She nodded. “Katie Holdt didn’t come in to work. I checked with her landlady. Apparently, she packed a bag and left without leaving any forwarding address.”

He put down the cup. “I was hoping she might put us onto something in time.”

“What about the hotel in Gluckstrasse?” Chavasse asked. “Did you find anything of interest?”

“Only the fact that Muller never lived there,” Hardt said. “He seems to have used the place simply as an address where he could safely pick up his mail.”

“And Otto Schmidt?” Chavasse said. “Any luck there?”

Hardt nodded. “He’s a widower – lives on his own in an apartment in Steinerstrasse. That’s not too far from here.”

Chavasse glanced at his watch. It was just after four-thirty. “How about paying him a visit? It’s amazing what one can sometimes get out of people in the cold, gray light of dawn.”

“Just what I was going to suggest.” Hardt got to his feet, and as he reached for his coat, he appeared to remember something. He turned to the girl. “By the way, Anna, didn’t you tell me that Muller had been in the Army?”

She nodded, a puzzled look on her face. “That’s right. Why, is anything wrong?”

“Only that according to a photo Chavasse found when searching Muller’s body on the train, he was in the Luftwaffe.”

“But he was in the Army,” Anna said. “I’ve got an old photo to prove it.” She picked up her handbag and rummaged through it. After a moment, she handed it across. “It fell from Katie’s handbag yesterday after she’d been showing it to me. It was taken in 1942 when she was only a child.”

Hardt took the photo and Chavasse moved to look over his shoulder. The photo was cracked and faded, but it was still possible to see the pride in the face of the little girl as she held the hand of the big brother who stood stiffly to attention in his Army uniform.

Chavasse frowned. “But this isn’t Muller,” he said to Anna.