He squints at the open windows, at which farmers are sitting. ‘Gentlemen, please . . .’

‘Two glasses of beer! What’s the—?’

The landlord raises his hands imploringly. ‘Gentlemen, please don’t ask me . . .’

Kalübbe looks over to Thiel, who is looking at the tabletop. ‘You see, Thiel!’ And to the landlord: ‘You have to give us two beers. If you don’t, and I press charges, you’ve lost your licence.’

And the landlord, in exactly the same tone: ‘And if I do, I’ve lost my custom. Heads I lose, and tails I lose as well.’

Kalübbe and the landlord look at each other for what seems like a long time.

‘Well, let them know inside that the auction’s beginning.’

The landlord half bows. ‘I think one should try and be decent as long as possible.’

He goes inside. The official takes a protocol and a list of conditions out of his briefcase and lays them out on the table in front of him. Thiel wants Kalübbe to look at him, so he says: ‘I just thought of the pistol. I think I’m learning that weapons don’t help.’

Kalübbe, leafing through his protocol, says drily: ‘The day’s not over. When you’re home, you’ll have learned more.’

A shadow falls across the table. A young man, dressed in black, with black horn-rims, and the strap of a camera across his shoulder, approaches them, doffing his hat. ‘Morning, gentlemen, Tredup’s the name, I represent the Altholm Chronicle. I’ve just come from Podejuch, taking photographs of the restored church for our pages. I was cycling by, when I saw there was an auction being held here.’

‘The announcement was in your paper.’

‘And those are the distrained animals?—You know, one hears so much about trouble at attachments. Did you experience any yourselves?’

‘Herr Berg is the man to turn to for official information.’

‘So you experienced no difficulties? Would you have any objections if I took pictures of the auction?’

To which Kalübbe, roughly: ‘Stop bothering us. We’ve got no time for you and your chit-chat.’

Tredup shrugs his shoulders loftily. ‘Whatever you say. I’ll take some pictures anyway.—We all have work to do, and yours doesn’t seem to be much to your taste.’

He crosses over to the other side of the village street and starts setting up his camera.

Kalübbe in turn shrugs his shoulders. ‘He’s right, basically. It’s his job, and I shouldn’t have been rude to him. But I’ve got a bone to pick with the Chronicle. They’re nothing better than blackmailers. Did you happen to catch the review of the Circus Monte there a couple of days ago?’

‘I did. Yes.’

‘Bare-faced extortion. The whole town knows that no one from the Chronicle saw the show.