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Austrian count. Twenty years ago, I had a castle and a large country estate in Hungary where my mother and sister
lived. In the war I lost my family, my castle, my lands, and even my country, which was . . . miniaturized.’ His tone of amused sarcasm had gone, and his voice became gruff with emotion.
‘I came to Berlin with nothing but the address of Walter von Ulrich, my distant cousin. Nevertheless, I managed to open this restaurant.’ He swallowed. ‘It is all I have.’
He paused, and drank some coffee. The others around the table were silent. He regained his poise, and something of his superior tone of voice. ‘Even if you offered a generous price –
which you have not – I would still refuse, because I would be selling my whole life. I have no wish to be rude to you, even though you have behaved unpleasantly. But my restaurant is not for
sale at any price.’ He stood up and held out his hand to shake. ‘Goodnight, Commissar Macke.’
    Macke automatically shook hands, then looked as if he regretted it. He stood up, clearly angry. His fat face was a purplish colour. ‘We will talk again,’ he said, and he walked
out.
    ‘What an oaf,’ said Jörg.
    Walter said to Ethel: ‘You see what we have to put up with? Just because he wears that uniform, he can do anything he likes!’
    What had bothered Lloyd was Macke’s confidence. He had seemed to feel sure that he could buy the restaurant at the price he named. He reacted to Robert’s refusal as if it was no more
than a temporary setback. Were the Nazis already so powerful?
    This was the kind of thing Oswald Mosley and his British Fascists wanted – a country in which the rule of law was replaced by bullying and beating. How could people be so damn stupid?
    They put on their coats and hats and said goodnight to Robert and Jörg. As soon as they stepped outside, Lloyd smelled smoke – not tobacco, but something else. The four of them got
into Walter’s car, a BMW Dixi 3/15, which Lloyd knew was a German-manufactured Austin Seven.
    As they drove through the Tiergarten park, two fire engines overtook them, bells clanging. ‘I wonder where the fire is,’ said Walter.
    A moment later, they saw the glow of flames through the trees. Maud said: ‘It seems to be near the Reichstag.’
    Walter’s tone changed. ‘We’d better take a look,’ he said worriedly, and he made a sudden turn.
    The smell of smoke grew stronger. Over the tops of the trees Lloyd could see flames shooting skywards. ‘It’s a
big
fire,’ he said.
    They emerged from the park on to the Königs Platz, the broad plaza between the Reichstag building and the Kroll Opera House opposite. The Reichstag was ablaze. Red and yellow light danced
behind the classical rows of windows. Flame and smoke jetted up through the central dome. ‘Oh, no!’ said Walter, and to Lloyd he sounded stricken with grief. ‘Oh, God in heaven,
no.’
    He stopped the car and they all got out.
    ‘This is a catastrophe,’ said Walter.
    Ethel said: ‘Such a beautiful old building.’
    ‘I don’t care about the building,’ Walter said surprisingly. ‘It’s our democracy that’s on fire.’
    A small crowd watched from a distance of about fifty yards. In front of the building, fire engines were lined up, their hoses already playing on the flames, water jetting in through broken
windows. A handful of policemen stood around doing nothing. Walter spoke to one of them. ‘I am a Reichstag deputy,’ he said. ‘When did this start?’
    ‘An hour ago,’ the policeman said. ‘We’ve got one of them that did it – a man with nothing on but his trousers! He used his clothes to start the fire.’
    ‘You should put up a rope cordon,’ Walter said with authority. ‘Keep people at a safe distance.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said the policeman, and went off.
    Lloyd slipped away from the others and moved nearer to the building. The firemen were bringing the blaze under control: there was less flame and more smoke. He