by Jack Higgins
“Well, you looked frightened to death when you saw the bed,” he said.
She laughed. “It was the most enormous bed I’ve ever seen.”
“I bet I’d have the devil’s own job catching you in it,” he said brazenly, and her face colored so that she looked exactly like what she was supposed to be – a young, newly married girl on her wedding day.
There was a gleam of water as the trees thinned, and then they came out onto the shores of a lake and saw the tall, Gothic towers of the castle rearing out of the mist in front of them. It had been built on a small island and was reached by a narrow causeway about a hundred yards long that started a little further along the shore.
“It’s like something out of the Brothers Grimm,” Anna said.
Chavasse nodded slowly without speaking. The mist seemed to be getting thicker and it was difficult to see the castle clearly. He took her arm and turned away from the direction of the causeway. As they walked, he said, “It’s certainly going to be tough getting inside.”
“How are you thinking of doing it?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I’d like a closer look at the place first.”
As they walked along the wet shingle, visibility seemed to grow even worse, and then a boathouse loomed out of the mist in front of them.
“I wonder,” he said softly.
He clambered up onto the lichen-covered slipway that sloped down into the water. Floating on the other side of it, tethered to a ring bolt, was a small rowing boat. It looked as if it hadn’t been used for a while and there was water in the bottom, but the oars were there, and an old cane fishing rod.
He pulled Anna up beside him and pointed. “Who do you think it belongs to?” she said.
“Perhaps our friend Fassbender,” he replied. “Not that it matters – I’m going to borrow it anyway.”
“Don’t you think it might be dangerous to show too much interest in the castle?”
He shook his head. “Not in this mist. It’s a first-rate chance to get a closer look. I’ve got to find a way in, Anna. It’s no use coming back after dark and hoping for the best.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said calmly. “Do you want me to come with you? It would look better.”
He shook his head. “No, you wait here. If anything does go wrong, I want you out of it.”
He dropped down into the boat and untied the knot of the wet rope with some difficulty. There was so much water in the bottom of the boat that it covered his shoes, but he ignored the sudden, clammy chill that began to spread through his body, and fitted the oars into their rowlocks and pushed away from the slipway. Anna raised her hand, and then she was gone and he was alone in a cocoon of mist.
He looked over his shoulder and could just distinguish the pointed tops of the towers as they floated above the mist, and he pulled strongly toward them. The strangest thing of all was the quiet, which was complete and absolute. Only the slight splash of his oars as they lifted from the water disturbed the silence, and no bird sang.
And then, somewhere in the distance, he heard the dull, throbbing note of an engine, curiously muffled by the mist. He stopped rowing at once and listened intently. Gradually, the noise increased until it was almost on top of him, and then it passed. Through the mist, a distinct ripple ran across the water and splashed against the hull.
Chavasse quickly shipped his oars and reached for a fishing rod. The line was knotted and tangled into a hopeless mess, and he wrestled with it for a moment until he heard the sound of the engine coming back. He gave up the struggle and held the rod out over the water, its point only a few inches above the surface. His free hand was in his pocket, ready to draw the Mauser he had taken from Steiner at the clinic.
The boat rocked violently as the other vessel approached, and then the engine was cut. Chavasse huddled over the rod, keeping his face down, and then a launch drifted out of the mist and bumped gently against the rowing boat.
A familiar voice said, “Had a good catch, my friend?”
Slowly, Chavasse turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Steiner leaned over the rail of the launch, an affable smile on his face. “You don’t seem very talkative this morning, Herr Chavasse.”
“To be perfectly frank, I’m rather at a loss for words,” Chavasse replied. His thumb pushed back the safety catch of the Mauser and his index finger gently crooked around the trigger.
“Fassbender, like all tenants of this estate, is extremely loyal,” Steiner said. “But come, my friend. You seem to be soaked to the skin. A glass of schnapps will do you a world of good.”
Chavasse stood up slowly and turned to face him. “I hope you aren’t going to try anything foolish,” Steiner said. “As you can see, Hans has the perfect remedy.”
