The dining area was crowded with loud-talking men and a few attractive young women. All of the men wore Red Army uniforms, and so did the women. The air was thick with pungent tobacco smoke and Wilde struggled not to cough.

A table laid with white linen and silver cutlery for three had been reserved for them in the corner. At a word from Minsky one of the place settings was quickly removed.

‘Are you hungry, Comrade Professor?’

‘I had a hearty breakfast, but more food sounds mighty fine. You’ve been told why I wanted to talk to you, I take it?’

‘Of course. You want to find the house painter. And so do we. Comrade Stalin says he is alive and hiding. He believes he went by submarine to Argentina. So we must find him.’

‘Well, I don’t know about submarines and South America. But yes, we want to find him, too.’

Minsky grinned broadly and waved his fork at him. ‘This is all for show, of course – this investigation of yours. We know the Americans and the British are keeping Hitler alive. Somewhere comfortable in the Home Counties most likely.’

‘Good God, why would we do that?’

‘To use against us, of course. Do you think we are fools?’

It was a question Wilde couldn’t really answer, because if Minsky really believed that then, yes, maybe he was a fool.

‘That doesn’t sound very likely.’

‘Ah, you and your anti-Soviet propaganda! We know your ways. You are even saying that our glorious Red Army soldiers have been raping German women, but that is absurd. Why would we rape women when we can buy anyone we want for two cigarettes or a can of beans? Anyway, we all have campaign wives, and we send our home wives Gretchen knickers to keep them happy. We’re no worse than the Amis – I’m told they pay with nylons.’

Wilde didn’t bother to argue. ‘Anyway, Mr Minsky, putting your unfounded suspicions aside for the moment, my reason for meeting you is that I’m trying to talk to those who were with Hitler right to the end, especially those who supposedly saw his corpse burnt outside the bunker. I believe a couple of them are in the custody of the Soviet Union. Otto Günsche and Heinz Linge. Have you heard of them?’

‘Indeed I have, but they are in Moscow now.’ A waiter was hovering. ‘Come on, let us order our food. Beluga caviar to start with. You like?’

‘Oh, I can put up with it at a stretch.’

Minsky spoke in rapid Russian and the waiter scuttled away.

‘Does everyone eat caviar in places like this in the people’s paradise, comrade?’