The End of Innocence Read Free Page B

“Arresting another German, maybe stopping a German spy ring—that would be exactly the thing that could get a man like Charles Archer elected to Congress. I’d recommend you cooperate with City Hall on any investigation into Max’s death. If you have information, you will need to share it.”
    â€œIf Arnold killed Max—” He stopped, barely able to breathe. Max dead by Arnold’s hand? Unthinkable. “Was there a note?”
    â€œNo, nothing. That’s why the Boston police may arrest Archer even if his father does run City Hall. Either it was a suicide and it won’t happen again, or perhaps we need to warn our German students about…a problem.” Copeland’s fingers brushed the edge of his desk. “That was the point of my summoning you here now. It could’ve been suicide. Therefore, the police want to talk with you before innocent people are accused, and I’d recommend you do it.”
    But Wils had already taken the bait. “Innocent people? Arnold Archer? Is this a joke?” asked Wils.
    â€œHe may not be guilty.”
    Wils paused. “I’m not sure how much money his father’s giving Harvard, but it had better be a lot.”
    â€œThat’s most uncharitable!”
    â€œAnd so is the possible murder of a decent human! Where’s Professor Francke? I’d like to speak with him. He is a great German leader here on campus whom everyone respects. He’ll know how to advise me.”
    â€œYou are right. Professor Francke is a moderate, respected voice of reason. But he’s German and the police questioned him this morning. He is cooperating. His ties to the kaiser have naturally brought him under suspicion. City Hall thinks he could be a ringleader of a band of German spies. The dean of students asked me to speak with you and a few others prior to your discussions with the police. They should contact you shortly regarding this unpleasantness.”
    â€œIf that is all—” Wils bowed his head to leave, anger rising in his throat from the injustice of what he’d heard. First murder and now harassment were being committed against his countrymen, and somehow they were to blame for it? Not possible. Professor Francke was one of the most generous and beloved professors at Harvard. Max was a harmless soul.
    â€œWils, you had said you wished to ask me about something.”
    Wils thought back to his mother’s telegram. Perhaps she’d been right to demand his return after all. He looked up at Copeland, sitting under an image of an old Spanish peasant. He seemed to have shrunk in his large desk chair.
    â€œNo, Professor. Nothing at all. Good day.”
    Copeland didn’t rise as Wils turned to enter the dimly lit hallway. As his eyes adjusted, a famous poem Copeland had taught him in class—Matthew Arnold’s “Dover Beach”—came to him. Wils turned back to his teacher and said:
    â€œFor the world, which seems
    To lie before us like a land of dreams,
    So various, so beautiful, so new,
    Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
    Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
    And we are here as on a darkling plain—”
    Copeland brightened. “‘Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, where ignorant armies clash by night,’” they finished together. Wils nodded, unable to speak further.
    â€œMatthew Arnold has his moments. Do take care, Wils. Stay alert. I am concerned about you and want you to be safe. The world is becoming darker just now. Your intellectual light is one worth preserving. Now please close the door from the outside.” Copeland looked down again, and the interview was over.
    * * *
    The rain had driven the students inside their dormitories and flooded the walkways in Harvard Yard. As Wils left Hollis Hall, he removed his tie and pushed it into his pocket. The damned Americans talk brotherhood , he thought, but if you’re from