“Give me ten minutes,” I said, and, stepping over the DKW’s little door, I walked quickly in the direction of a lofty-looking apartment building that was all red and yellow brick with window-box balconies and a mansard roof that resembled a small Moroccan fortress.

Elisabeth’s shapeless landlady, Frau Bayer, was only a little surprised to see me at this early hour, as I had got into the habit of visiting the dressmaker whenever I came off duty. She knew I was a policeman, which was normally enough to silence her grumbling at being got out of bed. Most Berliners were always respectful of the law, except when they were communists or Nazis. And when it wasn’t enough to silence her grumbling, I slipped a few marks into her dressing-gown pocket by way of compensation.

The apartment was a warren of shabby rooms full of old cherrywood furniture, Chinese screens, and tasseled lampshades. As always, I waited in the living room for Frau Bayer to fetch her lodger; and as always when she saw me, Elisabeth smiled a sleepy but happy smile and took me by the hand to lead me to her room, where a proper welcome awaited me; only this time I stayed put on the living room sofa.

“What’s the matter?” she said. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Erich,” I said. “He’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Serious trouble. Two policemen were shot and killed last night.”

“And you think Erich might have something to do with it?”

“It looks that way.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Look, Elisabeth, I don’t have much time. His best chance is if I find him before anyone else does. I can tell him what to say and, more importantly, what not to say. Do you see?”

She nodded and tried to stifle a yawn.

“So what do you want from me?”

“An address.”

“You mean you want me to betray him, don’t you?”

“That’s one way of looking at it, yes. I can’t deny that. But another way is this: that perhaps I can persuade him to make a clean breast of it. Which is the only thing that can save his life now.”

“They wouldn’t behead him, would they?”

“For killing a policeman? Yes, I think they would. One of the cops who was killed was a widower with three daughters who are now orphaned. The Republic would have no choice but to make an example of him, or else risk courting a storm of criticism in the newspapers. The Nazis would just love that. But if I am the arresting officer, I might be able to talk him into naming some names. If others in the KPD put him up to it, then he has to say so. He’s young and impressionable, and that will help his case.”