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“Interesting, very interesting,” the consul kept repeating.

‘I told him about the Indian village that we had been supposed to visit, how it had turned out to be farther away then we had thought, so we had to turn around and go back, and I told him how we had rafted down the river, how we had split up from Karl and Marcus, and about the accident that you and I had had on the river. I told him that I had come to report Karl’s disappearance and perhaps to organise a rescue party if no one heard anything from him within the next day or two.

‘I was amazed when the consul laughed. “That’s a good one: help you look for Karl Ruchprecter,” he said. “We’d much rather help him get lost.” And he laughed some more. “An uncle who raises beef cattle? A fugitive Nazi? Karl has such a vivid imagination.”

‘He noticed the stunned look on my face, and this is what he told me: “Karl Ruchprecter is quite well-known to us, but he doesn’t have an uncle in Bolivia. Karl himself is the escaped fugitive. He is wanted by both the Austrian government and Interpol. He’s a professional troublemaker, an instigator. He was involved with radical leftist groups in Europe about ten years ago. He and his friends stirred up a lot of trouble, and the Austrian police were looking for him. He was either lucky or well connected enough to make his way here. Someone must have provided him with a false passport.”