‘The one who went to the pictures with Mitzi? No, I don’t. Although I seem to recall her saying that he wrote for some American paper or other. His name is Pe … Per … some peculiar name.’

‘Perczik, perhaps?’

‘Yes, that’s it. I think that’s the name — Perczik.’

Gurdweill suddenly knew with absolute certainty that it was Perczik, and he was filled with a terrible rage. He went on interrogating Johann compulsively: ‘Was he short? Dark and rather plump? Did he have a grey hat on?’

‘Yes. Not tall, and darkish. I didn’t notice his hat. I only caught a glimpse of him. What — is he an acquaintance of yours?’

‘If it’s Perczik, I know him well. But I don’t really think it’s him …’

‘Yes, yes, it must be him!’ Johann latched on to this possibility as if it held some sort of solution to his problems. ‘I’m sure it’s him! I remember now, I’m almost positive she said Perczik. Has he got a wife and child?’

‘He has.’

‘In that case it’s definitely him.’

Johann smiled with all the happy relief of a dangerously ill person after the crisis has passed and he feels that from now on he will recover and live. He even became rather gay and high-spirited. It seemed that now that he was sure it was Perczik, he felt safe from danger. But Gurdweill knew that Perczik of all people was unlikely to take Johann Vrubiczek’s wife to the cinema for nothing. And he pitied Johann with all his heart. Because he knew too that this was not the end of the matter, but only a brief interlude after which all his doubts would come back to haunt him.

‘I’ll have to talk to that swine as soon as possible!’ he silently resolved. ‘If he’s not in the café tomorrow, I’ll write him a note and make an appointment to see him.’

‘Won’t you have something else to drink?’ asked Johann. ‘Another beer, or a glass of wine?’

Gurdweill refused.

‘Do have a glass of wine, Herr Gurdweill,’ urged Johann. ‘The wine’s good. Really good. I must come here one day with …’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘With Mitzi. She likes a glass of good wine. Yes, I’ll definitely bring her here one day.

‘And how are you, Herr Gurdweill?’ he suddenly asked, as if he had only now noticed his presence. ‘Everything all right? And your wife? All going well, I hope?’

Gurdweill nodded.

‘I’m glad to hear it! Very glad indeed!’ He gave Gurdweill an affectionate pat on his hand, which was lying palm down on the table. ‘You’re a good sort, Herr Gurdweill, I mean it. A really good sort. Please have another drink with me. We meet so seldom.’ In the end Gurdweill gave in to his pleas and ordered another beer. Johann ordered another glass of wine for himself.