“There’s more,” said Horcher. “You see, there’s a diamond mine, too. Have you heard of the One Twenty-two and the Maison Chabanais?”

“Sure. They’re high-class houses that only the Germans can go to. I guess they paid up.”

Horcher nodded. “Like it was the Winter Relief. But Willms was clever. There’s a third high-class house where you need a code word to get through the door and which is by invitation only.”

“And Willms is printing the stationery?”

Horcher nodded. “Guess who got an invitation when he was on a flying trip to Paris?”

“The Mahatma Propagandi?”

“That’s right.” Horcher sounded surprised that I had guessed. “You should have been a detective, do you know that?”

“Surely Willms can’t be doing this on his own?”

“I don’t know if he is or not. But I do know who he often has dinner with. They’re both German officers. One of them is General Schaumberg. The other is a Sipo captain like yourself. Name of Paul Kestner.”

“That’s interesting.” I let that one sink in a long way before my next question. “Otto, you wouldn’t happen to have an address for this puff house, would you?”

“Twenty-two rue de Provence, opposite the Hôtel Drouot, in the Ninth Arrondissement.”

“Thanks, Otto. I owe you one.”

After dinner there was still an hour before the midnight curfew, and I told Renata to take the Métro back to her tiny apartment in the rue Jacob.

“Be careful,” she said.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I shan’t go in. I’ll just—”

“I didn’t say be good. I said be careful. Willms has already tried to kill you once. I don’t think he’d hesitate to try again. Especially now that you’re onto his racket.”

“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

It would have been nice if this had been true. But I didn’t know what I was doing for the simple reason I still didn’t have a clue why Willms had tried to kill me.