‘Krim… Krimin…?’
Arthur Holly squinted at the piece of white pasteboard Sinclair had just handed him. Although it was only a little past two o’clock, the lights in Bennett’s office, including his green-shaded desk lamp, were all switched on. Outside, the blanketing fog pressed up against the windowpanes, reducing what little illumination came from the sky to a dull, uniform glow, the colour of dishwater. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since their last gathering.
‘Krim-in-al…?’ Holly scowled. The word he was struggling with – kriminalinspektor – was one he had not encountered before and he was having difficulty working his way through the seemingly endless syllables.
‘He’s a German police inspector, Arthur.’ Sinclair came to his rescue. ‘A copper, just like us.’
Holly snorted, unimpressed. Since their last meeting the day before he’d had second thoughts on the wisdom of permitting any foreigner to share their deliberations on so delicate an issue – doubts which he’d expressed to Sinclair in private a little while earlier. The fact that their visitor was a German – or ‘hun’, as the chief super preferred to put it – only made matters worse.
‘Probs… Prost…’ Now he was struggling with the name. ‘Probst! That’s it. Hans-Jo… Hans-Joa?’
‘Hans-Joachim Probst! For pity’s sake, Chief Superintendent!’ Bennett’s patience snapped. He’d been on edge all morning.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Unruffled, Holly rose and returned the card to his superior’s blotter. It had arrived a few minutes before, dispatched from the reception desk with the news that its owner was waiting in the lobby below. Bennett had ordered him to be shown upstairs to his first-floor office immediately.
Nebe’s emissary was late – they’d been expecting him all morning – but through no fault of his own. Fog in the channel had delayed ferry sailings, and when Sinclair telephoned Victoria station it was to learn that the Berlin train would not be arriving until after one o’clock. At twenty minutes past the hour Inspector Probst had rung to announce his arrival. Forgetting that the fog would also reduce the speed of taxis to a crawl, Bennett had sent for Holly and Sinclair at once and the three of them had been sitting in his office twiddling their thumbs ever since.
Observing the assistant commissioner now, Sinclair took note of his troubled glance and pale aspect. He wondered what kind of night Sir Wilfred had passed. His own had been far from tranquil. No policeman could contemplate the arrest of a senior government official without trepidation: one, moreover, who had entree to the highest social circles in the land. Given the terrible charges that might soon have to be laid against Philip Vane, the case had all the hallmarks of a nightmare in the making. It would have to be watertight. On that score the chief inspector had no illusions. The backlash from a botched prosecution would be swift and merciless. And of the three of them, the assistant commissioner had the most to lose.
There was a light tap on the door. Bennett’s secretary put her head in. ‘The German gentleman’s here, sir.’
‘Show him in, please, Miss Baxter.’ Bennett rose, and the other two followed suit. As their visitor entered, the assistant commissioner came around his desk and offered him his hand. ‘Inspector Probst?’
‘Sir Wilfred!’ They shook hands, Probst accompanying the action with a stiff bow. He was in his late thirties, with fair, curling hair that receded from a high forehead. Slight of build, he wore a suit of an old-fashioned cut and a shirt with a high, stiff collar. Both his manner and appearance had struck Sinclair as being fussy and schoolmasterly until the two men were introduced, when the chief inspector found himself looking into a pair of eyes as cool and watchful as his own, yet not without a trace of humour in their blue depths.
Alerted, he observed their visitor closely as Bennett ushered him to the conference table. The initial impression of stiffness and formality the inspector had given was soon dispelled. In fact, considering that he had just made a long, tiring journey and had now to handle a difficult brief before strangers – and in a language not his own – Probst’s self-possession was remarkable. While the others seated themselves around him he calmly undid the straps of his briefcase and took out a thick file, tied with black tape, which he laid on the table before him.
‘Before we begin, Inspector – may I offer you some refreshment? Coffee? Tea? Something to eat, perhaps?’ Bennett had taken the head of the narrow oak table and placed Holly and Sinclair on one side of him, facing Probst. Far from composed himself, the assistant commissioner fidgeted nervously in his chair, glancing out of the window into the fog, as though seeking inspiration there, in contrast to their visitor, who unhurriedly ordered the papers in his file as he waited for the proceedings to start.
‘Thank you, Sir Wilfred. I had lunch on the train. A glass of water will be sufficient.’ With a smile and a nod Probst reached for the carafe that stood on the table and poured himself a tumblerful.
