Liebermann was already sitting at their usual table in the little coffeehouse when Inspector Rheinhardt walked in and sat down with a sigh--he didn't say anything, but still, Liebermann could tell that the day's events had caught up with his friend. However, all was forgotten when the waiter placed a cup of türkische and a slice of zwetschgenkuchen in front of him, and the strong scent of the coffee, along with the rich, luscious feel of the plums (and something else Rheinhardt couldn't quite place--a sweet taste that made him think of home and happiness), felt like a well-earned prize. He looked up and still didn't say anything--he just smiled into Liebermann's eyes.