“I’m sorry, Anna,” Chavasse said quietly.
She managed a smile. “It’s all right, Paul. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I should have used my brains,” he said, “but we all make mistakes.”
“Is this the Jewish one?” Nagel said. “I must say she’s charming. Quite charming.”
Kruger was regarding her with a peculiar, fixed stare. “You know my opinion of the race, my dear Kurt,” he said to Nagel, “but their womenfolk have always appealed to me.”
Anna shuddered, and Kruger moved closer and placed a hand on her arm, “You’ve nothing to worry about, my dear. As long as you behave yourself, that is.”
She pulled away from him. “Keep your hands off me.”
Kruger shrugged. “If you want it the hard way, that’s all right with me.” He pushed her toward Hans. “Lock her in the room next to mine. No food or water. I’ll deal with her myself later.”
Chavasse tried to look reassuring as Hans pulled her out into the hall. She managed one brave smile over her shoulder, and then Steiner closed the door.
Nagel said, “Now then, Chavasse. Let’s get down to business. What do you know about this Bormann business?”
Chavasse said, “Why ask me when you’ve got Muller?”
Nagel sighed. “Unfortunately, Muller is proving to be extremely stupid. So far he has refused to talk. I confess to some puzzlement about this. I offered him a large sum of money – very large. However, we now have some more information which should help.”
“And what would that be?” Chavasse said.
Nagel smiled. “All in good time, my friend. First, I am going to let you have a few words with Muller. Perhaps you can make him see sense.”
“I can’t see why anything I can say should make him change his mind,” Chavasse said. “Not after the things you must have done to him.”
Nagel shrugged. “You can tell him that my patience is at an end, for one thing.” He turned to the others. “Shall we all go? I think this might prove interesting.”
Steiner opened the door and led the way and Chavasse followed, with Kruger and Nagel bringing up the rear. They crossed the hall and mounted the great staircase to the gallery. From somewhere in the very depths of the castle, Chavasse could hear several dogs barking monotonously, and something seemed to crawl across his skin as he wondered if he would ever leave this place alive.
They mounted several stairs that led into an upper gallery, and two men who had been sitting quietly reading, in opposite chairs, stood up. They were stolid and brawny, obviously picked more for muscle than for brain, and Kruger told them to go down to the kitchen for a meal.
As they walked away, Kruger turned to Nagel and said, “Shall we let him have a word with his friend before seeing Muller?” He sniggered. “After all, it may be their last chance.”
Nagel smiled thinly. “By all means.”
Kruger unlocked the next door they came to, and Steiner pushed Chavasse inside.
The room was quite comfortably furnished and seemed normal except for the bars on the windows. Hardt was lying on the bed, and he swung his legs to the floor and rose to meet them.
His right arm was in a sling and his face looked drawn and pale. He stared somberly at Chavasse, eyes a little feverish, and a savage smile touched the corners of his mouth. “So they managed to catch up with you, Paul?”
Chavasse nodded. “I’m afraid so. Are you all right?”
Kruger moved forward. “He is doing extremely well, aren’t you, Herr Hardt? A minor flesh wound in the shoulder. I attended to it myself.”
“Without an anesthetic.” Hardt looked across at Chavasse. “He still hasn’t grown up. Enjoys pulling the wings off flies and all that sort of thing.”
Kruger deliberately placed his hand on the injured shoulder and squeezed. Hardt fell back onto the bed. “I shall be in again later,” Kruger said. “When I have finished with you, you will have learned how to curb your tongue.”
He pushed Chavasse out of the door and told Steiner to lock it. They walked along to the other end of the gallery and paused outside the last door.
Nagel said, “You can have five minutes, Herr Chavasse. For Muller’s sake, I hope he listens to you.”
Kruger unlocked the door and Steiner pushed Chavasse violently inside. The door closed behind him and he went forward.
It was a bare, unfurnished room. In the center a strong, metal operating table was bolted to the floor and leather straps hung from it, presumably used to hold the patient in position.
Muller was lying on a trundle bed in the far corner under a barred window. Chavasse went across and sat on the edge of the bed, and after a while Muller opened his eyes and stared up at him.
He seemed to be in his early forties and had a gaunt, skull-like face that was covered with skin the color of parchment. There were no visible marks, and Chavasse leaned forward and gently lifted the sheet. Muller was completely naked and his body was crisscrossed with great livid bruises and angry red weals. He had obviously been terribly beaten.
He stared vacantly at Chavasse for a moment and then something seemed to click, and fear appeared in his eyes. He tried to draw away with a tiny moan, and Chavasse said gently, “Don’t worry, Muller. I’m not one of them.”
Muller moistened cracked lips. “Who are you?”
“Paul Chavasse, the man you were supposed to meet on the North-West Express at Osnabruck.”
Muller shook his head weakly. “Why should I believe you?”
Chavasse leaned closer and pointed to his wounded face. “Who do you think gave me this?” Muller frowned and looked half-convinced and Chavasse went on. “I even know about your sister – they don’t know about that. She was working at the Taj Mahal under the name of Katie Holdt.”
Muller reached out and clawed feebly toward Chavasse. “For God’s sake, you mustn’t tell them that. I beg you not to tell them.” There were tears in his eyes. “It is only for my sister’s sake that I have kept quiet. I know what they would do to her.”
Chavasse eased him back against the pillow and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about her. Has she got the manuscript?”
Muller nodded feebly. “I thought no one knew of her existence. She was supposed to have died in the bombing in 1943.”
“And Bormann,” Chavasse said, “where is he?”
“That’s the big joke,” Muller said, “the best joke of all. He died three months ago in a little village in the Harz Mountains.”
“You were his orderly during the war,” Chavasse said. “What happened afterward?”
Muller moistened his lips again. “Bormann had money salted away in Portugal. We lived there under assumed names and I acted as his valet. When his health started to fail and he knew he was dying, he decided to return to Germany. He spent the last year of his life writing the manuscript. He called it his testament.”
Something seemed to rattle in his throat and he closed his eyes. As Chavasse stood up, the door opened and the others moved in. Nagel was smoking a cigarette in a long holder. “Have you anything to tell me, Herr Chavasse?”
Chavasse shook his head. “Not a thing.”
Nagel sighed. “What a pity – in that case…”
He made a slight gesture with one hand and Hans, who had moved behind Chavasse, grabbed his arms and jerked them behind his back. Steiner moved in very fast, his great hands clenched. “Now comes the rest of the debt I owe you,” he said coldly, and Chavasse rocked back against Hans as a fist crashed against his already damaged right cheek, sending waves of pain moving through him.
He lifted both feet and slammed them into Steiner’s stomach as the big German moved in again. Steiner was thrown back against the operating table. For a moment, he hung there, and then he moved forward, a terrible look on his face.
As Chavasse started to struggle, Hans slid one forearm across his throat and squeezed and Chavasse started to choke. Steiner’s first blow landed in his stomach and was followed by another and still another until Chavasse slid
