and felt for the bolt. He rammed it home and waited. The trap-door was made of knotted wood like the rest of the ceiling. Poor Kurt had made a skilful job of concealing the trap-door. Christa switched on a small torch she had brought from the kitchen.
The attic had a Disney-like character – roofs slanting at steep angles instead of walls. The floor was boarded over the rafters. Two tiny dormer windows had been masked with heavy curtains which let in no daylight. There were even two sleeping-bags and Christa had settled herself on one.
'Get on the other sleeping-bag,' she warned. 'The floorboards creak..'
'You know this place well?'
'Yes.' She nodded, her expression wistful. Lindsay reflected she had spent time with Kurt in this tiny, hidden world. He had eased himself on to the sleeping-bag next to the trap-door when they heard voices below, voices they could hear with surprising clarity. The police had arrived.
In the room below, Helga was chiding police sergeant Berg, a man of fifty-eight with an ample stomach and a flowing moustache. He had two men with him and instructed them to start the search.
'A body can't even finish her meagre meal without you invading her privacy,' Helga growled, leaning on her stick. 'There ought to be a law against it..'
'We are the law,' Berg reminded her amiably.
'Then there ought to be a law against the law!'
'We're looking for a man and a woman,' Berg explained in a conciliatory tone. 'The man is wearing an SS uniform..'
'I would let the SS into my place! Give him a meal – make him feel at home! Like bloody hell I would..'
'Now, Helga, I'm only doing my duty.'
'Then tell them to be careful in my kitchen. I can hear them messing about with crockery.'
It was at that moment when the knot of wood fell from the trap-door into the room below. Lindsay had pressed his ear to the trap to hear more clearly and was appalled. He distinctly heard it ping on the floor of the room below during a brief pause in the conversation. He heard Berg's reaction.
'What was that?'
The Englishman saw Christa's hand clench before she switched off the torch. Without touching the woodwork, he peered down with one eye through the hole the fallen knot had left. He had a clear view of the room.
Berg had been standing looking out of the window with his back to Helga when the knot fell. Helga sighed and moved her stick four inches, covering the knot with the tip of her stick. Berg had turned round and was looking suspiciously at her. There was no smile on his face now. He had become the official policeman.
'The stove, of course!' rasped Helga. 'Sometimes,' she went on with withering sarcasm, 'I get hold of a piece of wood I can actually burn in it! Is there a law against that too?'
Through the spy-hole Lindsay watched and held his breath. The knot of wood was larger than the tip of her stick. Berg had only to look down… His next move would be to look up. And since the policeman was not wearing glasses his eyesight was probably excellent.
Helga, her mouth tight and surly, held Berg's gaze, then she went on talking, her manner aggressive. 'You haven't looked inside that big cupboard yet. Maybe I have your SS man hidden away behind my few clothes. There's plenty of room, dumb-head!'
Berg was so annoyed he went to the cupboard and opened both doors. Helga stooped quickly, picked up the knot of wood and hobbled over to the stove. She used one hand to lift up the lid with the poker and with the other flipped the knot inside. Berg closed the doors of the cupboard and swung round.
'Helga, I don't like this any more than you do. The man wearing SS uniform is British..'
'I know! He has a hooked nose and a scar on his right cheek.'
'You've seen him!'
'Berg, you fell for that one, you old fool!' She cackled, waving her stick at him in a mock threatening gesture. 'Time they put you out to grass!'
She glared as the other two policemen reappeared respectively from the bedroom and the kitchen. They both shook their heads. Pointing her stick at the door to the outer landing, Helga growled at them.
'You know the way out, or have you forgotten the layout of this luxurious apartment?'
Berg made a gesture for them to leave, closed the door and came back into the room. He stood exactly beneath the hole in the trap-door. He only had to glance up… Lindsay tensed. Did he know of the existence of the attic?
Berg reached inside his coat pocket and brought out a round tin which he presented to Helga. 'My brother came on leave from Tunisia a week ago. They captured an English truck which had lost its way in the mountains. Stacked with the stuff – English coffee. Lyons. Something for the trouble you've been caused..'
'Bribery! Black market, too!' Helga's claw-like hand reached out and grasped the tin. 'You're a villain, Berg. You know that? I may drink your health with the first cup.'
'I'll be going – but to save you more trouble I'll leave this document which confirms this building has been searched.' Producing a piece of paper he spread it on the table, dated and signed it and gave it to her. 'If the SS arrive wave this in their faces. It's signed by the Munich chief of police as well as myself.'
'I'l1 see you downstairs. No, don't argue! I want to make sure that outer door to the alley is locked and bolted myself. You wouldn't believe the people who find their way down that alley in the dark.'
'Believe me, I would,' Berg said vehemently.
The door closed and the flat was suddenly unnaturally hushed. In the attic Christa let out a sigh of relief and stretched her aching limbs. She had remained cramped in one position during the whole tense ordeal.
'When that knot of wood came loose I could have screamed,' she said.
'How did you know?'
She grasped his hand and pointed it upwards. Lindsay saw above him a distorted blip of light on the slanting roof, light from the room below. He told her what had happened.
'She's a gutsy old girl,' he remarked. 'Now she's making sure they leave the premises. While she's away there are things you should know in case something happens to me before we make the rendezvous tomorrow. At exactly eleven in the morning in front of the Frauenkirche
He explained every detail of how to link up with the agent, Paco. She nestled up dose to him in the dark, listening carefully. He then went on to tell her something else.
'If you alone get through to Switzerland with Paco…'
'We both get through or not at all,' she said fiercely.
'It's wartime. For God's sake, listen. The Allied Command want to know the location of the Fuhrer's secret headquarters. You can tell them that better than I can. The second thing they want to know is who is controlling the German war machine. Well, it's the Fuhrer himself…' He paused, wondering whether to go on.
'There's something else, isn't there?' she said quietly. 'About the Fuhrer
'Go on…'
'Ever since he returned from that trip to the Eastern front at Smolensk he's seemed different. I don't think other people have noticed because they're so frightened of him – including Keitel and Jodl. And ever since he arrived back he's either listened and said nothing – or else screamed at them. The way he walks isn't quite right. There are other things, little things only a woman would notice. It's uncanny – I've felt I was in the presence of his twin brother – except that he hadn't one..'
'You said hadn't – past tense. Your feeling must be strong. I notice you didn't mention Bormann when you referred to Keitel and Jodl…'
'Bormann has also been acting strangely since the Fuhrer's return. Every time during a military conference when I looked at the Fuhrer, trying to work out what seemed different, I found Bormann watching me like a cat – as though trying to make up his mind abbot something.'
'Something about the Fuhrer?'
'No! Something about me – whether I had noticed the change..'
' The change. Christa, you've put your finger on it. They've found a dummy Fuhrer – Bormann has, I'm certain. While at the Berghof the first time I witnessed a nightmare scene…'
He told her about the man gesturing and screaming at the top of his voice inside the circle of mirrors. Her fingers gripped his arm tightly as he went on. At one moment she had been stroking the edge of his jaw but now
