was because he realized that I was Jewish, and that was his next question: was I Jewish? I almost told him I wasn't, just for the fun of it. But I was scared he would find out and that I would get into trouble, and so I told him I was. Then he leant back in his seat, and told the chauffeur to drive on. Not another word. It was very strange. As if I had vanished.'
'That's very good, Sarah. Now tell me: you said you thought they were policemen.
Were they wearing uniforms?'
She nodded hesitantly.
'Let's start with the colour of these uniforms.'
'Sort of green-coloured, I suppose. You know, like a policeman, only a bit darker.'
'What were their hats like? Like policemen's hats?'
'No, they were peaked hats. More like officers. Daddy was an officer in the navy.'
'Anything else? Badges, ribbons, collar insignia? Anything like that?' She kept shaking her head. 'All right. Now the man who spoke to you. What was he like?'
Sarah pursed her lips and then tugged at a length of her hair. She glanced at her father. 'Older than the driver,' she said. 'About fifty-five, sixty. Quite heavy-looking, not much hair, or maybe it was just closely cropped, and a small moustache.'
'And the other one?'
She shrugged. 'Younger. A bit pale-looking. Fair-haired. I can't remember much about him at all.'
'Tell me about his voice, this man sitting in the back of the car.'
'You mean his accent?'
'Yes, if you can.'
'I don't know for sure,' she said. 'I find accents quite difficult to place. I can hear that they're different, but I can't always say where the person is from.' She sighed deeply, and frowned as she tried hard to concentrate. 'It could have been Austrian. But I suppose it could just as easily have been Bavarian. You know, old-fashioned.'
'Austrian or Bavarian,' I said, writing in my notebook. I thought about underlining the word 'Bavarian' and then thought better of it. There was no point in giving it more emphasis than she had done, even if Bavarian suited me better. Instead I paused, saving my last question until I was sure that she had finished her answer.
'Now think very clearly, Sarah. You're standing by the car. The window is down and you're looking straight into the car. You see the man with the moustache.
What else can you see?'
She shut her eyes tight, and licking her lower lip she bent her brain to squeeze out one last detail.
'Cigarettes,' she said after a minute. 'Not like Daddy's.' She opened her eyes and looked at me. 'They had a funny smell. Sweet, and quite strong. Like bay-leaves, or oregano.'
I scanned my notes and when I was sure that she had nothing left to add I stood up.
'Thank you, Sarah, you've been a great help.'
'Have I?' she said gleefully. 'Have I really?'
'You certainly have.' We all smiled, and for a moment the four of us forgot who and what we were.
Driving from the Hirsch home, I wondered if any of them realized that for once Sarah's race had been to her advantage that being Jewish had probably saved her life.
I was pleased with what I had learned. Her description was the first real piece of information in the case. In the matter of accents her description tallied with that of Tanker, the desk sergeant who had taken the anonymous call. But what was more important it meant that I was going to have to get the dates on which Streicher had been in Berlin from General Martin in Nuremberg, after all.
Chapter 14
Monday, 26 September.
I looked out of the window of my apartment at the backs of the adjoining buildings, and into several sitting- rooms where each family was already grouped expectantly round the radio. From the window at the front of my apartment I could see that Fasanenstrasse was deserted. I walked into my own sitting-room and poured myself a drink. Through the floor I could hear the sound of classical music coming from the radio in the pension below. A little Beethoven provided a nice top and tail for the radio speeches of the Party leaders. It's just what I always say: the worse the picture, the more ornate the frame.
Ordinarily I'm no listener to Party broadcasts. I'd sooner listen to my own wind. But tonight's was no ordinary Party broadcast. The Fnhrer was speaking at the Sportspalast on Potsdamerstrasse, and it was widely held that he would declare the true extent of his intentions towards Czechoslovakia and the Sudetenland.
Personally, I had long ago come to the conclusion that for years Hitler had been deceiving everyone with his speeches about peace. And I'd seen enough westerns at the cinema to know that when the man in the black hat picks on the little fellow standing next to him at the bar, he's really spoiling for a fight with the sheriff. In this case the sheriff just happened to be French, and it didn't take much to see that he wasn't much inclined to do anything but stay indoors and tell himself that the gunshots he could hear across the street were just a few firecrackers.
In the hope that I was wrong about this, I turned on the radio, and like 75 million other Germans, waited to find out what would become of us.
A lot of women say that whereas Goebbels merely seduces, Hitler positively fascinates. It's difficult for me to comment on this. All the same, there is no denying the hypnotic effect that the Fnhrer's speeches seem to have on people.
Certainly the crowd at the Sportspalast seemed to appreciate it. I expect you had to be there to get the real atmosphere. Like a visit to a sewage plant.
For those of us listening at home, there was nothing to appreciate, no hope in anything that the number one carpet-chewer said. There was only the dreadful realization that we were a little closer to war than we had been the day before.
Tuesday, 27 September.
The afternoon saw a military parade on Unter den Linden, one which looked more ready for war than anything ever seen before on the streets of Berlin. This was a mechanized division in full field equipment. But to my astonishment, there were no cheers, no salutes and no waving of flags. The reality of Hitler's belligerence was in everyone's mind and seeing this parade, people just turned and walked away.
Later that same day, when at his own request I met Arthur Nebe away from the Alex, at the offices of Gunther & Stahlecker, Private Investigators the door was still awaiting the sign-writer to come and change the name back to the original I told him what I had seen.
Nebe laughed. 'What would you say if I told you that the division you saw were this country's probable liberators?'
'Is the army planning a putsch?'
'I can't tell you very much except to say that high officers of the Wehrmacht have been in contact with the British prime minister. As soon as the British give the order, the army will occupy Berlin and Hitler will be brought to trial.'
'When will that be?'
'As soon as Hitler invades Czechoslovakia the British will declare war. That will be the time. Our time, Bernie. Didn't I tell you that Kripo would be needing men like you?'
I nodded slowly. 'But Chamberlain has been negotiating with Hitler, hasn't he?'
'That's the British way, to talk, to be diplomatic. It wouldn't be cricket if they didn't try to negotiate.'
'Nevertheless, he must believe that Hitler will sign some sort of treaty. More importantly, both Chamberlain and Daladier must themselves be prepared to sign some sort of treaty.'
'Hitler won't walk away from the Sudeten, Bernie. And the British aren't about to renege on their own treaty with the Czechs.'
I went over to the drinks cabinet and poured a couple.
'If the British and French intended to keep their treaty, then there would be nothing to talk about,' I said, handing Nebe a glass. 'If you ask me, they're doing Hitler's work for him.'
'My God, what a pessimist you are.'
'All right, let me ask you this. Have you ever been faced with the prospect of fighting someone you didn't
