‘Thank you,’ Pfaus nodded. ‘Yes, you have a good ear, Detective Inspector Swallow. I was raised in the Bronx, New York City. My wife, Elena, she is American but of German parentage also. My parents had emigrated from Prussia. Then when my father inherited a small business from his uncle, the family returned to Berlin. I was a United States citizen until I became a policeman, when I had to choose to be a German.’

‘Do you think you made the right choice in that?’ Swallow asked.

Pfaus smiled.

‘I understand your question. You English think that your systems of government and law are superior to everywhere else. You think of your police as servants of the community rather than the instrument through which government keeps order. Well, that’s just one viewpoint you know.’

He proffered the flask again.

‘There’s a little left,’ he grinned. ‘You finish it.’

Swallow drained the last of the schnapps.

‘I’ve already told you. I’m not English. I’m Irish. And the Irish people certainly don’t think of the police as the servants of the community, or whatever phrase you’ve used. They actually are the means by which the government keeps order. If you can call it order. The police are not popular in Ireland.’

Pfaus looked puzzled.

‘But in New York all the police are Irish. Sure, they have to deal with troublemakers. But they’re respected, and it’s considered an honour to have a son or a brother in the police department. In truth, the New York police department wouldn’t function without the Irish.’

Swallow smiled ruefully.

‘It’s a bit more complicated than that in Ireland, Johann. In fact, it’s a lot more complicated.’

Friday January 4th, 1889

Chapter 32

It was mid morning by the time they reached Hamburg. Through the windows Swallow saw a dull, dark city with a few thin spires reaching skywards. They switched to the train for Berlin that stood on the next platform at the bahnhof, the red-and-black engine belching steam. Frost glistened on the brass plate fastened to the boiler, displaying the imperial arms of the Hohenzollern dynasty.

Pfaus selected seats in a first-class carriage. Swallow’s travel arrangements, priced and booked by Mallon’s parsimonious clerk, Jack Burton, relegated him to second class for this part of his journey. He could see that the second-class carriages were already crowded, but first class was almost empty. As if sensing his doubt, Pfaus waved a hand airily around the compartment.

‘Officers of the Kriminalpolizei have the privilege of first-class travel without charge while on duty,’ he grinned, ‘as do their guests.’

Shortly after the train got under way they went to lunch in the first-class dining carriage. A good ham terrine was followed by veal in pastry. Pfaus ordered a bottle of Riesling, crisp and white, to wash it down. Swallow settled back in the plush banquette seat and watched the countryside roll past the window.