Jack Higgins - The Bormann Testament (The Testament of Caspar Schultz)

“Did you find out anything else about the place?” Chavasse said.

Hardt nodded. “Yes, security is pretty strict. High walls, broken glass set in concrete. There’s a bar opposite the main gate and I had a word with the proprietor. According to him, Kruger handles a lot of mental cases. Rich neurotics, women with twisted sex lives. All that sort of thing.”

Chavasse studied the plan again. “How are we going in?”

“It should be pretty simple.” Hardt leaned over the plan. “The dividing wall between the clinic and the empty house is about ten feet high. Once over that, we enter the building by way of the boiler-house door. There are several cellars beyond that and from one of them, a small service elevator serves all floors. It’s used for laundry.”

“What about the patients?” Chavasse said.

“Every Sunday night they have a film show in the lounge on the ground floor. It doesn’t finish until ten. From what I can find out, everybody goes.”

Chavasse nodded. “That should give us a clear field. If Muller is in there, it stands to reason he must be on either the first or second floor and it shouldn’t take long to locate him. There are only fifteen rooms.”

Hardt glanced at his watch. “We’d better make a move. It’s nine-fifteen already and we haven’t got a lot of time to spare. Where have you parked the car?” When Anna told him, he nodded. “It’s only five minutes from there.”

Chavasse paid the waiter and they left quickly, and climbed back up the steeply sloping alley until they reached the Hauptstrasse. He and Anna got into the rear seat and Hardt drove.

The clinic was on the corner of a narrow side street lined with chestnut tress, and a sound of music came from the small bar opposite the great iron gates. As Hardt drove past, Chavasse saw that they were securely locked and beyond them the clinic loomed out of the night, half-hidden by trees.

Hardt stopped the Volkswagen a few yards beyond the gate of the next house and switched off the engine. He turned to Anna. “I want you to wait for us here. With luck, we should be in and out within twenty minutes.”

She nodded calmly. “And if you are not?”

Chavasse, who was getting out of the car, said grimly, “If we aren’t back by ten o’clock, you get out of here – and fast.”

She seemed about to protest, but Hardt broke in and said gently, “He’s right, Anna. There’s no point in your being dragged down with us. If anything happens, return to the flat and get in touch with London. They’ll know what to do.”

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.