to hang on. Chavasse desperately tried to pull him up, but it was no use. “Get out of here, you fool,” Hardt grunted, and fell.
As he crashed into the bushes below, there was a cry of triumph from his pursuers. Chavasse didn’t wait to hear any more. He jumped down to the ground from the roof of the summer house and staggered through the bushes toward the path.
He turned out of the gates and ran along the pavement, and the pain in his arms was intense. He wrenched open the door of the Volkswagen and slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.
“Let’s get out of here!” he gasped.
Anna turned in alarm. “What about Mark?”
“Don’t argue – just get this thing moving.”
For a moment, it seemed as if she intended to protest, and then she thought better of it and switched on the engine. A few seconds later, they were turning into the main road and she moved into top gear and drove very fast toward the center of Hamburg.
After a while, she said, “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “I’ve cut my arms getting across the blasted glass-topped wall, but I don’t think it’s serious.”
“And Mark?”
He told her what had happened. When he had finished, she said with surprising calm, “How badly do you think he was wounded?”
“He said it was in the shoulder,” Chavasse said. “I don’t think it could have been very serious.”
“And what happens now?” she said.
“I want some first aid for these arms, for one thing.”
“I can manage that all right,” she told him. “I’ve got a first-aid box back at the apartment.”
She drove the rest of the way in silence, and Chavasse lay back against the seat and closed his eyes. What a complete and utter mess the whole thing had been. Since Steiner knew they had talked to Schmidt, it must have been obvious to him that, sooner or later, they would be paying the clinic a visit. And yet what other move could they possibly have made?
He was still thinking about it when the Volkswagen came to a halt and he followed Anna upstairs to her apartment. She switched on the light, and turning to examine him, she gave a gasp of horror.
The sleeves of his jacket were torn in several places and stained with blood. She pulled off her coat and led the way into the bathroom. She took down a first-aid box and made everything ready before she gently eased him out of his jacket and dropped it into the corner.
There were three deep cuts in one arm, four in the other, and he laughed shakily as she bathed them with an antiseptic solution. “You know, it got pretty hot back there. For a while, I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”
She glanced up at him, a strange expression in her eyes. As she cut strips of surgical tape from a large roll, she said quietly, “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, Paul?”
For a moment, he was going to say no, but the moment passed and he nodded. “I don’t know what it is, but something gets into me. The excitement, I suppose, and the uncertainty of the whole business.”
She sighed heavily and finished taping his arms. “And that’s why you’ll never change.”
He had no time for arguments. He took the surgical scissors from her hand and quickly cut away the bloodstained section of each sleeve of his shirt. “Is there by any chance a spare jacket of Mark’s here?”
She nodded. “Yes, I think so. Shall I get it for you?” He followed her back into the living room. She went into the bedroom and came back with a grey tweed jacket. He pulled it on and buttoned it up. “Rather small, but it will have to do for the moment.”
He went into the bathroom and retrieved the Mauser from the pocket of his bloodstained jacket. Then he returned to the living room and took down, from a peg behind the door, the raincoat and green hat Hardt had originally given him.
As he buttoned the raincoat, Anna said, “Where are you going?”
“To find out what’s happening to Hardt,” he told her. “I’ve got a hunch they’ll be moving him tonight and I’d like to know where.”
She reached for her coat. “I’m coming with you.”
He gently took the coat from her and hung it behind the door. “No, you’re not. It only needs one of us to do a job like this.”
She shrugged. “All right, what
He smiled. “Cook me something nice for supper, if you like. I’ll only be an hour or so if I’m lucky.”
She turned away without speaking, and he went out quickly and down to the car. He drove straight back to Blankenese and, parking the Volkswagen around the corner from the clinic, went into the little bar opposite the main gates and ordered a beer.
The place was empty and the proprietor leaned on the zinc-topped bar reading a newspaper. Chavasse moved to the curtained window and stared across at the gates.
As he watched, they were opened wide by a man in uniform and peaked cap. When he had finished his task, he came across the road and entered the bar.
The proprietor smiled and laid down his paper. “Don’t tell me they’re sending you out at this time of night?”
The man in uniform nodded. “Just the sort of thing these bastards are always doing,” he said bitterly. “Give me a packet of cigarettes, will you?”
“Where to this time?” the proprietor of the bar said as he pushed the cigarettes across.
“Berndorf again.” The man snorted. “It’s bad enough on some of those country roads during the day, but at night it’s just impossible.” The door closed behind him with a crash and he moved back across the road and entered the gates.
A few moments later, a heavy ambulance came down the drive and turned into the road. A large, dark car followed close behind. They were obviously taking every precaution against being followed.
Chavasse moved out onto the pavement, considering his next move, and at that moment, Gisela came out of the main gates and crossed the street. She turned the corner into the main road and Chavasse hurried after her. He caught up with her as she drew abreast of the Volkswagen. “Can I offer you a lift?” he said.
She turned in surprise, and then recognition came to her face. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” She moved closer and there was respect in her voice. “What on earth did you do to Karl? They say he’s broken both his legs.”
He smiled and opened the door of the car. “Do you have far to go?”
She shook her head. “Not really – only to Flottbek.”
“Far enough,” he said, and handed her into the car.
He went round to the other side, climbed behind the wheel, and drove away. As they moved through the deserted streets, he said, “My friend wasn’t in room twelve, by the way. Apparently, they’ve moved him.”
She seemed genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know that.”
“Was there much of a disturbance back there after I left you?” he said.
She shrugged. “There’s always a fuss of some sort going on. You get so you don’t take any notice. Some of the women are terrible, you know.”
“Are they?” Chavasse said. “Tell me, has Dr. Kruger got another clinic anywhere?”
She shook her head. “Not that I know of.”
“The ambulance driver was in the bar a little while ago,” he told her. “He was saying something about taking a patient to a place called Berndorf.”
“Oh, they often take people to Berndorf,” she said, “but not to a clinic. They go there to convalesce. Dr. Kruger has a friend called Herr Nagel who owns a castle there. It’s supposed to be a lovely place.”
“I see,” Chavasse said casually. “And this man Nagel – does he visit the clinic often?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “He and Dr. Kruger are great friends. He’s very wealthy. Something to do with steel, I think.”
And then it clicked into place and Chavasse remembered something he’d read in a newspaper at Anna’s apartment. Kurt Nagel was a big industrialist, a man with a lot of influence in political circles. He was one of the prime organizers of the U.N. Peace Conference, and later in the week, he was giving a ball in honor of the delegates.
If a man like Nagel was working hand in glove with the Nazi underground, then things were more serious than