‘May I say at the start how relieved I am to find that you speak our language so fluently.’ Unwilling to come to the point, the assistant commissioner continued to seek an excuse to prevaricate. ‘Otherwise, I’m afraid I should have had to send for an interpreter, something I would much rather not do, given the circumstances.’ He cast a significant glance at the inspector, perhaps hoping to learn in advance whether the shocking discovery made by the Yard’s representatives was already known to their colleagues in Berlin. Probst’s discreet nod in response, however, shed no light on the matter, one way or the other.
‘You are kind to compliment me on my English, Sir Wilfred, but the credit must go to a lady in Berlin, a Miss Adamson, from Durham. For years I used to visit her twice a week, and it’s thanks to her that I’m familiar with the works of Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson, all of which I read to her from cover to cover. A pleasure for me, you may be sure, but perhaps not for poor Miss Adamson, since they appeared to be the only books she used for this purpose and she had many pupils.’
Sinclair noticed, with amusement, that it was their visitor who was endeavouring to put his hosts at their ease.
‘But you might be interested to know where I first learned the language,’ Probst went on. ‘It was in a prisoner of war camp. Quite early in the war – it was in 1915 – I was blown sky high… that is the correct term, is it not, “sky high”?’ His blue eyes twinkled. ‘I awoke to find myself in a British field hospital and spent the rest of the war in a camp near the city of Carlisle, learning not only English but basket-weaving and bricklaying, as well. Rarely have I spent my time more usefully, before or since.’
This long discourse seemed to have had the desired effect on Bennett, Sinclair observed. The assistant commissioner sat with his chin cupped in his hand, listening attentively. A glance at Holly, on his other side, revealed a different picture. Apparently the sight of a foreigner – and a hun, at that – spouting the King’s English with such aplomb had taken the chief super unawares. Sheer disbelief was stamped on his blunt features.
Bennett resettled himself in his chair. ‘To business, then.’ He turned to Probst. ‘Herr Nebe informed us in his telegram that you have been investigating a series of murders in Germany that may well be linked to similiar crimes under inquiry here. We should be very interested to hear about those, and anything else you have to tell us.’
Probst dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘I have come armed with all the relevant information, Sir Wilfred. The murders I’m about to describe have a distinct “signature”, one you may find familiar. Should that be the case, we are ready to offer any assistance we can in bringing this man to justice. I speak not only for my superiors in Berlin, but for the Bavarian police as well.’
‘The Bavarian police?’ Bennett was taken aback.
‘Yes, two of the murders I’m talking about were committed there. The other four were in Prussia. They took place in a period of a little over two years between December 1929, and April of this year, since when there have been none reported: none, that is, until we received word of your inquiry to the international commission.’
‘So there have been six in all?’ The assistant commissioner was still coming to terms with the grim figure.
‘Six, yes… though there may have been more.’ Probst lifted his glance to theirs.
‘Why do you say that?’ Holly spoke up.
‘For two reasons, Chief Superintendent. Firstly, this murderer hides the bodies of his victims afterwards, or attempts to. Our belief is he aims to leave a cold trail – to be well away by the time the body is found. So it may be there are other corpses still awaiting discovery.’ Probst shrugged. ‘Are there young girls missing, then, you ask me? Children unaccounted for? Sadly, the answer is yes, but the reasons for this are many, and not necessarily connected to this or any other criminal case.’ The inspector paused, his brow creasing in a frown.
‘I’m sure you’re all aware that my country has been through difficult times since the war ended. First, there was the collapse of our currency, next the Depression. We have had reparations to pay. All this is reflected in our political situation. German society has been disrupted, and one effect has been the breaking-up of families. We have seen begging… young people cast out on the streets. I need not go on. If this man was seeking victims unlikely to be missed he could hardly have chosen a better hunting ground than Germany in recent years.’
‘Yes, quite, Inspector…’ Bennett stirred uneasily beneath the Berlin policeman’s cool, unaccusing gaze. ‘But could you not give us some details about these murders? We need to decide whether they resemble our own cases.’
‘I believe they do.’ Probst’s reply was prompt. ‘Even from what little we have gleaned from your inquiry to Vienna, it seems almost certain we are dealing with the same killer. But I will let you decide this, Sir Wilfred.’ While he was speaking the inspector had produced a pince-nez of antique manufacture from his lapel pocket, which he donned now as he consulted the papers from his file, the gold-rimmed lenses, perched on the bridge of his nose, lending further colour to his schoolmaster’s air and making him seem older than he was.
