She had the dog.

"You still don't trust me," I said. She had told the dog ‘Easy’, not ‘Friend’'. If ever I came in here alone, by this door, he'd bring me down in the instant, though he had seen me here before and in her company.

"What will you drink?" she asked me.

"Whatever you're having." I took a second look round. Black everywhere, with hard lines: black Skai furniture with sharp angles, a rank of harsh abstracts and a moody Klee, a pair of boar's tusks mounted on ebony. She brought my Scotch and said:

"I don't trust anyone."

I'd been wrong. Her voice was no less harsh now than it had been after the shock in the street.

"I'm not surprised," I said. "How did they try to kill you the first time?"

"I was in a crowd at a trolley-stop."

"Someone pushed."

"Yes. Just as the trolley was coming. It pulled up in time. Are you with the Z Commission?"

"What's the Z Commission?"

She said nothing, turning away. Jurgen watched her and watched me. I said: "You're too young, Fraulein Lindt, to have seen anything of the war." She turned and swung a glance round the room and saw the envelope, ripped open, on the desk. Fraulein Inga Lindt. "Sowhy do you go to the Neustadthalle?"

Her lithe hips swung and she came half-way towards me and stopped. I was suddenly aware that there was no scent on her or in the room. She stood very still. "Are you prepared to show me your papers?"