Sliding one arm under Sophie’s knees, he wrapped the other round her back. Sophie laughed, embracing him around the neck. Mock took a deep breath and lifted his wife. He tottered under her weight and stood catching his balance a while with his legs astride. Then he carried Sophie to the entrance and stood her on the step beside the sign that read beware of the dog. He shut the car doors and returned to drown himself for a moment in the soft fur, pressing Sophie’s delicate body against cream-coloured tiles as her strong thighs wound themselves around his hips and the smooth stole around his neck.
All of a sudden the light came on and Doctor Patschkowsky’s dog began to bark. Mr and Mrs Mock climbed to the second floor, shocking the lawyer who was on his way out with the dog: she was just pulling her dress down over her hips, while he smoothed his hair and pulled the stole from his neck.
Marta opened the door to them and, seeing their mood, left immediately for the servants’ quarters from which Adalbert’s snoring could already be heard.
Mock and Sophie rolled into the bedroom, bodies clinging. The surprised dog was initially pleased, then, seeing what he thought was a fight, growled. Sophie closed the door on him, pushed her husband onto the divan and began to undo the numerous buttons of his outfit.
She began with his coat. Then his hat went gliding towards the door. Next came his trousers.
At that moment, the telephone rang.
“Marta will take it,” said Sophie. “She knows what we’re up to, she’ll say we’re not at home.” The telephone kept ringing. Marta did not pick it up.
“Nothing can be more important than you right now,” whispered Mock. “I’ll deal with whoever’s calling.”
He stood up, went into the hall and lifted the receiver without saying a word.
“Good evening. Counsellor Mock, please,” said an unfamiliar voice.
“Speaking,” muttered Mock.
“Counsellor, my name is Willibald Hönness, from the casino at the Four Seasons Hotel.” Mock recognized the voice of one of his informers, distorted though it was by the telephone. “There’s a drunken young man here. He’s losing a lot at roulette. He told me his name was Erwin Mock, said he was your nephew. On that account, he was given credit. If he continues to play like this, it’s going to end badly. It looks as though he’s losing money he hasn’t got.”
“Listen, Hönness,” Mock said, taking his gun from the wall cabinet and slipping it into the inside pocket of his coat, “do something to stop him from winning. If the worst comes to the worst, knock him out. I’ll be right there.”
Mock went into the bedroom and reached for his hat which was on the floor, arousing much excitement in the dog.
“I’ll be back soon. Erwin’s in great danger.”
Sophie was taking off her dress. A streak of mascara ran down her cheek.
“Don’t bother to come back.” Her voice did not sound as if she had been crying.
BRESLAU, THAT SAME NOVEMBER 30TH, 1927
HALF PAST NINE IN THE EVENING
Willibald Hönness, an attendant at the Four Seasons Hotel casino at Gartenstrasse 66–70, had obeyed Mock’s instructions yet had managed to eliminate Erwin from the game without the use of violence. He had simply spiked Erwin’s beer with a substance that induced violent vomiting. So when Mock burst into the casino with his coat billowing behind him and ran into the men’s toilets on the directions of a porter and an ape-like doorman, the young man was kneeling beside a toilet bowl with his head cradled in Hönness’ caring hands. This sight reassured Mock a little. He lit a cigarette and asked at which table Erwin had been playing.
“Table four, uncle,” came the answer from the depths of the bowl.
“I’ll be right back,” Mock said, thrusting a ten-mark note into Hönness’ pocket. He left the toilets and approached the doorman who was standing next to an enormous fountain in the hall between two enormous palm trees. There was no more
All of a sudden the light came on and Doctor Patschkowsky’s dog began to bark. Mr and Mrs Mock climbed to the second floor, shocking the lawyer who was on his way out with the dog: she was just pulling her dress down over her hips, while he smoothed his hair and pulled the stole from his neck.
Marta opened the door to them and, seeing their mood, left immediately for the servants’ quarters from which Adalbert’s snoring could already be heard.
Mock and Sophie rolled into the bedroom, bodies clinging. The surprised dog was initially pleased, then, seeing what he thought was a fight, growled. Sophie closed the door on him, pushed her husband onto the divan and began to undo the numerous buttons of his outfit.
She began with his coat. Then his hat went gliding towards the door. Next came his trousers.
At that moment, the telephone rang.
“Marta will take it,” said Sophie. “She knows what we’re up to, she’ll say we’re not at home.” The telephone kept ringing. Marta did not pick it up.
“Nothing can be more important than you right now,” whispered Mock. “I’ll deal with whoever’s calling.”
He stood up, went into the hall and lifted the receiver without saying a word.
“Good evening. Counsellor Mock, please,” said an unfamiliar voice.
“Speaking,” muttered Mock.
“Counsellor, my name is Willibald Hönness, from the casino at the Four Seasons Hotel.” Mock recognized the voice of one of his informers, distorted though it was by the telephone. “There’s a drunken young man here. He’s losing a lot at roulette. He told me his name was Erwin Mock, said he was your nephew. On that account, he was given credit. If he continues to play like this, it’s going to end badly. It looks as though he’s losing money he hasn’t got.”
“Listen, Hönness,” Mock said, taking his gun from the wall cabinet and slipping it into the inside pocket of his coat, “do something to stop him from winning. If the worst comes to the worst, knock him out. I’ll be right there.”
Mock went into the bedroom and reached for his hat which was on the floor, arousing much excitement in the dog.
“I’ll be back soon. Erwin’s in great danger.”
Sophie was taking off her dress. A streak of mascara ran down her cheek.
“Don’t bother to come back.” Her voice did not sound as if she had been crying.
BRESLAU, THAT SAME NOVEMBER 30TH, 1927
HALF PAST NINE IN THE EVENING
Willibald Hönness, an attendant at the Four Seasons Hotel casino at Gartenstrasse 66–70, had obeyed Mock’s instructions yet had managed to eliminate Erwin from the game without the use of violence. He had simply spiked Erwin’s beer with a substance that induced violent vomiting. So when Mock burst into the casino with his coat billowing behind him and ran into the men’s toilets on the directions of a porter and an ape-like doorman, the young man was kneeling beside a toilet bowl with his head cradled in Hönness’ caring hands. This sight reassured Mock a little. He lit a cigarette and asked at which table Erwin had been playing.
“Table four, uncle,” came the answer from the depths of the bowl.
“I’ll be right back,” Mock said, thrusting a ten-mark note into Hönness’ pocket. He left the toilets and approached the doorman who was standing next to an enormous fountain in the hall between two enormous palm trees. There was no more
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