‘The victims in Germany have all been young girls, aged between ten and thirteen. None had reached puberty. Rape and strangulation occurred in each case and were followed by an assault on the victim’s face in which, according to our pathologists’ findings, the same weapon, or an identical one, was used by the killer.’
‘A hammer, would that be?’ Sinclair put the question in a low voice.
‘Yes, an ordinary stonemason’s tool.’ Probst looked up. ‘It is the same with the victims here? Your query to the commission was not specific on that point.’
Before Sinclair could respond, Bennett intervened. ‘Our conclusions are very similar to yours. I think we can say there’s every likelihood we’re looking for the same man. We have two cases under investigation here. More of those later. Continue, if you would…’ He caught the chief inspector’s eye.
Probst bent to his file again. ‘What evidence we have been able to gather leads us to believe the children were picked up, usually on a road, and taken by car to the murder site, which presumably had been selected in advance. In the first two instances, the girls appeared to have been either choked or stunned into submission prior to the sexual assault. But in the four subsequent cases traces of chloroform were discovered in the lungs of the victims.’
The inspector looked up. ‘This evidence of a refinement in the killer’s technique, if I can put it that way, seemed particularly sinister to us, as no doubt it will to you. As policemen we are well aware of how dangerous such men become once they develop a method in which repetition predominates.’
He paused, moistening his lips, and then spent the next few moments rearranging the papers in his file. Observing him, Sinclair realized that the Berlin policeman’s dry, precise manner was to some extent a mask: that although engaging in a bald recital of facts, he was in reality deeply disturbed by what he was telling them.
‘Our first two killings took place in Prussia, neither of them very far from Berlin itself.’ Probst resumed his account. ‘The third occurred in Bavaria, in the Munich region. Unfortunately, the connection between these three murders was not noted at once. As I’m sure you know, Germany has no unified police force, nor any central organization like Scotland Yard, which can coordinate inquiries. The states and Lande act on their own account. Regrettably, we have been slow in exchanging information.
‘However, with the fourth and fifth murders, which were again in the vicinity of Berlin, it finally became clear that we were looking for a single killer and since then the Prussian and Bavarian authorities have been cooperating closely. And it was the sixth murder, in April this year, also in Bavaria, that provided us at last with a lead of some substance. Though I fear that whatever advantage we gained has turned out to be at your expense.’ He favoured his listeners with a wry look.
Bennett frowned. ‘I take it you mean this man has now transferred his activities to England?’
‘Yes, to us it seems likely that the inquiries we set in motion may have forced him to seek his victims elsewhere. But even here the situation is unclear.’ Probst tapped the table once more. ‘There is a mystery surrounding this man.’
In the silence that followed this remark the long drawn out, mournful note of a foghorn sounded from the river below. Sinclair sensed Bennett’s growing discomfiture at the direction the conversation was taking. He stepped in.
‘A lead of substance, you said. Tell us about that, Inspector. What happened with the last murder? In Bavaria, was it?’
‘Yes, the victim in this case was the child of a farmer in the Allershausen district, north of Munich. Her body was found in a wooded area not far from the main road. The crime came close to being witnessed. A woodcutter’s wife was walking through the forest and heard the child’s cries, followed by the sound of heavy blows. Guessing that some act of violence was taking place, she was on the point of running back to her house to seek help when she heard someone approaching. Terrified, she hid herself, lying face down, too frightened even to lift her eyes as whoever it was went by. When it was quiet again, she looked up and saw the figure of a man a little way off. He was on his knees, with his back to her, bending over a stream that the woman had just crossed herself. He was naked from the waist up.’
‘Naked!’ Arthur Holly came to life with a growl.
‘He had taken his shirt off…’ The inspector hesitated. ‘One must understand this woman’s state of mind at that moment. Complete terror would not be too strong a term to describe it. She saw only that his arms were spattered with blood and that he was washing himself off in the stream, both his arms and his chest, though of course she couldn’t see his front.’
‘Nor his face, either, I imagine?’ Sinclair sensed, rather than heard, Bennett’s faint sigh of relief at that point.
