Anyway, why so much fuss about a dead Jewess? I’ve got enough on my plate with the living ones.”

By now they were outside the Rosenthals’ apartment. Baldur unlocked the door. Rusch closed the kitchen window and picked up a fallen chair.

“There!” said Inspector Rusch, looking around. “Everything hunky-dory!”

He went ahead into the parlor and sat down on the sofa, in exactly the spot where he had shaken old Frau Rosenthal into a complete collapse an hour before. He stretched out leisurely and said, “Right now, Sunshine, and why don’t you fetch us a bottle of cognac and a couple of glasses!”

Baldur went off, came back, poured. They clinked glasses.

“That’s better, son,” said the Inspector agreeably, and lit a cigarette. “And now why don’t you tell me what you and Borkhausen were doing in this apartment together?”

Seeing the indignant reaction on the face of young Persicke, he went on, a little more quickly, “I would think about it carefully if I were you, son! It’s not impossible I might take a young Hitler Youth leader back to Prinz Albrecht Strasse, if he got too fresh for my liking. Think about whether honesty wouldn’t be the better policy. Maybe we can keep it under wraps, so let’s hear your story.” And, seeing Baldur hesitating, “I did—as you keep asking—notice a thing or two, you see. For instance, I’ve seen your bootmarks on the sheets in the corner. And that’s not from today. And how come you know there’s cognac, and exactly where to find it? What do you think Borkhausen told me in his panic? Do I need to sit here and have you tell me a string of whoppers? No, as I say, you’re too green for that!”

Baldur could see that, and he confessed everything.

“I see!” the inspector said finally. “I see. Everyone does what he can. Stupid people do stupid things, and smart people often do much more stupid things. Well, son, at least you wised up in the end, and didn’t try to lie to Papa Rusch. I have regard for that. What would you like out of this lot?”

Baldur’s eyes lit up. A moment ago, he had been completely demoralized, but now things had suddenly brightened again.

“The radio and the phonograph with the record collection, Inspector!” he whispered greedily.

“Very well!” said the inspector graciously. “I told you I won’t be getting back here before six. Anything else?”

“Maybe one or two suitcases full of bed linen!” said Baldur. “My mother doesn’t have much.”

“Oh, I’m so touched!” the inspector said mockingly. “What a devoted son! What a little mama’s boy! Well, go on then. And no more. Everything else you’re accountable to me for! And I have a damned good memory for what’s stacked and lying around here, so don’t think you’ll pull one over on me! And as I said, in case of doubt, we just instigate a search of the Persicke place. Where I’m pretty sure we’ll turn up a radiogram and two suitcases of sheets, if not more. But no worries, son—if you play straight with me, I’ll play straight with you.”

He walked over to the door. In parting, he added, “And by the way, in case Borkhausen turns up here, no squabbling with him. I don’t like that kind of thing. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” said Baldur Persicke, and with that the two parted company: it had been a most productive morning.

*Gestapo headquarters was located at number 8 Prinz-Albrecht Strasse.

Chapter 17

THE FIRST CARD IS WRITTEN

For the Quangels, Sunday was not quite so productive—at any rate there wasn’t the clarifying conversation that Anna so fervently desired.

“No,” was Otto Quangel’s response.