Colin Forbes - By Stealth

Staring at the broad girth of Ilena's back, Paula realized again she would be no match for this ox-like creature if it came to a hand-to-hand struggle. Ilena finished her task, stood back to admire her work.

`That is good – no infection as doctor say when operation is made.'

She then perched the single wooden chair under the window. As she stood on it the chair groaned under the punishment. Break your flaming back! Paula said under her breath. The woman fiddled with the catch of the shutter, and Paula saw she had to reach through bars to grasp it. No escape that way. The job completed, Ilena lowered her bulk to the floor and turned round. As she picked up the bucket with the brush inside it she made one final remark before climbing the steps, switching off the light, slamming and relocking the door, a remark which chilled Paula's blood.

`Operation soon now.'

Earlier, when Marler, with Butler and Nield as his passengers, reached the Danish frontier post north of Flensburg, he had his British passport in his hand. The Control officer, a man in his fifties with very Nordic features, didn't take any interest in the passport.

`Business or pleasure?' he enquired.

`Very much business,' Marler replied.

`Sounds official,' the Dane commented.

Marler took a lightning decision, a big chance. He abandoned his story about selling marine equipment. Instead he took out a photo of Dr Hyde, handed it to the officer.

`Have you by any chance seen this man pass through during the evening? A few hours ago, possibly.'

The Dane examined the photo by the light of the torch he had shone into the Mercedes. He took his time, glanced at Marler again, then returned his attention to the photo. Marler had the impression he was intrigued by his question, by the photograph.

`Where are you from?' the officer asked eventually. `We've just driven hell-for-leather up from Hamburg.' Marler smiled drily.

`Of course. From Hamburg, you say? You know some- one important there?'

Marler chanced his arm again. He sensed he was on to a winning streak.

`Yes. Chief Inspector Otto Kuhlmann of the Criminal Police from Wiesbaden.'

`I see.' The Dane paused as though taking a decision. 'I find this an intriguing coincidence. You know Kuhlmann well?'

`I've known – and worked with him – for years,' Marler replied. His tone was friendly but his manner that of a man on official business. 'Otto is always very co-operative with us.'

The Dane was tactful enough not to enquire who `us' might be. He fingered the photo, looked again at Marler.

`The coincidence is Kuhlmann phoned me earlier, gave a word description of a man. It corresponds exactly with this picture.'

`I know,' Marler assured him. wanted to know if he had crossed the frontier into Denmark. You are observant – you told him you had seen that man travelling as a passenger in the back of a car. You know the man who was driving that car?'

`Yes. His passenger was an unpleasant-looking character. Very conceited, was my impression.'

Marler waited, hands relaxed on the wheel, betraying none of the tension inside him. Would the Dane come across with the information he so vitally needed?

`Your journey is concerned with the phone call I had from Kuhlmann?' the officer enquired.

`Definitely.'

Marler left it at that. Don't disturb the mood of confidence he had built up by saying too much.

`So it would be useful if you knew the name and address of the car's driver? He lives in Tinglev. Again, not one of the most pleasant of human beings. He cheats at cards.'

`A bad sign. He may cheat at other things,' Marler commented.

`We are talking about Johnny Clausen, a man with a glib tongue.'

`It would be most helpful if we knew his address,' Marler told him. 'It might prevent a major crime. We are racing against time.'

`So serious?' The Dane was writing on a notepad he had picked up, writing laboriously in capital letters. He tore off the sheet, handed it to Marler. 'That is where Johnny Clausen lives in Tinglev – on the edge of the town. I wish you luck.'

`And thank you for your invaluable help. We are indebted to you. Now, if you don't mind, we must move fast…

`We are going straight to Tinglev?' Butler asked from the back of the car when they were clear of the frontier post. `Not at this hour.'

Marler had stopped the car in the middle of nowhere. He gave the piece of paper with Clausen's address to Butler. Then he handed Nield a photo of Dr Hyde.

`I've checked the map,' Marler explained. 'We should be noticed if we turned up in Tinglev in the middle of the night. We're going to find separate accommodation for each of us in TOnder – it's about fifteen miles west of Tinglev. We don't know each other.'

And in the morning?' Butler pressed.

`You won't get much sleep. Rise at dawn. Find someone who will loan you a car – tell them your own has broken down and is being repaired in a garage. For a generous sum of money – you have plenty of kroner – you should get a vehicle. Drive to Tinglev and track down Johnny Clausen. How you get him to talk is your business, but do it. Where he took Dr Hyde is what we're after.

`Pete,' he went on, addressing Nield, 'in the morning find yourself a car. Then show Hyde's picture to the locals – officially you owe him money for an operation he carried out on your ankle. That makes you sound honest – and the Danes appreciate honesty. When we get to TOnder give me the phone number of wherever we find accommodation for both of you. Tell them I lost my way in Schleswig-Holstein before crossing into Denmark. Hence our arriving in the middle of the night. No questions? Good. We must keep moving…'

When Marler had found accommodation for Butler and Nield in TOnder – and a room for himself – he decided night was a good time to explore the area. Since he had paid the landlady at his own lodgings for a week's stay, he had no difficulty in persuading her to give him the front- door key.

`I need some fresh air,' he explained to Mrs Pedersen, a grey-haired old lady dressed in a pristine warm padded housecoat. 'I've been driving for hours in the over-heated car. Even at this hour I fancy the smell of the sea.'

`Have you a map?' she asked anxiously. 'There will be no one about in the middle of the night.'

`A very good map of the area,' he assured her.

Outside he glanced up at his first-floor window overlooking the narrow cobbled street. All the houses were old steep-gabled edifices built of red brick and with red tiles on the roofs. Some had plaster walls painted in yellow or white. The silent, deserted street had a fairytale atmosphere. He climbed behind the wheel, drove slowly so as not to wake the inhabitants.

On the outskirts he studied the map again and decided to head west for the small town of Hojer. The land was flat and reaching Hojer he turned north along a road running roughly parallel to the sea. He met no traffic, saw not a single human soul, not a light in the few houses he drove past. His night vision was excellent and he could make out to the west the dykes protecting the land from the fury of the sea. Arriving at a lonely intersection, on a whim he turned west again. He was crossing a wilderness of scrubby grass and sand.

The wind increased in force, scooping up powdered sand, hurling it against his windscreen. Off the road stood an isolated house. Switching on his wipers to clear sand from the windscreen, he swung the car off the road, bumping over rough ground. Despite the fact that the windows were closed, particles of sand were penetrating the car, and now he could hear the thunderous boom of great rollers crashing on the nearby shore.

He had driven past the house, which looked derelict, and now he drove about twenty yards from the front entrance. Definitely an abandoned property. Red paint peeled off its facade, white paint off the trim round the windows. He frowned as he suddenly saw a light appear in a semi-basement window. Odd. He swung his headlights over the two-storey building. The light disappeared. Had he imagined seeing it?