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“You have told us about Captain Röhm, but have not explained about Herr Strasser and Doctor Göbbels.”

“Personally, I prefer Röhm, for all his predilections. He is at least an honest soldier and as loyal to Hitler as I am. Gregor Strasser is the leader of our party in the Reichstag. He’s a bit of a left-winger. A very distinguished man, but rather at odds with Adolf over the direction of the party. Strasser is more socialist than nationalist. Doctor Göbbels is the intellectual of the party. A frail little man with a club-foot. He represents what I call ‘the Berlin faction’—those who have more recently attached themselves to our party’s destiny.”

“And would any of these think the death of Geli Raubal would benefit Herr Hitler and the party?” Begg enquired, staring out at the construction in what had once been a rather pretty garden.

“Oh, all of them would probably say something like it.” Hess nodded absently, looking about the room, its sparse furniture, rather as if he saw it for the first time. “But saying and doing are very different things. I can’t see Röhm, who thought Geli a bit of a doxy, or Strasser, who was the last one to want scandal, or Göbbels, who is our chief propagandist, threatening either Hitler’s career or the party’s prospects by killing Geli. And Captain Göring has no interest in such things. Göbbels might have made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. Röhm might have frightened her away. Strasser would have told her to keep her nose clean and not embarrass the Führer.”

“And this Herr Himmler?”

“He’s a cold fish. He has Hitler’s ear. He has wheedled his way into the Führer’s confidences in recent years. I thought he might have been behind that sniper’s assassination attempt. They tried to kill me, you know. But I heard the rifle shot in time and flung myself flat. I still live in fear in case the sniper should try again—”

“You were telling us about Herr Himmler.”

“Head of Hitler’s personal bodyguard. Big rival of Röhm, who runs the SA, our storm troopers. He did hate the relationship. But he, too, knows that the party is on the very brink of sweeping the country. As far as I know he is in Berlin. Why would he jeopardize his own career? You see, there are no real suspects within the party. This is the work of communists and their backers. Our self-interest would not be served by scandal.”

“True,” agreed Begg. “So you believe there was perhaps a political motive for her death. And what about a personal one?”

“You will have to ask others about that.” Hess was suddenly very subdued.

Under Begg’s clever prompting, Hess revealed all he knew of the Geli Raubal murder case.

Hitler was becoming increasingly jealous of Geli, who grew steadily bored with his prolonged absences from the flat. His political career took him farther and farther from Munich for longer periods. She, being a young, spirited woman, had wanted more gaiety in her life and eventually had asked her uncle Alf if he would pay for her to go to Vienna, where she had more friends and where she could get far better voice lessons than in Munich.

Hitler had objected to this. He had not wanted her to go to Vienna. He had not wanted her to leave their flat. He was becoming even more suspicious of her. He threatened and wheedled, and it seemed she calmed down. Then, on the morning he was due to leave for an important speaking tour, there was another row. “It was to involve some crucial secret meetings, for there are those in our party who do not believe Alf should be courting the rich at all. Yet without them, we are nothing.” Hess paused, his voice taking on an increasingly retrospective tone.

“That same morning, Geli had found one of her pet canaries dead on the floor of its cage. She had become hysterical. She threatened Hitler. She said that if he did not let her go to Vienna she would kill herself. Then she threatened to spill the beans about ‘everything.’ ”

“Everything?” Begg lifted an eyebrow.

Hess did not know what “everything” was, he said. But Sinclair recognized Begg’s sudden alertness.

“Well,