Becker was sitting with two Sturmführers, clearly at ease and enjoying himself, dining and drinking champagne—as had become his custom in recent years after closing a business deal. When he caught sight of Silbermann taking a seat at the next table, his relaxed mood vanished and he seemed on edge, shooting reproachful glances at his friend. Don’t even think of joining us, his eyes warned, while at the same time asking: Why did you come? Why did you follow me? What on earth are you thinking, anyway?

Silbermann acted as though he hadn’t noticed his partner’s admonishing gaze and chiding glances. He studied the menu for a long time and then ordered a steak and a half-bottle of red wine, in a natural if somewhat faltering voice. He had slept through the whole morning and by the time he woke up it was practically one in the afternoon. Now it was nearly 2:00.

The evening before had gotten very late. Becker hadn’t been in the hotel when Silbermann arrived, and after waiting a long time in vain, he went to look for a place to spend the night. He hadn’t dared to ask for a room in the Vier Jahreszeiten—the doorman’s “Heil Hitler” had sounded too sincere. So he had gone to a guesthouse for foreigners that he knew of, where he was able to sleep undisturbed. However, when he filled out the official registration just as he was leaving, and they saw his name, he was told that in the future he’d be better off staying in a guesthouse reserved for Jews. The comment did not exactly improve his mood.

Silbermann cast sullen glances at Becker.

That man sitting there, he thought, that friend of mine—at least I hope he’s my friend—has my fortune in his pocket. Then he wondered whether their Hamburg business associates might have tried to change the terms of the deal. In actuality everything had been clearly spelled out and agreed to, he told himself. But nothing was so clear it couldn’t become murky again. On the other hand, Becker was a capable businessman and also a reliable one. Reliable, without a doubt. Absolutely. Together they had netted seven thousand marks from dismantling that ship: if they had taken on the actual scrapping as well, they would have likely earned even more. As it was, they’d put in a lot of work and had had their share of troubles. In any case I’ll be happy and content just to get my money back, thought Silbermann.