Hans was black-bearded and dangerous-looking and the shotgun he was holding to one shoulder was as steady as a rock.
To draw and fire before the shotgun blasted his head off was an impossibility, but Chavasse had only one thing on his mind – the need to warn Anna. He allowed his shoulders to drop, and sighed, “It looks as though you win this trick, Steiner.” At the same moment, he threw himself backward into the water, drew the Mauser, and fired it blindly into space.
The sound of its report seemed very loud in his ears, but not so loud as the thunderous roar of the shotgun. The pellets sang past him, and then he was under the surface. He hadn’t had time to take in much air, and he pulled himself downward desperately and swam under the keel of the launch, surfacing on the other side, where he hung onto a rope ladder.
He listened for a moment to Steiner’s shouting and then started to peel off his raincoat. His only chance was to swim for the shore, hoping the thick mist would hide him, and the coat would only be a hindrance.
He finally managed to get it off. As he struck out from the launch, a bullet chopped into the water beside his head, and Steiner cried, “Hold it right there, Chavasse.”
Chavasse paused, treading water, and Steiner went on. “Now turn and swim back to the launch and I warn you – the slightest attempt at any funny business and I’ll shoot you through the head.”
Suddenly, Chavasse was cold and tired. He swam back to the launch and hauled himself up the rope ladder. As he neared the top, Hans reached over and jerked him across the rail so that he stumbled and fell.
He got wearily to his feet and stood there, shivering as the wind cut into his wet clothes. Steiner came forward, a Luger in his right hand. He smiled. “You’re quite a man, Chavasse. Under different circumstances, I think we’d have got along together. However, you carelessly chose the wrong side.”
“Stupid of me, wasn’t it?” Chavasse said.
“As you’ll soon find out,” Steiner told him, “because I always pay my debts. Here’s something on account.” He moved with surprising speed for such a large man, and before Chavasse could duck, the barrel of the Luger slashed across his right cheek, drawing blood. At the same moment, Hans moved in from behind and chopped him across the back of the neck. Chavasse doubled over and the deck lifted to meet him.
For what seemed an age, there was only the pain and he lay with his cheek pillowed against the deck, eyes closed. Vaguely, he was aware of the engine coughing into life, and then water was dashed in his face and he shook his head and got slowly to his feet.
Steiner threw the bucket carelessly into a corner and laughed. “You look quite a sight, my friend. I wish you could see yourself.”
Chavasse ignored him and turned to the rail. They were very close to the castle, and on this side the walls dropped sheer into the water. They were moving toward a dark archway, and Hans cut the engine to half speed and took them in slowly.
As they entered, Chavasse was conscious of the terrible coldness of the damp air, and he shivered and wiped his face with the back of one hand. It came away covered with blood.
The launch bumped gently against the side of a stone jetty, and Hans ran along to the bows quickly, vaulted over the rail, and tied up to a
large metal ring.
“After you!” Steiner said, and gestured over the rail.
Chavasse moved forward and stepped onto the jetty. A flight of stone steps lifted out of the gloom to a landing above their head and he mounted them, Steiner and Hans close behind him.
Hans brushed past him and opened the door. Chavasse found himself in a long, stone-flagged passage. Hans led the way to the far end, opened another door, and climbed a short flight of steps, which entered directly into an immense hall.
Great, curved beams of black oak arched into the gloom, and Chavasse paused. At the far end there was a wide marble stairway, and above it a gallery. At one side, a log fire blazed in an immense medieval fireplace.
Steiner said, “Quite a sight, isn’t it? Used to belong to a prince, but things have changed since the war.”
Chavasse moved on without answering and crossed the hall to the door that Hans had just opened. He hesitated on the threshold, and Steiner pushed him roughly inside.
The room was comfortably furnished and there was a luxurious carpet on the floor. Dr. Kruger and another man were sitting in front of the fire, and they both stood up as Hans pushed Chavasse forward.
“This is the man, Herr Nagel,” Steiner said.
