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"Not now, later."
"All right."
Macke was enjoying this. Ochs's collapse was complete, unlike Werner's. "A letter to the justice minister," he went on.
"So that's what this is about."
"You will say you now realize there is no truth in the allegations you made in your first letter. You were misled by secret Communists. You will apologize to the minister for the trouble you have caused by your incautious actions, and assure him that you will never again speak of the matter to anyone."
"Yes, yes, I will. What are they doing to my wife?"
"Nothing. She is screaming because of what will happen to her if you fail to write the letter."
"I want to see her."
"It will be worse for her if you annoy me with stupid demands."
"Of course, I'm sorry, I beg your pardon."
The opponents of Nazism were so weak. "Write the letter this evening, and mail it in the morning."
"Yes. Should I send you a copy?"
"It will come to me anyway, you idiot. Do you think the minister himself reads your insane scribbling?"
"No, no, of course not, I see that."
Macke went to door. "And stay away from people like Walter von Ulrich."
"I will, I promise."
Macke went out, beckoning Wagner to follow. Lieselotte was sitting on the floor screaming hysterically. Macke opened the parlor door and summoned Richter and Schneider.
They left the house.
"Sometimes violence is quite unnecessary," Macke said reflectively as they got into the car.
Wagner took the wheel and Macke gave him the address of the von Ulrich house.
"And then again, sometimes it's the simplest way," he added.
Von Ulrich lived in the neighborhood of the church. His house was a spacious old building that he evidently could not afford to maintain. The paint was peeling, the railings were rusty, and a broken window had been patched with cardboard. This was not unusual: wartime austerity meant that many houses were not kept up.
The door was opened by a maid. Macke presumed this was the woman whose handicapped child had started the whole problem--but he did not bother to inquire. There was no point in arresting girls.
Walter von Ulrich stepped into the hall from a side room.
Macke remembered him. He was the cousin of the Robert von Ulrich whose restaurant Macke and his brother had bought eight years ago. In those days he had been proud and arrogant. Now he wore a shabby suit, but his manner was still bold. "What do you want?" he said, attempting to sound as if he still had the power to demand explanations.
Macke did not intend to waste much time here. "Cuff him," he said.
Wagner stepped forward with the handcuffs.
A tall, handsome woman appeared and stood in front of von Ulrich. "Tell me who you are and what you want," she demanded. She was obviously the wife. She had the hint of a foreign accent. No surprise there.
Wagner slapped her face, hard, and she staggered back.
"Turn around and put your wrists together," Wagner said to von Ulrich. "Otherwise I'll knock her teeth down her throat."
