‘It’s not here,’ I said finally. ‘But thanks for letting me take a look.’ Rienacker nodded.

In the hallway I picked up my hat and placed it back on my throbbing head. He said: ‘I’m at the station on Charlottenstrasse. Corner of Französische Strasse.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I know it. Above Lutter and Wegner’s Restaurant, isn’t it?’ Rienacker nodded. ‘And yes, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know.’

‘See that you do,’ he growled, and let me out.

When I got back to Alexanderplatz, I found that I had a visitor in my waiting room.

She was well-built and quite tall, in a suit of black cloth that lent her impressive curves the contours of a well-made Spanish guitar. The skirt was short and narrow and tight across her ample behind, and the jacket was cut to give a high-waisted line, with the fullness gathered in to fit under her substantial bust. On her shiny black head of hair she wore a black hat with a brim turned up all the way round, and in her hands she held a black cloth bag with a white handle and clasp, and a book which she put down as I came into the waiting room.

The blue eyes and perfectly lipsticked mouth smiled with disarming friendliness.

‘Herr Gunther, I imagine.’ I nodded dumbly. ‘I’m Inge Lorenz. A friend of Eduard Müller. Of the Berliner Morgenpost?’ We shook hands. I unlocked the door to my office.

‘Come in and make yourself comfortable,’ I said. She took a look around the room and sniffed the air a couple of times. The place still smelt like a bartender’s apron.

‘Sorry about the smell. I’m afraid I had a bit of an accident.’ I went to the window and pushed it open. When I turned round I found her standing beside me.

‘An impressive view,’ she observed.

‘It’s not bad.’

‘Berlin Alexanderplatz. Have you read Döblin’s novel?’

‘I don’t get much time for reading nowadays,’ I said. ‘Anyway, there’s so little that’s worth reading.’

‘Of course it’s a forbidden book,’ she said, ‘but you should read it, while it’s in circulation again.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘Oh, but haven’t you noticed? Banned writers are back in the bookshops. It’s because of the Olympiad. So that tourists won’t think things are quite as repressive here as has been made out. Of course, they’ll disappear again as soon as it’s all over but, if only because they are forbidden, you should read them.’

‘Thanks. I’ll bear it in mind.’

‘Do you have a cigarette?’

I flipped open the silver box on the desk and held it up by the lid for her. She took one and let me light her.