The years seemed to have fallen away from him, and for the moment, he was once more the young colonel who had led his men over the top at the Somme armed with a swagger stick, his belt and buttons gleaming.

He opened the rear door of the Mercedes. “Get in!” he said.

Chavasse hesitated, and then he shrugged and did as he was ordered. He lay on the floor and Sir George covered him with a rug and closed the door. A moment later and they moved slowly away.

They came to a halt and steps approached. As the man started to speak, Chavasse held his breath, and then he heard Steiner’s voice break in angrily. “Leave this to me. Go back to your post.” He leaned down to the window and said in his careful, clipped English, “Sorry you’ve been troubled, Sir George.”

“Ah, Inspector Steiner,” Sir George said. “Who are you looking for this time?”

Chavasse could almost see Steiner’s characteristic shrug. “No one in particular, Sir George. It’s an old police custom to spread a net when there is a large crowd. It is surprising how often it pays with a good haul. I regret you have been inconvenienced.”

The car moved on and picked up speed. Chavasse remained on the floor for another five minutes, and then he pushed back the rug and sat in the rear seat. “That was close.”

Sir George shook his head. “I wasn’t worried for a minute.” He laughed excitedly. “You know, I’m beginning to enjoy this, Chavasse. I’ve been living my safe, ordered, and rather stuffy existence for so long now, I’d almost forgotten what it could be like to take a chance.”

“You’ve taken enough for one day,” Chavasse said. “You can stop any time you like and let me out. I’ll catch the U-Bahn back into town.”

Sir George shook his head. “Nothing doing, my boy. I’ll take you to where you want to go.”

“And what about your friends?” Chavasse reminded him. “They’ll be wondering what’s happened to you.”

Sir George swore mildly. “You’re right, I suppose. Where can I drop you then?”

“We’re coming into Hellbrook,” Chavasse said. “You can stop outside the underground station. I can manage fine from there.”

A few moments later, the car drew in to the side of the road and Chavasse got out. He leaned in at the window. “Thanks for everything. You deserve a medal.”

Sir George snorted. “Just remember to call on me if you need any more help.” He chuckled. “You know, you’ve given me a new lease on life. I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself so much for years.”

The big car turned and roared back along the road to Farmsen. Chavasse stood there, watching it go and thinking about Sir George Harvey. He was quite a man, there was no doubt about that. As the car disappeared from sight round a bend in the road, he turned and went quickly into Wandsbek station.

IT was nearly four-thirty when he mounted the stairs to Anna Hartman’s apartment and knocked on the door. It was opened almost at once, and she pulled him inside, her face white and strained. “Where have you been?” she demanded. “I was almost out of my mind with worry.”

“Any particular reason?” he said as he took off his coat.

She shook her head. “There hasn’t been a mention of the train affair on the radio. I’ve listened to every bulletin. I can’t understand it.”

“You worry too much,” Chevasse said. “Steiner’s probably persuaded his superiors to allow him to handle the case in his own way. After all, he can’t let someone else get their hands on me – I might talk too much. He’s got to reach me first, if only to save his own skin.”

He pulled her down beside him on the couch. “Did you manage to find out anything about Katie Holdt?”

She shook her head. “Not a thing. Her landlady didn’t even see her go. Apparently she left the rent she owed in an envelope, with a brief note saying she’d been called away urgently. There was definitely no forwarding address.”

“That’s a pity,” Chavasse said. “She might have proved useful. At least we now know how Muller came to be connected with Bormann in the first place.” She looked surprised and he quickly explained about his trip to Farmsen.

“How on earth can you take such risks?” she said when he had finished. “Couldn’t Sir George have given you the message over the phone?”

Chavasse jumped to his feet and walked across to the window. “I suppose he could, but I get restless. I have to be in at the heart of things.” He turned with a smile. “Never mind about me – has Hardt been in touch yet?”

She nodded. “We’re to meet him at Blankenese tonight in a café by the Elbe. I know the place. Apparently, he’s found out everything we need to know about Kruger and his clinic.”

“That sounds fair enough,” Chavasse said. “What time are we meeting him?”

“Nine o’clock,” she said. “It will be dark by then.”

He moved across to the couch and pulled her to her feet. “That gives us almost five hours to kill.” He held her hand securely. “What on earth can we find to do?”

She drew away from him. “There’s a newspaper there,” she told him. “You can read that while I prepare a meal for you.”

She went into the kitchen and he followed her and stood leaning in the doorway, a slight smile on his face. “I much prefer to watch you.”

She turned to look at him, and suddenly she moved forward and into his arms. “Oh, Paul, I was so frightened for you,” she said. “You’ll never know how frightened I was.”

He held her tightly in his arms and stroked her hair and whispered comfortingly, and all the time he was staring out of the opposite window as he admitted the one, hard fact that he had not wanted to acknowledge. That from the moment he had first seen her at the Taj Mahal, standing just inside the door in her ridiculous harlot’s dress, he had been caught in a tide of emotion so strong it could not possibly be denied.

As he lifted her face, he wondered ironically what the Chief would say, and then he kissed her and forgot about everything. About Muller, Steiner, the Bormann manuscript – everything except this girl.

They arrived at Blankenese at half past eight and parked the car in the Hauptstrasse. Anna led the way and Chavasse followed her along a narrow, steeply sloping alley that finally brought them out onto the shore of the Elbe.

There were plenty of people about, and the gaily painted, brightly lit cafés that lined the shore seemed to be doing good business. Anna led the way into one of them, and they sat down at a corner table on a terrace that jutted out over the water. Chavasse ordered two beers and gave her a cigarette while they waited.

The terrace was lit by a string of Chinese lanterns and they had it completely to themselves. As they sat there in silence, he felt curiously at peace with himself; a small wind lifted across the water, carrying with it the dank, moist smell of autumn.

“I like this place,” he said. “Have you been here often?”

She nodded. “Blankenese is one of my favorite spots. It’s very popular with young couples, you know.”

He leaned across and placed a hand on one of hers. “Do you think we could qualify for the club?”

A sudden, delightful smile appeared on her face and she took hold of his hand and gripped it firmly. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could, Paul? If only we were like all the other couples strolling along the Strandweg – just two people in love and enjoying each other’s company with nothing else to worry about.”

For a moment, he wanted to tell her that there was always something to worry about – money, disease, poverty, old age – but he didn’t have the heart. He smiled and said lightly, “Mark isn’t due until nine. That gives us at least half an hour to pretend.”

She smiled again and said softly, “Then let’s pretend.”

The waiter brought their beer and Chavasse drank his slowly, reveling in the cold dryness of it, and watched a passenger ship steam slowly past on its way out to sea, a blaze of lights from stem to stern. Faintly across the water, he could hear voices and careless laughter above the throb of the engines.