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Finally, while we were drinking a cupo of coffee, Uncle Kurt decided to go on with the
relation.

–Oh no, –I replied–. It’d be better if we return to the living-room. There we’ll be more
comfortable.

I lamented to mess up the enthusiasm of Uncle Kurt but I don’t wanted to face the
dogos. I knew that sooner or later I would have to do it but I’d procure to do it on daylight. The
dogos at night again? The idea filled me with apprehension, but Uncle Kurt did not notice it
because he shrugged his shouldres and went to the living-room followed by me.

–Three or four weeks later arriving to Crossinsee I returned to Berlin –Uncle Kurt
continued relating– to interview Konrad Tarstein, my contact in the Thulegesellshcaft.

The Gregorstrasse 239 corresponded to an ancient barn of two floors that had to count
with more than two centuries of venturesome existence and the only inhabitant, Konrad
Tarstein, resulted to be a typical Berliner petit bourgeois, bald, short stature, with thick belly,
who fitted perfectly with the decrepitude of the place.

It is probable that such place and man –I thought– had as objective to mislead possible
spies or disappoint unquiet aspirants. I suffered the second effect at tugging a moldy shackle
which turned around inside a bronze fist doubtfully fixed to the shabby door.

–Yes? –asked a startling voice that emerged from some undefined place.

–I am Kurt von Sübermann –I said, talking to the tiny eyehole that at last I had
discovered in one of the panels of the door, whence a pair of elusive little eyes were looking at
me impatient. –Herr Rudolph Hess sends me…

The door was opened and a chubby and small figure appeared, with the hand courteously
extended to salute.

–I am Konrad Tarstein –He said–. Come in, I was waiting for you.

The interior not improved in nothing the first impression. Fournished with manifested

tastelessness, in a neglected mix of forms and styles, a few minutes in the house were enough
for anyone to be discouraged that there was or could be something important. And
nevertheless I expected a lot of the Thulegesellschaft in which, according to Rudolph Hess, I’d
find answer to all my queries.

Seated in a ridiculous divan Louis XV, which seemed to had nothing to do there, before a
Norman table and some friar chairs, I observed with surprise that Konrad Tarstein was going to
fill a sheet. Was the furthest thing from a spiritual activity that I could imagine and for this
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