‘No, alas! A moment later she ducked her head down again and remained like that, unmoving, until she heard him coming back along the path where she lay, hurrying, but not running. Only when she was sure he was no longer anywhere near did she get to her feet and run back to her own house, which was a mile away.’ Probst looked up and caught Sinclair’s eye. ‘When we received a report of this incident from the Bavarian police – I mean those of us in Berlin who have been concerned with this investigation – we felt despair. It seemed a golden opportunity to identify our man had gone begging. But in fact the woman saw more than she realized.’
The chief inspector grunted. ‘I’ve known that happen,’ he remarked.
‘Under repeated questioning by Munich detectives this woman was able to add some crucial details to what she had first said. Interestingly, from the start she referred to the man she saw as a “Herr” – a gentleman, if you like – and finally it came out that the reason she thought so was because of his clothes. She had caught a glimpse of his jacket, which was on the ground beside him, with his shirt, and also his shoes, and they must have impressed her as being of good quality.’
Probst raised his hands in a weighing gesture. ‘It wasn’t much to go on, but the detectives went to work all the same. Since the murder took place near a main road – in fact, it’s the most direct route from Munich to Berlin – they assumed the killer had been travelling on it when he came on his victim. But in which direction? North or south? If he was going south, to Munich, there was little chance they could track him down. He would soon be swallowed up in the city. But heading north, the situation was different.’ The inspector paused. ‘Remember, by this time we had linked these crimes and we knew that the murderer must have spent a good deal of time during the past two years in and around Berlin. So it was reasonable to assume that if he drove north after killing the girl he was in fact returning to the capital.’
Probst took a deep breath. His long day seemed finally to be catching up with him and he took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his brow.
‘One of the Munich detectives had an idea. Since the murder had occurred between ten and eleven in the morning, why not drive north along the Berlin road for two hours and then look for likely places where the killer might have stopped for lunch? This they set out to do. Hotels, inns, restaurants. All within a twenty-mile stretch of road were covered and the same question was asked in each place: did anyone remember a well-dressed man eating on his own that day?
‘And it didn’t stop there. Police notices were placed in newspapers asking any motorist who was on the road that day to come forward. The same thing was done in Berlin. When I tell you the response was overwhelming, you may perhaps be amazed, though you should not be.’ Probst’s blue eyes glinted behind his spectacles. ‘We Germans are a law-abiding people. Overly so, some might say. Appeals from authority seldom fall on deaf ears. A considerable number came forward not only to report their own presence on the road that day but to inform us of others they had noticed and remembered. In this way we were able to form a surprisingly full picture of who was eating in these various establishments and to eliminate most of them by cross-checking. We were left with a handful of men who remained unidentified and who had not come forward of their own accord. Of these, one in particular caught our attention.’
The inspector paused to take a sip of water. Bennett glanced automatically at his watch. The sound of foghorns had continued intermittently during the long recital they’d been listening to, the plaintive notes sounding from near and far, echoing up and down the busy river.
‘This man had been noted by several of our voluntary witnesses who had eaten lunch at a roadside hotel near Nuremberg. He was reckoned to be in his forties, and had sat alone at a table in a corner reading a book while he ate. Neither the waitress who served him nor our other witnesses were able to give a satisfactory description of him. This wasn’t surprising, however. Unusual features are sometimes remembered: a large nose, say, or a scar. But unless we have particular reason to look at a person we generally form only an impression of him… yes? And the impression of all was that there was nothing out of the ordinary about this man’s appearance. He had sat with his head lowered, reading his book. Even the waitress didn’t remember meeting his glance. He ordered, ate quickly, paid and left. Our attempts to obtain some sort of picture of his face, using the services of an artist, failed completely. Some of the witnesses were unable to offer any suggestions; others produced images that differed so much, one from another, they were quite useless for practical purposes.
‘One thing only about him seemed unusual… noteworthy.’ Grimacing, Probst nodded to himself. ‘It hardly counted as a clue. It was too vague… too imprecise. And we only returned to it later, after we’d received word from the international commission about your inquiry. It was something the waitress said in her original deposition.’ Probst paused. He looked at them keenly. ‘Asked where this man might have come from – whether she’d recognized any regional accent in his voice – she said she had not. “He didn’t seem to be from anywhere.” That was her exact reply, translated from the German. We asked our Bavarian colleagues to question her again, and this time she was a little more specific.’
