“Well, you see the museum falls under the control of the Ministry of the Interior. And while the collections remained at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse, the minister, Herr Frick, happened upon them and decided that a few of the objects might serve a more useful purpose as diplomatic gifts. Do you understand what I mean by that, Commissar Trettin?”

I smiled. “I think so, sir. It’s kind of like bribery. Only it’s legal.”

“I can assure you it’s perfectly normal practice in all foreign relations. The wheels of diplomacy often have to be oiled. Or so I’m told.”

“By Herr Frick.”

“No. Not by him. By one of his people. Herr Breitmeyer. Arno Breitmeyer.”

“Mmm-hmm.” I took note of the name.

“Naturally I’ll be speaking to him, as well,” I said. “But let me try to straighten this pretzel. Herr Breitmeyer removed an item from the Fischer collections—”

“Yes, yes. Adolph Fischer. A great collector of Asian artifacts. Now dead.”

“Namely one Chinese box. And gave it to a foreigner?”

“Not just one object. I believe there were several.”

“You believe.” I paused for more effect. “Am I right in thinking that all of this happened without your knowledge or approval?”

“That is correct. You see, it was thought at the ministry that the collections left at the original museum were not wanted for exhibition.” Stock colored with embarrassment. “That while being of great historical significance . . .”

I stifled a yawn.

“That, perhaps, they were unsuitable within the meaning of the Aryan paragraph. You see, Adolph Fischer was a Jew. The ministry had formed the impression that, under these circumstances, the true origins of the collection made it impossible to exhibit. That it was—in their words, not mine—‘racially tainted.’ ”

I nodded, as if all this sounded perfectly reasonable. “And when they did all this, they neglected to tell you, is that right?”

Stock nodded unhappily.

“Someone at the ministry didn’t think you sufficiently important to keep you informed about this,” I said, rubbing it in a little. “Which is why, when you found the object missing from the collection, you assumed it had been stolen, and reported it immediately.”

“That’s it,” he said with some relief.

“Do you happen to know the name of the person to whom Herr Breitmeyer gave the Ming box?”

“No. You would have to ask him that question.”

“I will, of course. Thank you, Doctor, you have been most helpful.”

“Do I take it the matter is now closed?”

“As far as your own involvement is concerned, yes, sir, you can.”

Stock’s relief turned to euphoria, or at least as near to euphoria as someone so dry was ever going to get.

“Now, then,” I said, “about that taxicab back into the city.”

8

I TOLD THE TAXI DRIVER to drop me at the Ministry of the Interior on Unter den Linden. Next to the Greek embassy, it was a dull, dirty gray building just around the corner from the Adlon. It was crying out for some climbing ivy.