodily injuries indicated a violent death. In
summary, they reported that a vicious quarrel had taken place
between Herr Hitler and his niece. It was because she wanted to go
to Linz in Austria and become engaged to an art teacher. After a
turbulent scene, Hitler left the apartment.
We all knew this was a complete fabrication because Hitler had been
at my birthday party at the time of Geli’s death. The newspaper

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report was an opportune and clever propaganda plot cooked up by
the Communists.
I had never seen Hitler so furious; it was scary but an ugly sign of
the future. He ranted and raved and slammed the newspaper on the
desk. ‘Sort this out, Adam, before it gets out of hand. I am relying
on you. I want this poison kitchen (Giftkuche) group of so-called
journalists removed. I will destroy this Communist rubbish
newspaper as soon as I can.’
I said, ‘yes sir,’ and left. As Hitler put it, I could see my last ten
years of work going down the drain if I did not get this sorted out.
I knew that Hitler was scarily excellent at holding grudges. After
becoming Chancellor, one of the first things he did was to have the
Munchener Post’s offices raided, with all staff fired and the
newspaper closed.
Goebbels said he would visit the editor with a prepared statement
from Hitler denying everything. It was, he said, the usual procedure
of damage limitation. I asked naively if the editor would publish it.
Goebbels looked at me and smiled, ‘Oh yes, he will publish it and
gladly,’ he said, ‘and I will find out their source. We cannot have
any dissent within the party. I will personally weed it out.’
The next day the Munchener Post contained a full page four-point
detailed denial of the previous day’s report, with an apology from
the editor.
For completeness, I have reproduced Hitler’s published statement in
full.
1. It is untrue that I had either recurrent disagreements or a

violent quarrel with my niece, Angela Raubal, on Friday,
18th September or previously.
2. It is untrue that I was strongly opposed to my niece travelling
to Vienna. The truth is that I was never against the trip my
niece had planned.

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