“You’re mad!” I shouted. “This is ridiculous! D’you imagine any court in the world would convict me of any of this, on the strength of what happened last night? Good God, there is such a thing as justice in Bavaria, I suppose—”

“There is indeed,” snaps he. “And I can tell you, sir, that I do not merely imagine that a court could convict you—I know it could. And it will.”

My head was reeling with all this. “Oh, to the devil! I’ll not listen to this! I want to see my ambassador. I know my rights, and—”

“Your ambassador would be of no help to you. I have not yet mentioned the most serious complaint. It is possible that a charge of criminal assault on a female may be brought against you.”

At this I staggered to my feet in horror. “That’s a lie! A damned lie! My God, she practically raped me. Why, she—”

“That would not be the evidence she would give before a judge and jury.” His voice was stone cold. “Baroness Pechman is known as a lady of irreproachable character. Her husband is a former Commissioner of Police for Munich. I can hardly imagine a more respectable witness.”

“But…but…” I was at a loss for words, but a horrible thought was forming in my brain. “This is a plot! That’s it! It’s a deliberate attempt to discredit me!” I wheeled on Starnberg, who was negligently regarding his nails. “You’re in this, you rascal! You’ve given false witness!”

“Don’t be an ass,” says he. “Listen to the magistrate, can’t you?”

Stunned and terrified, I sank on to the stool. Karjuss leaned forward, a thin hand tapping the table before him. I had the impression he was enjoying himself.

“You begin to see the seriousness of your position, sir. I have indicated the charges which could be brought—and without doubt, proved—against you. I speak not as an examining magistrate, but as a legal adviser, if you like. These are certainties. No doubt you would persist in denial; against you there would be at least four witnesses of high character—the two police officers who apprehended you, Baroness Pechman, and the Freiherr von Starnberg here. Your word—the word of a known duellist over women, a man who was expelled for drunken behaviour from his school in England—”

“How the devil did you know that?”

“Our gathering of information is thorough. Is it not so? You can guess what your word would count for in the circumstances.”

“I don’t care!” I cried. “You can’t hope to do this! I’m a friend of the Gräfin Landsfeld! She’ll speak for me! By God, when she hears of this, the boot will be on the other foot….”