Nagel was tall and elegant in a suit of dark broadcloth and scrupulously white linen. The iron-gray hair was brushed carefully back on each side and his face was as cold and austere as that of any sixteenth-century Calvinist minister.
He screwed a gold-rimmed eyeglass firmly in place and examined Chavasse. “I must say he looks rather less formidable than I had imagined and considerably the worse for wear.”
“We had to be a little rough with him,” Steiner explained. “He tried to go for a swim.”
Kruger pulled on his beard with one hand and the dark eyes gleamed in the gaunt face. “That’s a nasty cut on your face, Herr Chavasse. You must allow me to stitch it for you. I’m afraid I don’t happened to have a local anesthetic with me, but I’m sure a brave man like you can bear a little pain.”
“You remind me of a slug I once found under a flat stone,” Chavasse said.
Rage glowed in Kruger’s eyes, but he raised one hand to stop Steiner, who had taken a step forward. “No, leave him, Steiner. His time will come. Bring in the other one.”
Steiner opened the door and spoke to someone outside. As Chavasse turned, Anna was pushed into the room and behind her, he saw the smirking face of Fassbender.
“I’m sorry, Anna,” Chavasse said quietly.
She managed a smile. “It’s all right, Paul. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I should have used my brains,” he said, “but we all make mistakes.”
“Is this the Jewish one?” Nagel said. “I must say she’s charming. Quite charming.”
Kruger was regarding her with a peculiar, fixed stare. “You know my opinion of the race, my dear Kurt,” he said to Nagel, “but their womenfolk have always appealed to me.”
Anna shuddered, and Kruger moved closer and placed a hand on her arm, “You’ve nothing to worry about, my dear. As long as you behave yourself, that is.”
She pulled away from him. “Keep your hands off me.”
Kruger shrugged. “If you want it the hard way, that’s all right with me.” He pushed her toward Hans. “Lock her in the room next to mine. No food or water. I’ll deal with her myself later.”
Chavasse tried to look reassuring as Hans pulled her out into the hall. She managed one brave smile over her shoulder, and then Steiner closed the door.
Nagel said, “Now then, Chavasse. Let’s get down to business. What do you know about this Bormann business?”
Chavasse said, “Why ask me when you’ve got Muller?”
Nagel sighed. “Unfortunately, Muller is proving to be extremely stupid. So far he has refused to talk. I confess to some puzzlement about this. I offered him a large sum of money – very large. However, we now have some more information which should help.”
“And what would that be?” Chavasse said.
Nagel smiled. “All in good time, my friend. First, I am going to let you have a few words with Muller. Perhaps you can make him see sense.”
“I can’t see why anything I can say should make him change his mind,” Chavasse said. “Not after the things you must have done to him.”
Nagel shrugged. “You can tell him that my patience is at an end, for one thing.” He turned to the others. “Shall we all go? I think this might prove interesting.”
Steiner opened the door and led the way and Chavasse followed, with Kruger and Nagel bringing up the rear. They crossed the hall and mounted the great staircase to the gallery. From somewhere in the very depths of the castle, Chavasse could hear several dogs barking monotonously, and something seemed to crawl across his skin as he wondered if he would ever leave this place alive.
They mounted several stairs that led into an upper gallery, and two men who had been sitting quietly reading, in opposite chairs, stood up. They were stolid and brawny, obviously picked more for muscle than for brain, and Kruger told them to go down to the kitchen for a meal.
As they walked away, Kruger turned to Nagel and said, “Shall we let him have a word with his friend before seeing Muller?” He sniggered. “After all, it may be their last chance.”
Nagel smiled thinly. “By all means.”
Kruger unlocked the next door they came to, and Steiner pushed Chavasse inside.
The room was quite comfortably furnished and seemed normal except for the bars on the windows. Hardt was lying on the bed, and he swung his legs to the floor and rose to meet them.
His right arm was in a sling and his face looked drawn and pale. He stared somberly at Chavasse, eyes a little feverish, and a savage smile touched the corners of his mouth. “So they managed to catch up with you, Paul?”
