He shrugged, and both Irmi and Walter left me to it. The fast had indeed delivered: I’d woken this morning with a plan. I don’t know whether it was the patchy sleep or the hunger, but as I had gazed up at Charlotte’s paper lantern swaying idly above me, its chambered rooms visible, I knew what it was I should do. If Walter hadn’t recovered his spectacles, that meant they might still be in the Bath-house, and that he was probably too afraid to retrieve them for himself. If he came to do a shift in the studio tomorrow night – well, so much the better. In the woods, I’d give him back his glasses in exchange for the truth. And then I’d be able to get the story down to zero.

During the fast my sense of smell had heightened. In my rooms the scent of mouse was stronger; the cafeteria I found by turns revolting and exquisite; the pigments in Kandinsky’s class smelled of the reeded lake where my family holidayed in Moritzburg; and now, inside the Bath-house, the chemicals in the building’s pipes were an unpleasant odour. All this time I had been banking on clearer sight, not a more accurate nose.

I was wary. This was the scene of the crime, and I knew if I should be caught in the Bath-house I’d be in trouble. Maybe I’d be found by Mr Sommer himself, who wouldn’t mind throwing a few punches at a man much slighter than Jenö Fiedler.

In the locker room I put on a cap to disguise my bald head, and changed into my swimming costume. Some men gave me suspicious looks but didn’t say anything, and I made my way to the poolside. The day’s light hit the water hard, and it made me think of that rip of sunshine against the River Ilm that had moved Charlotte’s hand to mine, and which had opened a boulevard in my heart. I had missed her these past few days. I’d call for her later: see if she wanted to start on the Master’s figurative portrait together.

I went down some grubby backstairs, my footsteps alone on the staircase. I hoped it would bring me out directly to the sauna; I was relieved when it did, and I had not been followed.