Chavasse could feel her eyes imploring him to turn and look at her, but some stubborn impulse kept him walking steadily back along the pavement, and in through the gates of the empty house. There was no sound, only the slight rustle of the wind through half-bare trees, and Hardt pushed him forward.

There was a decaying summer house set against the dividing wall, and Chavasse hoisted himself up onto its roof and peered cautiously over into the grounds of the clinic.

The top of the wall was covered with concrete in which hundreds of pieces of broken glass had been set, and he tested them gingerly with his fingertips. Hardt moved up beside him and quickly draped several old sacks across a section of the wall. “I found these in the summer house when I was nosing around this afternoon,” he whispered.

They could see the windows of the lounge running toward the front to the house, and heard a sudden burst of laughter from the patients who were watching the film. “Sounds as if they’re enjoying it,” Chavasse said. “Are you ready?”

Hardt nodded, and Chavasse placed one hand lightly on the thick padding of the sacks and vaulted over the wall. He landed knee-deep in dead leaves, and a moment later Hardt was beside him.

They moved across the lawn, keeping under the trees, and approached the door to the boiler house. Chavasse listened intently at the door for a moment, and then opened it easily and quickly and moved inside, hands ready. There was no one there.

He moved on without speaking, through the opposite door and along a narrow stone passage. Facing him was another door. When he opened it, the room was in darkness. His groping hand found the switch and turned it on. The cellar was full of laundry baskets and facing him was the entrance to the service elevator.

Chavasse examined it quickly. It was simple enough to operate and he turned to Hardt, who had followed him in, and said, “I’ve been thinking. We’ll do better if we take one floor each. You take the first floor, I’ll take the second, if you like.”

Hardt nodded without saying anything. He took out the Beretta automatic and checked the action. Chavasse said, “Without a silencer, that thing’s worse than useless on a job like this. If you do meet anyone and use it, you’ll have the entire household breathing down our necks.”

Hardt said, “What do you suggest I do – raise my hands and go quietly?”

Chavasse grinned. “I could tell you, but we haven’t the time now.” He pushed Hardt into the elevator and followed him. A moment later, the doors closed silently and they were rising.

He pressed the button for the first floor and they came to a halt. He turned to Hardt and whispered, “Let’s hope there’s no one in the corridor.”

The doors slid open and he peered out. The corridor was deserted and he pushed Hardt forward without a word and quickly pressed the button for the second floor.

He was beginning to enjoy himself and the old, familiar elation lifted inside him. It was a feeling he could not analyze successfully. He only knew that it existed, that at the bottom of things it was what made him continue to lead the kind of life he did, and that it would be impossible to explain to anybody – even Anna.

The elevator came to a halt, the doors opened silently, and he stepped into the corridor. Everything was still and he hesitated, undecided on which way to go, and then he shrugged and turned to his left.

He checked two rooms cautiously, in each case listening outside the door before opening it. The occupants were obviously downstairs enjoying the film. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost a quarter to ten. There wasn’t much time left. At that moment, he heard someone singing as they came down the attic stairs at the far end of the corridor. He moved quickly to the next door, opened it, and went inside, closing it behind him.

The room was in darkness, and when he switched on the light he found that he was standing in a linen cupboard. He opened the door slightly and peered out.

The singer was a young girl in a starched apron and cap. She went into each bedroom in turn, reappearing again within a moment or two. He decided she must be a chambermaid and was probably turning down the beds.

She paused outside the door that was next to the linen cupboard and adjusted her blond hair. She was extremely pretty, with blue eyes, red pouting lips, and rounded cheeks. She went into the bedroom, and he closed the door of the linen cupboard and waited for her to pass.

Remembering it afterward, he could not be sure who was the more surprised when she opened the door and found him.

She stood there, one hand raised to the bun at the nape of her neck, the other still on the handle of the door, and her eyes went round with astonishment.

As she opened her mouth to cry out, Chavasse did the only possible thing. He pulled her forward and kissed her, crushing his mouth fiercely against hers, at the same time closing the door with his free hand.

At first she struggled, and he held her fast in his arms and continued to kiss her. And then she relaxed quite suddenly and her softness seemed to melt into him as her hands came up and linked behind his neck.

After a while, he moved his head back a little and whispered in her ear, “Don’t be frightened, liebling. I won’t hurt you.”

“That seems obvious enough,” she said, and laughter seemed to bubble over in her voice. “Who are you, mein Herr, a burglar?”

He shook his head. “Nothing quite so romantic, I’m afraid.”

“I know,” she said. “You’ve secretly admired me for months and tonight you finally plucked up enough courage to declare yourself.”

Chavasse stifled an insane desire to laugh out loud. “What’s your name, liebling?”

“Gisela,” she said. “I’m one of the maids here.”

“Maybe you can help me,” he said. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. He was brought here early this morning in an ambulance from the Hauptbahnhof.”

“That’ll be the one in number twelve on the first floor,” she said. “They keep him locked in his room. Karl, the chief nurse, says he’s really mad, that one.”

“That’s the whole trouble,” Chavasse told her. “I don’t happen to think he is, but they won’t let me in to see him. That’s why I decided to try the more unconventional approach.”

She looked up at him critically. “You know, you’re rather handsome in your own particular way.”

“That’s what all the girls say,” he told her, and reached for the door handle.

She pulled him back, and sliding one arm up around his neck, kissed him full on the mouth. As he gently disengaged himself, she said hopefully, “I’ll be off duty at eleven-thirty. I’m on late shift this week.”

“Sorry, Gisela,” he said. “It’s been fun, but I’ve got to see my friend before the film ends. Number twelve, I think you said.”

As he moved out into the corridor, she whispered softly, “Whatever you do, watch out for Karl. He’s a terrible brute when he gets going.”

He walked quickly along the corridor and started to move downstairs to the first floor. There were only ten minutes left in which to finish this thing and as he turned the corner into the corridor, he wondered how Hardt was getting on. He soon found out.

The door to number twelve stood open, and from inside he heard Steiner’s voice and it was not pleasant.

“I am really quite disappointed,” he was saying. “I had hoped to see our mutual friend, Herr Chavasse, but for the moment you will do. I am sorry Herr Muller isn’t here to greet you personally, but don’t let that worry you. I think I can safely say you’ll be seeing him before much longer. Now turn, hands high, and move out into the corridor.”

Chavasse moved three steps up the staircase and waited, his body flat against the wall. Hardt was the first to cross his line of vision, hands held above his head, and then Steiner moved into view. He was holding a Mauser with a bulbous barrel that acted as an effective silencer. It was a relic of the war years and much used by German counterintelligence.