“Ha ha.” Silbermann gave an enthusiastic laugh. “Then again, even a secret courier could sleep in peace surrounded by German officers. But I’m just a businessman. Thank you, gentlemen. Heil Hitler.”

He left the compartment. When he was on the platform he heard a voice calling, “Hello, hello, Herr Courier!”

Startled, he turned around.

“You left your suitcase,” said the lieutenant, laughing, and passed it through the window.

Silbermann thanked him as he took the suitcase. “I’m so absentminded,” he offered as an excuse.

“Not a bad cover for a secret courier,” answered the lieutenant.

A nice man, thought Silbermann, as he watched the train depart. So, they’re still out there: unbiased, normal, benign people. I had forgotten. One thing’s for sure: he probably didn’t think I was Jewish.

He picked up his suitcase. I really have to pull myself together, he thought. He was gripping the handles of his bags so tightly it cramped his fingers. I feel so weak, so flabby. It’s enough to drive a person mad.

He stepped into the third-class waiting room, and although he stood out enough to draw some attention, he went to the buffet and ordered a glass of beer. He drank it all in one swig, spilling a little on his coat. He took out his handkerchief and first wiped his mouth and then tried to dry the beer on his coat. Next he ordered a second glass, drank it, then slapped his hand on the counter and said, “It’s all going to work out,” loudly and confidently.

“What will?” asked the barkeep.

“Pour me another, young man,” Silbermann demanded energetically.

He looked around, eager for action. He jutted his chin out a little bit and thought: I should have gone straight to that Dinkelberg. The man will be of use. No doubt about it. The beer was placed in front of him. He raised his glass, took a swallow, and then set it back down, with some aversion.

“What do I owe you?” he asked.

“One mark twenty.”

He paid and left. His confidence was gone. He had a sour taste in his mouth, and he felt nauseated. He remembered that he hadn’t eaten lunch and chided himself for being so foolish as to drink beer on an empty stomach. In the station hall he automatically went to the baggage check to deposit his suitcase.

If I could only go to a hotel and get a good ten hours’ sleep, he wished as he left the station. I could stay in bed for days if they’d let me. He was convinced of that.

He stopped in front of a hotel and considered going inside. No, he thought, that won’t work! I can’t weaken, not when I’m this close to the goal, because not only am I trying to escape, I’m also running a race against despair.

A little while later he was standing in front of the address on Bismarckstraße where Dinkelberg lived, according to Lilienfeld’s information. He rang the bell.