The atmosphere around the table had grown tense. Alerted by a new note in the inspector’s voice, Bennett leaned forward in his chair, his gaze fixed on the German detective’s face. Probst had paused once more, perhaps to underline the importance of what he was about to say. Now he continued.
‘She said she wondered if he was German at all.’
‘She meant he was a foreigner?’ Sinclair found his tongue before the others. A glance at Bennett showed him sitting sphinx-like. Holly, beside him, scowled.
‘Perhaps, though she didn’t say so. Not in so many words. The man’s German was faultless, you see – at least to her ears. No, we’re back with impressions. She just had a feeling he wasn’t one of us.’ The inspector shook his head regretfully. ‘Earlier, as I say, we hadn’t given much importance to this aspect of her evidence. After all, she seemed so unsure herself. But after news of your inquiry reached us, we had cause to think again.’
Probst removed his pince-nez. He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze finally coming to rest on the assistant commissioner.
‘It’s our belief the newspaper campaign we launched caused this man to flee Germany, Sir Wilfred. No murders of the kind we’ve been discussing have been reported in my country for the past six months. In the meantime, however, it would appear he has become active here. Remembering what the waitress in that hotel had to say, and given that he chose to come to this country, rather than another, I submit there is a question we must all ask ourselves: Could this man we are seeking be English?’
Bennett leaned back in his chair, the gold links of his watch chain glittering against his dark waistcoat. As the afternoon wore on and the gloom of the foggy day outside deepened, the lights in the assistant commissioner’s office had grown brighter. He stifled a yawn.
‘This has been a long day, and we all have much to reflect on. I don’t know about you, but I’d welcome a good night’s sleep. I suggest we meet again in my office tomorrow morning so that we can lay the groundwork of our future cooperation, before Inspector Probst returns to Berlin.’
Sinclair was relieved to hear Bennett’s words. For some time now he’d sat silent, puffing at his pipe, reluctant to take any further part in what he increasingly viewed as a charade. Earlier, there had been a break in the proceedings; the interval had been proposed by Sir Wilfred on the ground that there were one or two unrelated, urgent matters awaiting his attention that couldn’t be delayed, a pretext so transparent, at least to Sinclair’s eyes, that he’d wondered whether Probst, too, had seen through it.
But the Berlin inspector had accompanied him without comment to a nearby waiting room reserved for important visitors. His choice of refreshment, offered by Sinclair, had proved to be afternoon tea – ‘in the English manner’, as he put it, with a glint of humour in his blue eyes.
‘At Miss Adamson’s we always had sandwiches and Madeira cake.’
The chief inspector had informed the staff canteen accordingly (while mentally wishing their guest luck with the result) and then returned swiftly to Bennett’s office, where he found the assistant commissioner and Holly sunk in despair.
‘Six murders, he says! And there may have been more. This is a dreadful business, Chief Inspector.’
With that observation, at least, Sinclair had no quarrel. But he had a bone to pick with the assistant commissioner all the same.
‘With respect, sir, why did you tell him we only have two on our hands? It’s virtually certain the Henley case is connected, and the time factor puts a completely different complexion on the matter.’
‘In this instance, “virtually certain” is the operative phrase, Chief Inspector.’ Bennett’s response had been sharp. It was plain he resented the accusing note in Sinclair’s voice. ‘Look, they’ve already guessed the killer might be a British subject. If we tell Probst there was a linked murder in 1929 by a man who then disappeared for three years, during which time a further six killings occurred in Germany, he’s quite likely to ask himself what kind of individual would be in a position to lead such an existence: living first in one country, then in another, and at home in both. And just as likely to come up with an educated guess that he’s a diplomat, or some other accredited person. Until we’re sure about Vane, until we’ve questioned him, I’m not going to allow any hint to surface that the author of these crimes could be a British official.’
‘That’s a sensible precaution, Angus.’ Holly had added his weight to the argument. ‘There’s no point in jumping the gun. Just think of the implications!’
Sinclair had not forgotten them; nor, it seemed, had Probst. And although the German policeman’s point of view, of necessity, differed from theirs, the fears to which he’d finally given expression at the close of the long afternoon were uncomfortably close to those of his British counterparts.
