Chavasse said, “Steiner!” As the big German swore and turned toward him, he kicked the Mauser from his hand. It hit the wall and fell onto the bottom step. As Steiner reached for it, Hardt chopped him across the back of the neck and he slumped forward on to his face.

Chavasse jumped down into the corridor, and Hardt gave him a warning cry as a man in a white jacket moved out of the open door of room number twelve and launched himself forward.

He must have been at least six and a half feet tall, with a scarred, hairless head and a face out of a nightmare. As Chavasse tried to duck, hands reached out and fastened around his throat.

Remembering Gisela’s warning, Chavasse decided this must be the terrible Karl. He allowed himself to go limp, and spit in the German’s face. Karl instinctively released his hold, and Chavasse lifted his knee into the man’s crotch.

Karl grunted with pain, but kept on his feet. His left arm lashed out, smashing Hardt against the wall, and with his right arm he reached for Chavasse. Chavasse twisted the arm around in a shoulder lock, exerting all his strength, and Karl screamed. Still keeping that terrible hold in position, Chavasse ran him forward along the corridor toward the head of the stairs. A few feet from the rail, he released the arm and kicked the German with all his force behind the left knee. Karl went headfirst over the wrought-iron rail of the landing.

As his body crunched against the marble floor of the hall, the doors of the lounge were thrown open and a woman screamed. Chavasse paused long enough to retrieve Steiner’s automatic from the floor. Hardt was already at the end of the corridor, pressing the button for the elevator.

As Chavasse arrived, the doors opened and they jumped inside. A moment later, they were running through the cellars to the boiler house. Faintly from the interior of the house came the sound of disorder, and they started across the lawn toward the wall.

Behind them, a door was flung open and there was a cry. As Chavasse entered the bushes, he heard the muted report of a silenced automatic. He slipped the Mauser into his pocket and ran on.

When they reached the wall, Hardt cupped his hands into a stirrup and braced himself. Chavasse didn’t argue. He took the offer and jumped for the top of the wall, Hardt pushing him upward.

His hands clawed across the sacking and as he pulled himself over, glass sliced its way through, pain knifing into him in a wave of agony.

He swung himself onto the roof of the summer house, and then turned quickly and leaned across the sack, reaching a hand down to Hardt. Hardt moved a little way back and then ran forward and jumped. Chavasse caught hold of his right wrist and held on.

As Hardt secured a grip on the edge of the wall, there was a crashing through the bushes below and then another muted cough, as the silenced automatic was fired again at point-blank range.

Hardt started to slip. “He’s got me in the shoulder,” he said. For a moment longer, he seemed to make an effort to hang on. Chavasse desperately tried to pull him up, but it was no use. “Get out of here, you fool,” Hardt grunted, and fell.

As he crashed into the bushes below, there was a cry of triumph from his pursuers. Chavasse didn’t wait to hear any more. He jumped down to the ground from the roof of the summer house and staggered through the bushes toward the path.

He turned out of the gates and ran along the pavement, and the pain in his arms was intense. He wrenched open the door of the Volkswagen and slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

“Let’s get out of here!” he gasped.

Anna turned in alarm. “What about Mark?”

“Don’t argue – just get this thing moving.”

For a moment, it seemed as if she intended to protest, and then she thought better of it and switched on the engine. A few seconds later, they were turning into the main road and she moved into top gear and drove very fast toward the center of Hamburg.

After a while, she said, “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I’ve cut my arms getting across the blasted glass-topped wall, but I don’t think it’s serious.”

“And Mark?”

He told her what had happened. When he had finished, she said with surprising calm, “How badly do you think he was wounded?”

“He said it was in the shoulder,” Chavasse said. “I don’t think it could have been very serious.”

“And what happens now?” she said.

“I want some first aid for these arms, for one thing.”

“I can manage that all right,” she told him. “I’ve got a first-aid box back at the apartment.”

She drove the rest of the way in silence, and Chavasse lay back against the seat and closed his eyes. What a complete and utter mess the whole thing had been. Since Steiner knew they had talked to Schmidt, it must have been obvious to him that, sooner or later, they would be paying the clinic a visit. And yet what other move could they possibly have made?

He was still thinking about it when the Volkswagen came to a halt and he followed Anna upstairs to her apartment. She switched on the light, and turning to examine him, she gave a gasp of horror.

The sleeves of his jacket were torn in several places and stained with blood. She pulled off her coat and led the way into the bathroom. She took down a first-aid box and made everything ready before she gently eased him out of his jacket and dropped it into the corner.

There were three deep cuts in one arm, four in the other, and he laughed shakily as she bathed them with an antiseptic solution. “You know, it got pretty hot back there. For a while, I thought I wasn’t going to make it.”

She glanced up at him, a strange expression in her eyes. As she cut strips of surgical tape from a large roll, she said quietly, “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, Paul?”

For a moment, he was going to say no, but the moment passed and he nodded. “I don’t know what it is, but something gets into me. The excitement, I suppose, and the uncertainty of the whole business.”

She sighed heavily and finished taping his arms. “And that’s why you’ll never change.”

He had no time for arguments. He took the surgical scissors from her hand and quickly cut away the bloodstained section of each sleeve of his shirt. “Is there by any chance a spare jacket of Mark’s here?”

She nodded. “Yes, I think so. Shall I get it for you?” He followed her back into the living room. She went into the bedroom and came back with a grey tweed jacket. He pulled it on and buttoned it up. “Rather small, but it will have to do for the moment.”

He went into the bathroom and retrieved the Mauser from the pocket of his bloodstained jacket. Then he returned to the living room and took down, from a peg behind the door, the raincoat and green hat Hardt had originally given him.

As he buttoned the raincoat, Anna said, “Where are you going?”

“To find out what’s happening to Hardt,” he told her. “I’ve got a hunch they’ll be moving him tonight and I’d like to know where.”

She reached for her coat. “I’m coming with you.”

He gently took the coat from her and hung it behind the door. “No, you’re not. It only needs one of us to do a job like this.”

She shrugged. “All right, what do you want me to do?”

He smiled. “Cook me something nice for supper, if you like. I’ll only be an hour or so if I’m lucky.”

She turned away without speaking, and he went out quickly and down to the car. He drove straight back to Blankenese and, parking the Volkswagen around the corner from the clinic, went into the little bar opposite the main gates and ordered a beer.

The place was empty and the proprietor leaned on the zinc-topped bar reading a newspaper. Chavasse moved to the curtained window and stared across at the gates.

As he watched, they were opened wide by a man in uniform and peaked cap. When he had finished his task, he came across the road and entered the bar.