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the university archives. He claimed he would willingly walk down the embankment along the Oder. Mock did not try to persuade him and, quietly singing an operatic couplet to himself, drove across Emperor Bridge, past the municipal gym and the park where Heinrich Göppert, the founder of the Botanical Gardens, stood on a plinth, left the Dominican Church on his right and the Main Post Office on his left and drove into beautiful Albrechtstrasse which started at the huge mass of the Hatzfeld Palace. He reached Ring and turned left into Schweidnitzer Strasse. He passed Dresdner Bank, Speier’s shop where he bought his shoes, Woolworth’s office block, into Karlstrasse, glanced out of the corner of his eye at the People’s Theatre, past Düno’s Haberdasheries and into Graupnerstrasse. An almost summer heat hung over the city, so he was not surprised by the sight of a long queue standing in front of a shop selling Italian ice-cream. After a dozen or so yards, he turned into Wallstrasse and drove up to a rather neglected tenement marked number 27. Friedländer’s Pet Shop was closed on Sundays. An inquisitive caretaker soon appeared and explained to Mock that Friedländer’s apartment was next door to the shop.
    The door was opened by a slim, dark-haired girl, Lea Friedländer, it turned out, Isidor’s daughter. She made a great impression on the Counsellor. Without even looking at his identification, she asked him into a modestly furnished apartment.
    “Father will come shortly. Please wait,” she stammered, clearly embarrassed by the way Mock was looking at her. Mock did not have time to avert his eyes from her curvaceous hips and breasts before Isidor Friedländer, a short, stout man, came in. He sat down in the chair opposite Mock, crossed one leg over the other and hit his knee several times with the back of his hand, causing the limb to jerk involuntarily. Mock observed him for a while, then started a series of rapid questions:
    “Surname?”
    “Friedländer.”
    “First name?”
    “Isidor.”
    “Age.”
    “Sixty.”
    “Place of birth?”
    “Goldberg.”
    “Education?”
    “I finished Yeshivo in Lublin.”
    “What languages do you know?”
    “Apart from German and Hebrew, a little Yiddish and a little Polish.”
    “How old is your daughter?”
    Friedländer suddenly interrupted the experiment with his knee and looked at Mock with eyes that had practically no pupils. He panted heavily, rose and, in a bound and flash, leapt at the Counsellor who had not had time to get up. The latter suddenly found himself on the floor, crushed under Friedländer’s weight. He tried to pull the gun from his pocket, but his right hand was immobilized by his opponent’s shoulder.Suddenly the pressure eased – a coarse beard prickled Mock in the neck, Friedländer’s body stiffened and convulsed rhythmically.
    Lea pulled her father off Mock. “Help me. We have got to lay him down on the bed.”
    “Please move away. I’ll put him there myself.”
    The Counsellor felt like a teenager wanting to show off his strength. With the greatest of difficulty, he dragged the ninety kilograms on to the sofa. Lea, in the meantime, had prepared a mixture and was pouring it carefully into her father’s mouth. Friedländer choked, but he swallowed the liquid. After a while, there was a steady, intermittent snoring.
    “I’m twenty,” Lea still avoided Mock’s eyes, “and my father suffers from epilepsy. He forgot to take his medication today. The dose I gave him will enable him to function normally for two days.”
    Mock shook down his clothes.
    “Where is your mother?”
    “She died four years ago.”
    “Do you have any siblings?”
    “No.”
    “Your father suffered the attack after I asked him your age. Is that a coincidence?”
    “Actually I’ve already answered you. I’m everything to my father. If a man shows any interest in me, Father starts to get worried. And if he forgets to take his medication, he suffers an