‘Good to see you, Coningsby,’ said Marty in a hoarse whisper. The use of Eusden’s college nickname was reassuringly spirited. It was a reference to his family’s supposed descent from the eighteenth-century poet laureate Laurence Eusden, sometime rector of Coningsby, in Lincolnshire. The pair had driven up there from Cambridge one Saturday in pursuit of the poet’s shade, but had only succeeded in becoming so drunk in the village pub that they had had to stay overnight before driving back. ‘Not that… I can actually see you.’

‘The lights don’t work.’

‘Werner turned them off at the mains. Just as well the block’s centrally heated, otherwise I’d have frozen to death. The fuse box is in the hall cupboard.’

‘OK. Hang on.’

Eusden retreated into the hall and opened the cupboard. After collapsing an ironing board on himself, he succeeded in feeling his way to the fuse box. He pushed up all the switches. Overhead lights came on in the hall and lounge. He hurried back.

The scene was stark. Marty lay trussed and crumpled. There was far more grey in his hair than when they had last met. And he had lost weight. He looked like an old man, lying where he had fallen. But he still sounded like the younger version of himself Eusden recalled. ‘If you’re still as good at untying knots as you were in the Scouts, it’d be quicker to fetch a knife from the kitchen.’ A nod pointed Eusden in the right direction.

The kitchen, like the lounge, was fitted out in an old-fashioned style. Frau Straub did not appear to be an enthusiastic modernizer. Eusden discovered several formidably bladed knives in one of the drawers, however. He chose what seemed the sharpest.

‘For Christ’s sake be careful,’ croaked Marty as Eusden set to work. ‘I don’t want to bleed to death after surviving twenty-four hours bound and gagged in this hellhole.’

‘I am being careful. There.’ He released Marty’s wrists and started on his ankles. Once those ropes were also free, he pulled the chair away and watched Marty roll slowly forward, groaning and grimacing as he gradually straightened his arms and legs. ‘How d’you feel?’

‘Oh, tip-bloody-top, thanks.’ Marty gasped as blood coursed back into starved limbs and joints. ‘How do I feel? How do you think I feel?’

‘Sorry.’

‘No need. At least you came. Where would I be if you hadn’t?’

‘What’s this all about, Marty?’

‘Didn’t Werner tell you?’

‘Hardly.’

‘No. I suppose he wouldn’t.’ Marty coughed and sat up gingerly, supporting himself against the chair. ‘Any chance… of a drink of water?’

‘Of course. I should’ve thought.’

Eusden filled a glass from the kitchen tap. Marty gulped the contents down and handed it back for a refill. ‘I’d never have thought German tap water would taste so good.’

‘You shouldn’t drink too much too fast.’

‘OK, nurse. I’ll sip the next one.’ Marty ran a hand along the rope that still fastened the chair to a radiator pipe. ‘Then I might think about standing up.’

Eusden refilled the glass. Obediently, Marty drank slowly this time, the glass shaking in his hand as he did so. He gave Eusden a pained smile. ‘Sorry about the state I’m in, Richard.’

‘Don’t worry about that.’ Eusden sat down in a nearby armchair. ‘We’ll soon get you cleaned up.’

‘Gemma talked you into taking her place, did she?’

‘Yup.’

‘Thought she might.’

‘You did?’

‘I can read her like a book. You too, come to that. You gave the attaché case to Werner, I assume.’

‘I wouldn’t say gave. It was his price for the address of this place. And the keys. I didn’t have much choice.’

‘You could have told him to go to hell. I’m a dying man, Richard. Didn’t Gemma mention that?’

‘She mentioned it.’

‘So, saving my life is… a temporary achievement at best.’ Marty raised a trembling hand. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you came. See what was in the case, did you?’

‘No.’

‘But Werner opened it in front of you?’

‘Yes. He seemed satisfied with what he’d got.’

‘I’ll bet. Was he alone?’

‘Yes. Shouldn’t he have been?’

‘There was a hired heavy waiting when we came here on Sunday night. Ill or not, I might have got the better of Werner on his own. Maybe he took the bloke on for just the one job. You should be grateful he didn’t add roughing you up to the contract. Not that he needed to, of course. I guess he was confident whichever of you and Gemma showed up would cooperate. Leaving Werner in the clear.’

‘We should report what’s happened to the police, Marty. You were assaulted, for God’s sake. And I was robbed.’

‘Forget it.’

‘Forget it?’

‘I mean forget going to the police. Werner knows I can’t do that.’ Marty swallowed some more water. Then he braced himself against the chair and rose unsteadily to his feet.

‘Careful.’

Eusden was at his side. But Marty signalled to be left alone and smiled stubbornly at his success in standing upright. ‘What happened after you handed over the case?’ he asked, rubbing his sandpapery chin.

‘I caught the train here.’

‘I didn’t know there were through trains from Brussels.’

‘We were in Cologne. We travelled that far together. Straub said you were waiting for us at the Hotel Ernst. That’s where he… presented his terms.’

‘Cologne? Well, I guess that makes sense. An hour from Frankfurt airport on the high-speed line. He’ll make an early start.’

‘You think he’s planning to leave the country?’

‘No. He’s planning to meet someone off a flight from the States. Someone I was supposed to be meeting with him. Looks like I’ve been… iced out of the deal.’

‘What is the deal, Marty?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘After the day I’ve had, yes, I do.’

‘Sure about that?’

Eusden nodded emphatically. ‘Absolutely.’

‘OK. Tell you what. I’ll take a shower. The water’ll probably be cold, but at least I’ll smell sweeter. You didn’t bring a change of clothes with you by any chance?’

‘I came straight from the office.’

‘I should’ve guessed from the way you’re dressed. Never mind. Maybe Werner’s mother hasn’t chucked out everything that belonged to his father yet. You could check that while I shower. And see if the old bat left any food in the fridge when she jetted off for her fortnight in the sun.’ Marty set out at a totter across the room. ‘When I’m clean and less hungry, I’ll tell you what you think you want to know.’

Marty’s instinct about Frau Straub’s disposal policy was sound. There was a wardrobe in the main bedroom filled with suits, shirts, sweaters and trousers that could easily have come from a German equivalent of John Collier circa 1970. Eusden laid out a hopeful selection on the bed and headed for the kitchen. The pickings there were thinner: a few rye crackers in a tin, an unopened pack of Emmental and several bottles of Löwenbräu. He opened one of the beers for himself and went back to the lounge.

As he entered the room, the telephone started ringing. At 2.25 a.m. he thought the caller was unlikely to be Frau Straub’s sister in Stuttgart. Maybe it was a wrong number. On balance, he hoped so.

After ten to twelve rings, it stopped. Then, a moment later, it started again. He picked it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Check the mailbox.’

‘What? Who is-’

But the line was already dead. Eusden replaced the receiver and gazed out through the window into the night. Then he crossed to the light switch and flicked it to off, plunging the room into darkness. He returned to the window and peered down into the street. There was no sign of life. After a struggle with the latch, he succeeded in opening the window. He leant out for a wider view. But there was nothing to see.

The shower was still running in the bathroom. Marty could not have heard the telephone ring. Eusden debated with himself what to do. The message could be a trick, devised to lure him or Marty outside, but Straub would surely not have given up his only set of keys. If his ‘hired heavy’ was the caller, he was probably equipped to let himself in. Besides, he could have waylaid Eusden when he arrived if he had wanted to. And they would have to leave sooner or later anyway. Eusden headed for the door.