‘Yes.’

‘And remind me where he was arrested?’

‘Colmar – it’s a French city in Alsace, but it was annexed into the Third Reich.’

Gurevich nodded. ‘Very well then: give me an hour and I will have some information. You say you have a driver waiting for you?’

‘He’s outside.’

‘Send him away: I’ll look after you. I’ll tell my aide to get you something to eat.’

Bemrose was dozing in the Humber when Prince tapped on the window. He seemed annoyed at being woken up, and even more so to be told he was no longer needed. He said he was going to tell Mr Gilbey that he wasn’t a chauffeur.

An hour later, Hanne and Prince were back in Gurevich’s office.

‘I’ve found him!’

‘Alphonse Schweitzer?’

The Russian nodded and looked pleased with himself as he opened a box of cigars and clamped one between his teeth. ‘Being a commissar unlocks many doors. I just have to ask a question and people fall over themselves to answer it. He’s in Hohenschönhausen.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Here in Berlin – in Lichtenberg, to the east of Mitte. We’ve constructed a large prison camp there where we process prisoners before they’re sent to the Soviet Union. It also acts as a prison for people convicted here. Schweitzer faced a People’s Tribunal last month and was found guilty of being a Nazi agent in occupied France and of pursuing a campaign of vengeance against comrades from the French Communist Party and their families. He was sentenced to death.’

‘And did he plead guilty?’

‘Our People’s Tribunals perhaps work in a different way from your courts, my friend. He made a statement, and from what I understand, he said he was forced to work for the Gestapo. He claims he helped people, but… we had evidence, including that of the woman you mentioned.’

‘Irène?’

‘That’s right. Look, I only know this from a telephone conversation. We will go now to Hohenschönhausen.’

They drove north through Mitte and Prenzlauer Berg and then along Landsberger Allee into Lichtenberg. It was a slow journey: whereas Mitte was largely deserted and the roads were more or less clear, it was a very different matter once they left the centre. From then on the roads and pavements were still littered with rubble and dotted with potholes and bomb craters, and at times it was impossible to get through and they had to try another route. They were both shocked, not so much by the devastation around them but more by the atmosphere and the way the population moved around.

Despite the warm weather, most people were wearing coats and hats, many with blankets round their shoulders as they shuffled along. They looked nervous, doing their best to avoid the ubiquitous Red Army troops as they carried battered cases or bags, many pulling carts or pushing prams loaded with possessions. From almost every ruined building – and most of the buildings were damaged in one way or another – plumes of smokes rose high into the sky. On the pavement, people were cooking on piles of rubble, while others waited in long queues at what appeared to be makeshift shops selling a few vegetables with the odd tin here and there – usually little more than planks of wood balanced on chairs serving as a counter.