down to dinner. He was introduced to Arno’s friends, who greeted him as if he was the guest of honor.
Once Arno had placed a glass of white wine in his hand—from a bottle that Armstrong realized the moment he sipped it had not come from the French sector—he was led into the small dining room and placed next to a man who introduced himself as Julius Hahn, and who Arno described as “my oldest friend and greatest rival.”
Armstrong had heard the name before, but couldn’t immediately place it. At first he ignored Hahn, and concentrated on the food that was set in front of him. He had started on his bowl of thin soup, uncertain which animal it had originated from, when Hahn began to question him about how things were back in London. It quickly became clear to Armstrong that this particular German had a far greater knowledge of the British capital than he did.
“I do hope it won’t be too long before foreign travel restrictions are lifted,” said Hahn. “I desperately need to visit your country again.”
“I can’t see the Allies agreeing to that for some time yet,” said Armstrong, as Mrs. Schultz replaced his empty soup bowl with a plate of rabbit pie.
“That distresses me,” said Hahn. “I am finding it increasingly difficult to keep track of some of my business interests in London.” And then the name clicked, and for the first time Armstrong rested his knife and fork on the plate. Hahn was the proprietor of Der Berliner, the rival paper, published in the American sector. But what else did he own?
“I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time,” said Armstrong. Hahn looked surprised, because up until that moment Captain Armstrong had shown no interest in him at all. “How many copies of Der Berliner are you printing?” Armstrong asked, already knowing, but wanting to keep Hahn talking before he asked the one question to which he really needed an answer.
“Around 260,000 copies a day,” replied Hahn. “And our other daily in Frankfurt is, I’m happy to say, back to selling well over two hundred thousand.”
“And how many papers do you have in all?” asked Armstrong casually, picking up his knife and fork again.
“Just the two. It used to be seventeen before the war, as well as several specialist scientific magazines. But I can’t hope to return to those sorts of numbers again until all the restrictions are lifted.”
“But I thought Jews—and I am a Jew myself—” once again Hahn looked surprised “—weren’t allowed to own newspapers before the war.”
“That’s true, Captain Armstrong. But I sold all my shares in the company to my partner, who was not Jewish, and he returned them to me at the price he had paid for them within days of the war ending.”
“And the magazines?” asked Armstrong, picking at his rabbit pie. “Could they make a profit during these hard times?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed, in the long run they may well prove to be a more reliable source of income than the newspapers. Before the war, my company had the lion’s share of Germany’s scientific publications. But from the moment Hitler marched into Poland, we were forbidden to publish anything that might prove useful to enemies of the Third Reich. I am presently sitting on eight years of unpublished research, including most of the scientific papers produced in Germany during the war. The publishing world would pay handsomely for such material if only I could find an outlet for it.”
“What’s stopping you from publishing it now?” asked Armstrong.
“The London publishing house which had an arrangement with me is no longer willing to distribute my work.”
The lightbulb hanging from the ceiling was suddenly switched off, and a small cake boasting a single candle was placed in the center of the table.
“And why is that?” asked Armstrong, determined not to let the conversation be interrupted, as Arno Schultz blew out his candle to a round of applause.
“Sadly, because the only son of the chairman was killed on the beaches of Dunkirk,” said Hahn, as the largest slice of cake was placed on Armstrong’s plate. “I have written to him often to express my condolences, but he simply doesn’t reply.”
“There are other publishing houses in England,” said Armstrong, picking up the cake and stuffing it into his mouth.
“Yes, but my contract doesn’t allow me to approach anyone else at the present time. I only have to wait a few more months now. I’ve already decided which London publishing house would best represent my interests.”
“Have you?” said Armstrong, wiping the crumbs off his mouth.
“If you could find the time, Captain Armstrong,” the German publisher said, “I would consider it an honor to show you round my presses.”
“My schedule is fairly hectic at the moment.”
“Of course,” said Hahn. “I quite understand.”
“But perhaps when I’m next visiting the American sector I could drop by.”
“Please do,” said Hahn.
Once dinner was over, Armstrong thanked his host for a memorable evening, and timed his departure so that he left at the same time as Julius Hahn.
“I hope we will meet again soon,” said Hahn as they stepped out onto the pavement.
“I’m sure we will,” said Armstrong, shaking hands with Arno Schultz’s closest friend.