‘No, no, no,’ he said, pushing his hand into the powder. ‘I hid it in here just in case I had any unwelcome visitors. Ah, here we are.’ He withdrew a small, flat, silvery object from the packet, and polished it on his lapel before laying it flat on my palm. It was an oval-shaped disc about the size of a matchbox. On one side was the ubiquitous German eagle clutching the laurel crown that encircled the swastika; and on the other were the words Secret State Police, and a serial number. At the top was a small hole by which the bearer of the badge could attach it to the inside of his jacket. It was a Gestapo warrant-disc.

‘That ought to open a few doors for you, Bernie.’

‘You’re not joking,’ I said. ‘Christ, if they caught you with this — ’

‘Yes, I know. It would save you a great deal of slip money, don’t you think? So if you want it, I’ll ask fifty for it.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said, although I wasn’t sure about carrying it myself. What he said was true: it would save on bribes; but if I was caught using it I’d be on the first train to Sachsenhausen. I paid him the fifty. ‘A bull without his beer-token. God, I’d like to have seen the bastard’s face. That’s like a horn-player without a mouthpiece.’ I stood up to go.

‘Thanks for the information,’ I said. ‘And in case you didn’t know, it’s summertime up on the surface.’

‘Yes, I noticed that the rain was a little warmer than usual. At least a rotten summer is one thing they can’t blame on the Jews.’

‘Don’t you believe it,’ I said.

Chapter 5

5

There was chaos back at Alexanderplatz, where a tram had derailed. The clock in the tall, red-brick tower of St George’s was striking three o‘clock, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since a bowl of Quaker Quick Flakes (‘For the Youth of the Nation’) since breakfast. I went to the Cafe Stock; it was close by Wertheim’s Department Store, and in the shadow of the S-Bahn railway viaduct.

The Café Stock was a modest little restaurant with an even more modest bar in the far corner. Such was the size of the eponymous proprietor’s bibulous belly that there was only just room for him to squeeze behind the bar; and as I came through the door it was there that I found him standing, pouring beers and polishing glasses, while his pretty little wife waited on the tables. These tables were often taken by Kripo officers from the Alex, and this had the effect of obliging Stock to play up his commitment to National Socialism. There was a large picture of the Führer on the wall, as well as a printed sign that said, ‘Always give the Hitler Salute.’