to read. Fritsch did as bidden, gaped at one particularly perverse
allegation, and his monocle fell out.
“While I ran my eye over the document in understandable
commotion,” he wrote, “the blackmailer was brought in, a crea-
ture completely unknown to me. Acting astonished, he ex-
claimed or so they said ‘Yes, that’s him!’ ”
This was the scene: a pale-faced Führer, an oversized air-
force general beaming like a bemedaled Buddha, a scrawny
blackmailer wearing an ill-fitting borrowed suit and pointing a
quivering finger and a Prussian baron and four-star general,
standing ramrod stiff, with his monocle screwed firmly back in
place. Göring broke the suspense, turning on his heel and
stalking over to the dining room where Colonel Hossbach was
waiting. “It was him!” he gasped melodramatically, lowering
himself into a sofa. “It was him, it was him!” He produced a
handkerchief, and mopped his brow.
Back in the library, General von Fritsch protested his inno-
cence. “My word of honor,” he recalled, with burning indigna-
tion, “was cast aside in favor of the allegation of a scoundrel with
a criminal record.... I returned home deeply shaken by the
wounding attitude shown by the Führer and Göring.”
On Hitler’s instructions, still protesting his innocence, the
general was questioned by the Gestapo officers Werner Best and
Franz Josef Huber the next day. Göring obtained the verbatim
transcript and, with Himmler and Huber at his side, personally
questioned not only Schmidt but Weingärtner too. Huber
would never forget the incredulous contempt on Göring’s face
as he set eyes on the latter, the homosexual prostitute. Schmidt
stuck to his story, but his pal was by no means so positive about
Fritsch.
Shortly Göring had more cause for misgivings. He and the
minister of justice jointly grilled Weingärtner alone, and the