‘No. He’s definitely trying to put distance between himself and the Flannerys. Maybe it’s a matter of class or something like that.’

‘Maybe. And speaking of distance, it’s time to visit the New Vienna restaurant. It’s only across the street. We’ll need to have a word with Mr Stefan Werner.’

Chapter 8

The New Vienna was rich in mahogany and brass, with an exquisite mosaic floor in the lobby, laid out to depict a variety of exotic vines, game, fowl and fishes. The warm interior was heavy with the aromas of rich food, cognac and cigars.

The G-men showed their warrant cards to a man in a swallow-tailed suit who had emerged through heavy glass doors from the dining room. A buzz of conversation and laughter escaped momentarily into the lobby as the doors swung shut. Through the half-frosted panels Swallow could see that the restaurant was filled to capacity. Harry Lafeyre was not mistaken in his description of its popularity.

The man in the swallow-tailed suit scrutinised the warrant cards and then gave them back. His hand was scented with cologne. Swallow guessed he might be around forty. He smiled politely.

‘You have an unusual name. Like the little bird, yes?’

The English was precise but heavily accented.

‘And you are?’ Mossop asked.

‘I am Stefan Werner. I imagine that you must be here in connection with this terrible tragedy concerning our little kitchen waitress.’

‘Yes,’ Swallow said. ‘We are investigating the murder of Alice Flannery last night. What is your position here, Mr Werner?’

Stefan Werner clasped his hands behind his back as if to make a formal announcement.

‘I am the maître d’hôtel. My family are the owners of the New Vienna.’

‘Oh, so you have you a hotel here too?’ Mossop said. ‘I don’t think we knew that.’

Werner smiled tolerantly. ‘It has nothing to do with a hotel. It is a title used in the restaurant business.’

‘It’s a family business?’ Swallow asked.

‘Our family is well established in the restaurant business in Berlin,’ Werner said. ‘I came to operate this restaurant five years ago.’

‘Did you move directly here from Berlin?’ Swallow asked.

‘No. I have worked in London. For some years I was restaurant manager at the Savoy Hotel in the Strand. Perhaps you know it?’

‘Unhappily not,’ Swallow answered. ‘My billets in London on the only occasion of my visiting that city were a little less salubrious.’

‘You said Berlin?’ Mossop asked. ‘So you’re not from Vienna?’

Werner smiled. ‘Which do you think has the greater appeal to customers, a restaurant called New Vienna or one called New Berlin? Berlin is a dull, ugly place, populated by dull, ugly people. So we dull Berliners present ourselves as . . . how do you say . . . slightly more romantic Viennese. We bring a sense of the city of Haydn, Beethoven, Mozart, Schubert to our business.’