“Just this. A military court has been appointed to hear General von Fritsch’s case on March tenth in the Preussenhaus. It will be chaired by Göring, Raeder, and Brauchitsch, and the charges will relate to Paragraph 175 of the German Penal Code, which makes homosexuality illegal. Before then I need to decide whether, as a point of honor, I should insist on giving evidence and tell the court that it was me and not the general who was the subject of the Gestapo’s blackmail. In other words, how much am I risking by taking on the Gestapo?”

“Off the top of my head I’d say that it’s never a good idea to go toe to toe with the Gestapo. The concentration camps are full of people who thought they can be reasoned with. How ill are you, sir? What I mean is, can you travel? Have you considered leaving the country? There’s no dishonor in running away from the Nazis. Many others have already done so.”

“I might have done that,” he admitted, “if it wasn’t for my elderly mother. I might just find the strength to travel somewhere. But she certainly would not. And I could never leave her. That would be unthinkable.”

“I can see you’re in a difficult position.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Look, have you spoken to General von Fritsch about this? I imagine he’d be quite interested in what you have to say.”

“No, not yet. As I say, I want to find out how far up the chain this goes before I go out on a limb for the general. But if it should come to that, I’d prefer you to make the first contact with his legal counsel. I’m afraid I have little energy for waiting around the Bendlerstrasse to see him. I intend to retire to my bed the minute I return home.”

“Do you know who his legal counsel is? I take it this is another senior army officer.”

“Count Rüdiger von der Goltz. You’ll find him at the Bendlerstrasse, too.”

“All right. But first I’ll speak to Nebe. And perhaps also to Franz Gürtner, the minister of Justice. Perhaps he’ll know what to do.”

“Thank you.” Von Frisch took out his wallet and opened it and thumbed two Prussian blues onto my desk. “From what your colleague told me earlier, this should be enough to secure your services on my behalf for one week.”

“That’s more than enough, sir.”

The fact was, I’d have handled his case for nothing. But there was no point in arguing with the old man; Achim von Frisch was an old-school Prussian with a lot of pride and he’d no more have taken my charity than he’d have offered to clean my office or fetch my cigarettes.