Before that point had been reached, however, and on the resumption of the meeting following the break called by Bennett, the inspector had been given a detailed summary of the current police investigations into the murders at Bognor Regis and Brookham. Primed by Bennett, and under his watchful eye, Sinclair had led his German colleague by stages through the history of the inquiry in Britain, from the discovery of the first body in Surrey to the slow-dawning realization that what they were dealing with was no common sex killing.
‘We didn’t know what we were faced with until the second corpse was uncovered near the coast, in Sussex. Up till then the search had been concentrated on finding this tramp. I’m afraid the Surrey police were led astray.’
‘What made you get in touch with Vienna, if I may ask? Did you have some reason to think this man might have been abroad?’
The question was an obvious one, but since an honest answer would have meant revealing details of the suspected murder at Henley three years before, Sinclair had been forced to take refuge behind a smokescreen.
‘No specific reason. But it seemed to us this murderer might well have killed before. There was a finished quality to his crimes: the battering of the faces, the fact that he brought a hammer with him to carry out the job. No record of such a criminal existed in this country, so we thought to look elsewhere.’ Glancing at Bennett as he produced this farrago of lies and half-truths, the chief inspector was gratified to see that his superior at least had the grace to blush.
Probst, meanwhile, had been paying close attention. ‘It may interest you to hear what one of our leading forensic psychiatrists has to say about these cases,’ he remarked. ‘A Professor Hartmann of the Friedrich Wilhelm University, in Berlin. He believes that while the killer’s sexual desires may have been the original motive for these crimes, the need to assault his victims’ bodies afterwards has now become the dominant element of his psychosis, hence the increasingly elaborate ritual he brings to the destruction of their faces.’
Remembering the similar, prophetic judgement he had heard from the lips of Franz Weiss only a few weeks earlier, Sinclair grimaced, but stayed silent.
At five o’clock, Bennett called a halt, and as the chimes of Big Ben sounded faintly, drifting down through the foggy darkness from Westminster, their visitor addressed them for the last time, making an appeal which at least one among his audience found affecting, even if it did not assuage the guilt he felt, but merely added to it. Angus Sinclair took no satisfaction from the knowledge that he and his colleagues had been successful in keeping their darkest suspicions from the kriminalinspektor.
‘My superiors have asked me to stress the importance they attach to resolving this case as soon as possible. Quite aside from the human tragedy involved, they believe it contains dangers of which we should all be aware. These are the “special circumstances” to which Herr Nebe referred in his telegram to you, Sir Wilfred. Although we don’t yet know the identity of this man we are seeking, it’s likely he is either German or English. Which, is not important. What matters, we believe, is that crimes of such brutality committed by a national of one country against the children of another are liable to be seen in the worst light, and given the recent shared history of our two nations there may be those, in both countries, who will seek to make the most of an appalling situation. We on our part are most anxious to avoid any such development and I am authorized to offer Scotland Yard the full cooperation of both the Prussian and Bavarian authorities in bringing this man to justice.’
Probst fell silent. But it was clear from his manner that he had not yet finished speaking and the others waited patiently while the Berlin inspector sat with eyes downcast, assembling his thoughts. When he looked up, Sinclair was struck by the intensity of his gaze.
‘My ability to speak English is the main reason I was chosen for this mission. But certain of my colleagues, aware that I share their sympathies, were anxious for me to convey the full extent of our concern over this case.’ He paused once more, conscious of his listeners’ heightened interest. Bennett was staring at him with a fixed look.
‘That said, I must make it clear that I have no authority to discuss the matter I now wish to raise, so that what I say must be regarded as a personal opinion unsanctioned by my superiors. I have already touched on conditions in Germany. No doubt you are aware of how unstable our political scene has been since the end of the war. It has not improved in recent weeks. Neither I nor anyone else can tell you what government my country will have three months from now, except to say that it may well be directed by a party whose leaders are without principle.’
‘I take it you mean the Nazis?’ Bennett put the question, and the other nodded.
‘But I make no biased accusation against them. This is a statement of fact. They boast of it. What others might regard as human decency they see as a weakness to be exploited. I cannot say how a police authority run by such men would deal with a situation of the kind we have been discussing. But one thing is certain: much will change in Germany if they come to power, and both I and the people for whom I speak want to stress how urgent we believe it is that this terrible case should be brought to a conclusion before such changes can overtake us.’
He looked at each of them in turn.
‘Let us do all in our power to identify this man, and to arrest him and bring him to justice,’ he pleaded with them. ‘And let us do it soon.