The coffee revived him enough to make him alert, but not enough to wipe the gritty feeling from his eyes. Despite his best intentions, he would have to get some sleep. He would do no one any good if he could not think clearly. He had made a mental list. He still had one eyewitness he hadn’t spoken to. After he spoke with the old woman, Frau Dachs, he would talk with Gregor Strasser, other members of the NSDAP, and Hitler himself. First, Fritz went to Prinzregentenplaz. The old woman would have to be in so late at night. He would speak to her and get the letter. Then he would get some much needed rest. Lights were on in the stone apartment building, but only one light burned on the second floor. He hoped it was Hitler’s. Nothing had changed inside as Fritz climbed the stairs to the second floor. He almost expected to see reporters clamouring for a story, Brownshirts holding them away. But the entry and hall were eerily silent. It took a long time for anyone to respond to his knock. He heard a vague rustling behind the door before it was pulled open and he made a mental note: the building was so silent at night that the smallest sounds, covered in the daytime by ambient noise, were made audible.
