“That’s the man,” the Chief said. “He retired from politics after the war to concentrate on his business interests. Yesterday, he went to the Foreign Office with a very strange story. The Foreign Secretary sent him straight to me. I’d like you to hear what he has to say.”

He pressed a buzzer on his desk twice. After a moment, the door opened and Jean ushered in a tall, graying man in his early sixties. She went out, closing the door softly behind her, and the Chief got to his feet. “Come in, Sir George. I’d like you to meet Paul Chavasse, the young man I was telling you about earlier.”

Chavasse stood up and they shook hands. Sir George Harvey had obviously kept himself in good condition. His handclasp was strong, his face tanned, and the clipped mustache gave him a faintly military appearance.

He smiled pleasantly and sat down. “I’ve been hearing some very complimentary things about you, Mr. Chavasse.”

Chavasse grinned and offered him a cigarette. “I’ve had my share of luck.”

Sir George took one and smiled again. “In your game you need it, my friend.”

The Chief struck a match and held it out in cupped hands. “I wonder if you’d mind telling Chavasse here exactly what you told me, Sir George.”

Sir George nodded and leaned back in his chair. He turned slightly toward Chavasse. “Among my many business interests, Mr. Chavasse, I hold a great number of shares in a publishing house which shall remain nameless. Yesterday morning, the managing director came to see me with an extraordinary letter. He and his board felt that it should be placed before the Foreign Secretary as soon as possible, and knowing that I was a personal friend of his, they asked me to handle the affair.”

“Who was the letter from?” Chavasse said.

“A German called Hans Muller,” Sir George told him. “This man states in the letter that Martin Bormann is alive. He says that he lived in Portugal until 1955, when he returned to Germany, where he has since been living quietly under an assumed name.”