He raised the wineglass to his mouth. That was my last deal in Germany, he promised himself. To earn three thousand five hundred marks I risked seventy-eight thousand. He shook his head. Never again. Was it a sure thing? He was about to find out. He didn’t want to consider it a sure thing as long as Becker had the money. Then again, clearly Becker was someone he could rely on. He gave his friend another anxious, distressed look. Why didn’t the man come up with some pretext to leave the others and join him? And what on earth was he doing with two Sturmführers?

When you think about it, what reason do I actually have to trust him? Silbermann worried. Trust is something I really can’t afford. Not that I have to be suspicious all the time, no—but I do have to be careful. Trust or caution? My brother Hans fell in the war, fighting for Germany. He had trust. But that’s just nonsense—what does one thing have to do with the other?

Becker stood up.

Now he’s going to sit down with me, Silbermann thought, and casually set his knife and fork down on his plate.

But Becker strode calmly past his table, followed by the men in uniform, without so much as a greeting. For a moment Silbermann was speechless. Then he called out, “Waiter!” He paid for his meal, jumped up, and hurried after Becker, pulling his coat on as he walked. Becker had just left the dining room and was already in the lobby when Silbermann again caught sight of him. He was paying his bill, still accompanied by the two Sturmführers. Then he said a noisy good-bye to the clerk and left the hotel without noticing Silbermann, who had stopped as soon as he saw his partner.

Now I’m done for, Silbermann thought, distraught. Becker’s going to cheat me out of my money, and then what? Beyond that he couldn’t say.

After a moment’s reflection he followed Becker, who was flanked by the Sturmführers and chatting with them as he strolled leisurely toward a taxi stand. Suddenly he came to an abrupt halt, turned around, and saw Silbermann ten steps behind him, staring at him with wide eyes and a half-open mouth. Becker gave a reluctant grimace and touched his hat. Silbermann hastily returned the greeting, relieved.

This is when I ought to go up to him, he thought, and ask what he’s done with my money, what does he think he’s doing, has he gone mad …

Silbermann took a step forward, then stopped, propped his foot against a wall, and fiddled with his shoelace. All of a sudden he was afraid of Becker, afraid of the power the other man had over him.

Be careful you don’t get yourself arrested, Silbermann told himself, or get yourself beaten up, that’s the last thing you need!