“Since you’ve mentioned bank accounts,” said the monk, handing me one of the papers on his desk. “This is a copy of a letter from you to the manager of a bank in Monaco, the Crédit Foncier, dated February nineteen fifty-six. It states that Harold Hebel is to be a joint signatory on this bank account with you. It seems that there is more than twenty thousand francs in this account, Herr Gunther. The money appears to have been paid into this account by the Schönefeld Export Company of Bonn, in West Germany. We believe this company to be one owned by the Stasi.”

“I’ve never even heard of this bank until now.”

“Was this money meant to cover your expenses?”

“Look, I didn’t write the bank any letter. That isn’t my signature. And I’ve certainly never heard of the Schönefeld Export Company of Bonn.”

“But you do know Harold Hebel, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. If you’ve spoken with Somerset Maugham you’ll already know that. He’ll confirm what I already told him: that Harold Hebel is a professional blackmailer from before the war. He’s the man who’s been blackmailing Maugham. And now, it seems, the British secret service. And I’ve been helping Mr. Maugham at his request. Ask him.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. He’s had a mild stroke.”

“Look, I didn’t ask to be involved in this. Until he asked for my help I was minding my own business at the Grand Hôtel. And now if you don’t mind I’d like to go back to the hotel and resume my duties.”

“Harold Hebel. Real name, Harold Heinz Hennig, formerly of the Gestapo and now working for the Communist HVA, too.”

“That certainly wouldn’t surprise me. I guess it was them who supplied him with that tape. And before them, the KGB. Is Hennig your witness?” I shook my head. “The man’s a liar. I wouldn’t trust a word he says.”

“But you and he were working together here on the Riviera. From the very beginning.”

I sucked my cigarette and blew some smoke at the chandelier in the hope I might deter a large spider that was now abseiling down a length of gossamer toward my head.

“No. I hate him. I’d kill him before ever working with him. He and I have a long history of enmity.”

“Whose operation was this? Mielke’s? Or your namesake’s?”

“My namesake’s? I don’t know who you mean.”

“Major General Markus Wolf.”

“I’ve never heard of him, either. All these generals I’m supposed to know. The next thing you’ll be telling me is that I’m a general, too.”

“Our information is that Markus Wolf is head of the East German HVA and reports directly to Mielke.”