After the burial Haupthandler was ready with a few words of advice from his, and my employer, ‘Herr Six sees little need for you to have concerned yourself in what is essentially a family affair. I’m also to remind you that you are being remunerated on the basis of a daily fee.’

I watched the mourners get into their big black cars, and then Himmler and the top bulls in Kripo get into theirs. ‘Look, Haupthandler,’ I said. ‘Forget the sledge ride. Tell your boss that if he thinks he’s getting a cat in a sack, then he can cut me loose now. I’m not here because I like fresh air and eulogies.’

‘Then why are you here, Herr Gunther?’ he said.

‘Ever read The Song of the Niebelungen?’

‘Naturally.’

‘Then you’ll remember that the Niebelung warriors wished to avenge the murder of Siegfried. But they couldn’t tell who they should hold to account. So the trial of blood was begun. The Burgundian warriors passed one by one before the bier of the hero. And when it was the murderer Hagen’s turn, Siegfried’s wounds flowed with blood again, so revealing Hagen’s guilt.’

Haupthändler smiled. ‘That’s hardly the stuff of modern criminal investigation, is it?’

‘Detection should observe the little ceremonies, Herr Haupthandler, be they apparently anachronistic. You might have noticed that I was not the only person involved in finding a solution to this case who attended this funeral.’

‘Are you seriously suggesting that someone here could have killed Paul and Grete Pfarr?’

‘Don’t be so bourgeois. Of course it is possible.’

‘It’s preposterous, that’s what it is. All the same, do you have someone in mind for the role of Hagen yet?’

‘It’s under consideration.’

‘Then I trust you will be able to report your having identified him to Herr Six before very long. Good day to you.’

I had to admit one thing. If Haupthändler had killed the Pfarrs then he was as cool as a treasure chest in fifty fathoms of water.

I drove down Prenzlauer Strasse on to Alexanderplatz. I collected my mail and went up to the office. The cleaning woman had opened the window, but the smell of booze was still there. She must have thought I washed in the stuff.

There were a couple of cheques, a bill and a hand-delivered note from Neumann telling me to meet him at the Café Kranzler at twelve o’clock. I looked at my watch. It was almost 11.30.