“You don’t like the French, do you?” said Renata.

“I’m doing my best,” I said. “But they make it so difficult. Even in defeat, they seem to persist in the belief that this is the best country in the world.”

“Maybe it is. Maybe that’s why they didn’t have the best army.”

“If you’re going to be a philosopher, you’re going to have to grow an enormous beard or a silly mustache. Those are the only people we take seriously in Germany.”

Horcher arrived bearing a bottle of Mosel and three glasses. “Bernie Gunther,” he said, shaking my hand. “Well, I’ll be.”

“Otto. This is Fräulein Renata Matter, a friend of mine.”

Horcher kissed her hand, sat down, and then poured the wine.

“So this is you teaching the hen to be as clever as an egg, is it, Otto?”

“You mean me, here in Paris?” Horcher shrugged. He was a big man with a face like a German general’s. Bavarian or Viennese by origin—I forget which—he always had the air of a man in search of a beer and a brass band. “If Fat Hermann asks you to do something for him, then you don’t say no, right?” He chuckled. “He likes this place a lot. It’s the snooty French waiters he’s got a problem with. Which is why I’m here. To make him and the red stripes feel at home. And to cook some of their favorite dishes.”

“I’m interested in one of your lower-ranking customers,” I explained. “Lieutenant Nikolus Willms. Know him?”

“He’s one of my regulars. Always pays cash.”

“You can’t get many lieutenants in here. Did he win the German lottery? Must have been the South German and the Sachsen with a first-class ticket at these prices, Otto.”

Horcher looked around and leaned toward me.

“This place gets a lot of joy girls, Bernie. High-end. Courtesans, they call them here in Paris. But they’re whores just the same. Your pardon, Miss Matter. It’s not a subject to discuss in front of a lady.”

“Don’t apologize, Herr Horcher,” she said. “I came to Paris for an education. So, please, speak frankly.”

“Thank you, miss. This fellow Willms seems to know an awful lot of these girls, Bernie. So I ask some questions. I mean, I like to know the customers. That’s just good business. Anyway, it seems this Willms has the power to close down any maison de plaisir in Paris. Apparently, he used to be a vice cop in Berlin and can bounce the ball off all the cushions. The word I heard was that the ones that pay he leaves open and the ones that don’t he closes down. A good old-fashioned shakedown.”

“That’s a nice little gold mine,” I said.