The one who led the way was a tall, heavily built man with an iron-hard face and eyes like chips of blue ice. Behind him came two attendants in white coats, carrying a man on a stretcher. The man who brought up the rear wore a Homburg hat and an expensive overcoat with a fur collar. His gaunt face was half-covered by a carefully trimmed black beard that looked as if it had been dyed.

Chavasse moved out of the way, and the two attendants carefully maneuvered the stretcher onto the train and into the next apartment to his own. The other two men followed them in and closed the door.

As Chavasse climbed back into the corridor, he turned inquiringly to the attendant who had followed him. “What was all that about?” he asked in German.

The man shrugged. “The tough-looking one is Inspector Steiner of the Hamburg police. The bearded man is called Kruger – he’s one of the best-known physicians in Hamburg.”

“And the man on the stretcher?”

“A criminal they’re taking back to Hamburg,” the attendant said. “He was injured in a fight with the police and they called in Dr. Kruger to see whether he was fit to be moved.”

Chavasse nodded. “I see. Thanks very much.”

“A pleasure,” the attendant said. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Chavasse shook his head. “Not at the moment. Perhaps a coffee a little later on. I’ll let you know.”

The man nodded and walked away and Chavasse went back into his compartment. He sat on the edge of the bunk and checked his watch again. Three quarters of an hour and the train would be in Osnabruck. There would be a light tap on the door, it would open, and Hans Muller would walk in. He wondered what the man would look like, what his first words would be, and then it occurred to him that perhaps Muller wouldn’t show up. For some obscure reason, the thought vaguely amused him and he lit a cigarette, feeling suddenly sanguine about the whole thing.