“And was there anything peculiar about him when they boarded the train?” Chavasse said. He pulled Schmidt forward by the front of his dressing gown. “Come on, answer me!”

“He was dead, mein Herr!” Schmidt moaned and collapsed in the chair, sobbing.

Chavasse stood up. “I thought so. There was something about the body that didn’t quite fit when I examined it. At the time my brain was still feeling the aftereffects of the drug and I couldn’t make any sense of it. But I remembered on the way here in the car. The fingers had already stiffened and the body was as cold as clay.”

“Because he’d been dead for some hours?” Hardt said.

Chavasse nodded. “I don’t know who he was. Perhaps simply a body supplied by Dr. Kruger. He and Steiner boarded the train at Rheine, made Schmidt drug my coffee, and waited in my compartment for the real Muller to board the train at Osnabruck.”

“Then Muller was the man on the stretcher when it left the train at Hamburg?” Hardt said.

Chavasse nodded. “It was a neat plan. They eliminated me and they got their hands on Muller. Presumably, they intend to screw the information out of him at their leisure.”

“I wonder where they’ve taken him,” Hardt said.

Chavasse shrugged and then a thought occurred to him. “Perhaps our friend here can tell us.” He lifted Schmidt’s head back by the hair. “Any suggestions, Schmidt?”

“The ambulance was from Dr. Kruger’s private clinic at Blankenese,” Schmidt said. He lifted his hands pleadingly. “For God’s sake, mein Herr, you mustn’t let Steiner know you found these things out from me. He’s a terrible man. He was a group leader in the SS.”

“Then why did you help him?” Hardt said.

“But I had no choice,” Schmidt said. “You do not know how powerful these people are.”

At that moment, a step sounded outside on the landing and there was a knock at the door. Chavasse jerked Schmidt to his feet and pulled him close. “Find out who it is,” he whispered, “and don’t try anything funny.”