Munich, August 30th, 1932.

At the Palatial Hotel Continental, a party of guests is shown to its table in the grand dining room.

Dinner at the Continental is an elegant affair. Dinner

jackets, evening dresses, oat cuisine. Beneath the chandeliers a string quartet

plays. The head of the party from a noble family is quite at home in the

surroundings. Though he's not averse to roughing it, he's seen action as an imperial cavalryman, a war reporter, and later as an infantryman in the trenches of the Western Front.

Back home in Britain, he has since sought a career as a member of Parliament, though he is somewhat out in the cold.

He likes to busy himself with his pet projects, he paints, he writes, is writes, he's an historian, he's also partial to a brandy in a cigar.

Over the summer, Winston Churchill has been touring the battlefields of Europe, researching his ancestor, the first Duke of Marlborough.

In 1704, the English general scored a tremendous military victory, not far from here, at the Battle of Blenheim.

As Churchill's party take their seats they're joined by another man. He is a tall

chivalrous Bavarian, impeccably mannered, who speaks flawless English with an American accent.

Ernst Hampsteinel, known to all as Putsi.

Ham Stengel, a member of the Nazi Party, has been keen to introduce Churchill to his boss,

his Fura, one Adolf Hitler. He feels it most important that the two men meet. He has a sense

that Churchill is not yet a spent force. He has arranged for the Nazi leader to join them

after dinner for coffee.

As the evening wears on, Hamstengel eyes his watch.

Conscious of Hitler's slack timekeeping, he excuses himself and hurries to fetch him.

His apartment is close by.

He is shocked, however, to find his furor quite unready.

Hitler is unkempt. He has on a filthy old jacket, he's unshaven. He clearly has no intention of going.

...