“And you think she was murdered?”

Hardt nodded. “She disappeared from Bremen when Muller did, so they’ve probably been living together. My theory is that the other side knew where he was all along, that they were leaving him alone, hoping he’d lead them to Bormann. I think Muller gave them the slip and left Hamburg for Osnabruck last night. That left them with only one person who probably knew where he had gone and why – Lilli Pahl.”

“I’ll go along with that,” Chavasse said. “It sounds reasonable enough. But it still doesn’t explain why they shot him.”

Hardt shrugged. “Muller could have been carrying the manuscript, but I don’t think that’s very likely. I should imagine the shooting was an accident. Muller probably jumped the person who was waiting for him in your compartment and was killed in the struggle.”

Chavasse frowned, considering everything Hardt had told him. After a while, he said, “There’s still one thing which puzzles me. Muller is dead and that means I’ve come to a dead end as far as finding Bormann goes. I can’t be of any possible use to you, so what made you go to the trouble of saving my skin?”

“You could say I’m sentimental,” Hardt told him. “I have a soft spot for Israeli sympathizers.”

“And how would you know that is what I am?”

“Do you recall a man named Joel ben David?” Hardt asked. “He was an Israeli intelligence agent in Cairo in 1956. You saved his life and enabled him to return to Israel with information which was of great service to our Army during the Sinai campaign.”

“I remember,” Chavasse said. “But I wish you’d forget about it. It could get me into hot water in certain quarters. I wasn’t supposed to be quite so violently partisan at the time.”

“But we Jews do not forget our friends,” Hardt said quietly.

Chavasse was suddenly uncomfortable. “Why are you so keen to get hold of Bormann? He isn’t another Eichmann. There’s bound to be an outcry for an international trial. Even the Russians would want a hand in it.”