“I apologize, sir,” he said, and then turned to Leni. “Forgive me, Fräulein.”

“That’s quite all right,” said Leni.

They reached the station fifteen minutes later, looking for all the world like any other couple who had just had a row.

“Damn!” said Lockhart, looking at a notice covering the timetable. “There was an air raid last night—there won’t be a train for at least another hour and a half.”

“We’ll just have to wait,” said Leni.

They stepped onto the platform, which was teeming with what seemed to Lockhart to be a representation of every section of German society. There was a wounded soldier, hobbling on crutches and one leg, his uniform disheveled. There was the fatherless family consisting of four young children and a pallid mother. Widow, thought Lockhart, there was no mistaking it. There were the scores of factory workers, sitting on battered suitcases, waiting to be taken to the next place where they might be able to scrape together a few Reichsmarks to send home. There was the group of young and rowdy soldiers, noisily belting out a marching song. And in among them all, men in uniforms, so many different uniforms. Wehrmacht, SS, police, railway, even some from the post office, all proudly wearing their costumes, showing that they fitted in, their uniforms saying, “Here, I am this sort of person, this sort of cog.”

Lockhart counted at least ten pictures of Hitler around the station. There he was, surrounded by children in national dress—the father to a nation. Or the triumphant leader, at the head of a force of men—the Führer as warrior. And a copy of an oil painting, its subject composed—Hitler the statesman. In among these posters there were others that invited good citizens to behave in the way the Reich saw fit. DO NOT WASTE YOUR COAL, JOIN THE SS, KEEP FIT, REPORT ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS—this accompanied by the figure of the Shylock-style Jew, all nose and treacherous grin.

It was impossible to find anywhere to sit, so Leni and Lockhart leaned against a wall. Lockhart took the newspaper, and was desperate to examine the plans, but he thought better of it, telling himself that even to look at them sitting on a lavatory would be too dangerous. No, they would have to wait until they got back to Leni’s room in the guesthouse.

The sound of a distant train whistle made many heads turn.

“Come on,” he said to Leni, “let’s get to the front of the platform. I don’t want to miss it.”

However, everybody else had had the same idea, and they were caught in a surging crush. With a little brute force, they managed to position themselves in the second row from the front. Lockhart was glad they weren’t right at the front, for the force of the crowd could have pushed them onto the track. The train could be heard clearly now, its eager rhythmic chuff starting to fill the station.