Chavasse nodded. “I’m afraid so. Are you all right?”
Kruger moved forward. “He is doing extremely well, aren’t you, Herr Hardt? A minor flesh wound in the shoulder. I attended to it myself.”
“Without an anesthetic.” Hardt looked across at Chavasse. “He still hasn’t grown up. Enjoys pulling the wings off flies and all that sort of thing.”
Kruger deliberately placed his hand on the injured shoulder and squeezed. Hardt fell back onto the bed. “I shall be in again later,” Kruger said. “When I have finished with you, you will have learned how to curb your tongue.”
He pushed Chavasse out of the door and told Steiner to lock it. They walked along to the other end of the gallery and paused outside the last door.
Nagel said, “You can have five minutes, Herr Chavasse. For Muller’s sake, I hope he listens to you.”
Kruger unlocked the door and Steiner pushed Chavasse violently inside. The door closed behind him and he went forward.
It was a bare, unfurnished room. In the center a strong, metal operating table was bolted to the floor and leather straps hung from it, presumably used to hold the patient in position.
Muller was lying on a trundle bed in the far corner under a barred window. Chavasse went across and sat on the edge of the bed, and after a while Muller opened his eyes and stared up at him.
He seemed to be in his early forties and had a gaunt, skull-like face that was covered with skin the color of parchment. There were no visible marks, and Chavasse leaned forward and gently lifted the sheet. Muller was completely naked and his body was crisscrossed with great livid bruises and angry red weals. He had obviously been terribly beaten.
He stared vacantly at Chavasse for a moment and then something seemed to click, and fear appeared in his eyes. He tried to draw away with a tiny moan, and Chavasse said gently, “Don’t worry, Muller. I’m not one of them.”
Muller moistened cracked lips. “Who are you?”
“Paul Chavasse, the man you were supposed to meet on the North-West Express at Osnabruck.”
Muller shook his head weakly. “Why should I believe you?”
Chavasse leaned closer and poin
ted to his wounded face. “Who do you think gave me this?” Muller frowned and looked half-convinced and Chavasse went on. “I even know about your sister – they don’t know about that. She was working at the Taj Mahal under the name of Katie Holdt.”
Muller reached out and clawed feebly toward Chavasse. “For God’s sake, you mustn’t tell them that. I beg you not to tell them.” There were tears in his eyes. “It is only for my sister’s sake that I have kept quiet. I know what they would do to her.”
Chavasse eased him back against the pillow and said reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about her. Has she got the manuscript?”
Muller nodded feebly. “I thought no one knew of her existence. She was supposed to have died in the bombing in 1943.”
“And Bormann,” Chavasse said, “where is he?”
“That’s the big joke,” Muller said, “the best joke of all. He died three months ago in a little village in the Harz Mountains.”
“You were his orderly during the war,” Chavasse said. “What happened afterward?”
Muller moistened his lips again. “Bormann had money salted away in Portugal. We lived there under assumed names and I acted as his valet. When his health started to fail and he knew he was dying, he decided to return to Germany. He spent the last year of his life writing the manuscript. He called it his testament.”
Something seemed to rattle in his throat and he closed his eyes. As Chavasse stood up, the door opened and the others moved in. Nagel was smoking a cigarette in a long holder. “Have you anything to tell me, Herr Chavasse?”
Chavasse shook his head. “Not a thing.”
Nagel sighed. “What a pity – in that case…”
He made a slight gesture with one hand and Hans, who had moved behind Chavasse, grabbed his arms and jerked them behind his back. Steiner moved in very fast, his great hands clenched. “Now comes the rest of the debt I owe you,” he said coldly, and Chavasse rocked back against Hans as a fist crashed against his already damaged right cheek, sending waves of pain moving through him.
He lifted both feet and slammed them into Steiner’s stomach as the big German moved in again. Steiner was thrown back against the operating table. For a moment, he hung there, and then he moved forward, a terrible look on his face.