I saw the whole thing: the officials, the farmers, the oxen.’

‘You would be able to identify them, I expect?’

Tredup nods eagerly. ‘More than that.’

‘You know their names?’

‘No, not the names. But . . .’

‘But . . . ?’

‘But I took a couple of photographs, one of the fire on the road to Haselhorst, the other from the Lohstedt Road. The farmers are on them, the ones who set the fire, who scattered the straw, who are standing by, all of them . . .’

The mayor, pensively now, asks: ‘I’m not up with the statements that have been brought in. But so far as I know, none of them mentions a stranger standing there taking pictures.’

Tredup thinks in a rushed way: It’s not his affair? He doesn’t know all the statements? And he knows . . . Something warns him, and he just says: ‘I’ve got the pictures.’

‘Not posed pictures? The difference is obvious.’

‘The other side knows about them. At one o’clock this morning, I was offered five hundred marks for them.’

‘That’s a good price,’ says the mayor. ‘Maybe they’re no longer worth the celluloid they’re printed on. The case is up in Gramzow at the moment. If the officials recognize the farmers there, then your pictures will be worthless.’

‘If . . . The party that offered me five hundred will have thought about what to do with the officials too.’

The mayor surveys his visitor long and thoughtfully. ‘You’ve got something about you. How much are the pictures?’

‘A thousand. Today.’

‘And tomorrow? No, let’s not play that. It’s not out of the question. So you have the pictures with you?’

Tredup ducks the question: ‘They can be made available any time.’

‘I believe they exist. And they are clear, usable? You can recognize people’s faces on them?’

‘Just as I’m sitting in front of you, Mayor.’

‘All right then, Herr X. Perhaps you’ll wait outside for ten minutes. As I say, I’m not interested.