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“The wonders of ‘electronics’!” cried Begg. Then he moved quickly toward the projecting steel box, where he knew he would find the mortal remains of Hitler’s mistress.

Begg’s expression changed to one of deep pity as he studied the contents. Even Sinclair stood back, paying some sort of respect to the corpse. Begg touched the skin, inspected the wound, and then, frowning, bent as if to kiss the frozen lips.

A shocked word froze on Sinclair’s tongue as Begg straightened up, his nose wrinkling almost in disgust. “See what you think, Taffy.”

After Sinclair had inspected the corpse, Hoffmann turned the switch to send the temporary coffin back into its gleaming, stainless-steel housing.

“I know we’re on opposite sides in this, Sir Seaton,” Hoffman said, “but I have to insist the obvious suspect is the masochist. Herr Hitler. Hired killers? Communists? Mysterious lovers? How could we find them? The Winters noted only one lover but hinted at many others. They would not be on our side in court. I suppose I shouldn’t be saying this. But I know your analytical powers, Sir Seaton. And your thirst for justice.”

“And you know something of the science of psychiatry?” chimed in Taffy.

“Of course, I first studied in Vienna. To me this Hitler matter seems a classic case of the father figure and the bored young protégée. The father becomes obsessively possessive. The more he grows like that, the more she seeks to break free in the only way she knows— affairs of the heart. One after another. The father, unable to watch her hourly, pretends it isn’t happening. The daughter grows bolder. No one can ignore what is going on. Her affairs become common gossip. Eventually his ego can be suppressed no longer. . . .” He turned to Begg. “You saw the marks on her face and shoulders?”

“Indeed I did,” said the detective.

“He had beaten the poor little thing black and blue!” Sinclair barely controlled his anger. “They were fighting, as you say, and brought Hitler’s gun into play. Next thing, ‘Bang,’ and the girl’s dead on the carpet.”

“Lovers’ quarrel?” said Rose von Bek. “Maybe. But I prefer to believe the girl knows too much about our suspect’s sex life as well as political plans. Election coming up. She tries blackmail. Second time it’s happened. Could she have been behind the first attempt? He snaps.” She spread her hands, palms out. “Open and shut.” She made fists. “This isn’t the first time Herr Adolf Hitler has been involved in some sadistic business or other, I take it.”

Hoffmann nodded. “But, if it could be proven, Hitler’s enemies would be dancing in the streets. His chances of wheedling any more concessions from Hindenburg would disappear at once. Hindenburg already considers him a parvenu. So he has to go to great lengths to build an alibi.”

Begg became uncomfortable at this. “You seem to hate Hitler,” he suggested. “Yet you seem to be a conservative yourself. . . .”

“I hate Bolshevism.” Hoffmann searched through a gleaming filing cabinet for the documents he needed. “But I am also a Catholic, and all the Nazis’ antireligious talk, especially against the Jews, who are amongst the most law-abiding people in the nation, is too much for me to stomach. I know Hitler did this murder, but that alibi . . .”

“No way he could have come back, committed the crime, then returned to Nuremberg?” asked Sinclair.

“Too many people know him in Nuremberg. He is very popular there. They would have noticed something. Of course, he could have used another car altogether, and a disguise. I think you’ll agree the bruises might have been delivered earlier than the gunshot?”

All three nodded.

“So,” continued Hoffmann, “she knew too much. There was a fight. The gun. A shot. I don’t say it was premeditated. Then he gets into the car and heads for Nuremberg, guessing nobody would want to disturb her until the next morning. He locked her door with his own key. No doubt he had had it made long before.”

Begg smiled almost apologetically, adding: “And then she appears on the balcony. No doubt she has at last got Hitler’s message. Stemming the blood from her