The two men ran forward and inside the building as one of the guards held the phone to his ear calling the schloss. One man grabbed him. The second ripped the instrument from the wall. Shaken, the guard still protested.
'That's illegal…'
'You're under arrest. Charge – obstructing the authorities in the performance of their duty…'
Outside another guard was shouting at Stoller. 'You will pay for this – killing the dogs…'
'I noticed one of them was foaming at the mouth,' Stoller told him. 'I suspect rabies. Tests will be carried out.' He returned to his car and spoke to the driver. 'Burn rubber to reach the schloss
The motorcade swept up the curving drive, spinning round corners. One minute after leaving the entrance Stoller saw ahead the walls of the schloss.
'Keep up the speed – they may try to lower the portcullis…'
He was right – as they approached the drawbridge the hydraulically operated portcullis began to move down. All three cars swept through the archway and the gate closed behind them. At the top of a flight of steps stood Reinhard
Dietrich, hands on his hips. Stoller, followed by his men, jumped out and ran up the flight.
`You cannot enter,' Dietrich told him. 'And when I am elected you will be booted out of Bavaria…'
`This warrant…' Stoller waved the document under Dietrich's nose `… signed by the Minister-President, allows me to do what I like – tear down the place stone by stone should it be necessary. Are you going to invite us in or attempt obstruction?'
Dietrich turned away and walked back into the hall followed by Stoller. Inside the industrialist began moving towards a room on the left. Stoller noticed a door to the right which was half-open. He made for it and entered a large library. An attractive dark-haired woman holding a glass sat on a sofa and looked at him over the rim as she drank.
'Your name?' Stoller demanded.
'This is outrageous!' Dietrich had hurried after Stoller and was standing behind a huge desk. 'I shall complain to the Minister-President…'
'There is the phone.' Stoller turned to the woman again and his manner became polite. 'We have full powers of search. Could you please give me your name…'
'Don't answer,' Dietrich told her, reaching for a cigar.
'Klara Beck,' the woman replied and smiled. 'I am Mr Dietrich's secretary and personal assistant. Is there any other way in which I can help you?'
'You can let -me know the present whereabouts of an Englishman who called here within the past hour. His name is Philip Johnson…'
Klara Beck. One of the names Stoller had checked out when Martel had reported the conversation he had eavesdropped on in the phone booth at Lindau Hauptbahnhof. The Stuttgart number had been traced to, a penthouse apartment owned by Dietrich GmbH. There was also an interesting file on Beck which went back to her early days in Berlin.
'I have been working in my office upstairs and just came down to the library before you arrived,' Beck replied. 'I have never heard of anyone by that name…'
`You live here at the schloss?'
'What bloody impertinence…!' Dietrich exploded from behind his desk.
Stoller ignored the industrialist, concentrating his whole attention on examining the room and questioning Beck. His men were at this moment searching the rest of the schloss. Dietrich knew this, yet he had left Erwin Vinz to keep an eye on them. He seemed most reluctant to leave the library, which convinced Stoller he was in the right room.
'I have an apartment in Stuttgart,' Beck replied as she took out a pack of cigarettes and inserted one between her lips. Stoller leant close to her with his lighter and ignited the cigarette. As he did so she watched him with her large eyes and there was a hint of invitation. A dangerous woman.
`It is a company apartment,' she went on. 'One of the advantages of working for the owner.' Her eyes again met Stoller's directly. 'And I'm very good at all aspects of my job.'
`I'm sure you are.'
Stoller bowed courteously, then resumed his slow stroll round the room. The ash-tray on the desk had recently been hastily cleaned. There were smear-marks of ash round its interior. He looked up as one of his men entered the room followed by a colleague.
`Anything so far, Peter?' Stoller enquired.
The man shook his head and Stoller told both of them to wait with him in the library. lie noticed Dietrich was beginning to enjoy his cigar, to relax in his chair.
`Who has told you this fantastic story about this mythical person being anywhere near my home?'
`The aerial camera – plus the co-pilot's field-glasses. The film taken will, when developed, provide the evidence. We used special film which shows the exact date and time pictures are taken – one of the products of your company, I believe?'
`Camera? Pilot? Have you gone mad?'
`A helicopter tracked Johnson up to the schloss – with a cine-camera recording the incident as I have just explained. What cigarettes do you smoke, Mr Dietrich? The brand, I mean.'
`I only smoke cigars – Havanas.' Dietrich was mystified by the turn events were taking and shifted restlessly in his chair.
`And Miss Beck smokes Blend- as I noticed when she took out her pack…'
Stoller was walking along the line of bookcases. He stopped and stooped to pick up a cigarette stub half-hidden in the shag carpet at the foot of a bookcase. He showed everyone the stub which he had spotted a few minutes earlier.
`Interesting. Dietrich on his own admission – smokes cigars. Miss Beck smokes Blend. This stub is Silk Cut – a British cigarette. It was lying at the base of this bookcase. I find it hard to surmise how it comes to be there – unless it was dropped when someone walked through a solid wall. Or is the wall so solid…' He began taking out volumes from the shelves and dropping them on the floor. To speed up the process he swept whole sections of the calf-bound volumes on to the carpet as he nodded to his two men. They produced
Walther automatics and held them ready for use. Enraged, Dietrich strode round his desk.
'Those volumes are priceless…'
'Then show me where the catch is which releases the concealed door.'
'You are mad…!'
Dietrich stopped speaking as another half-dozen books went on the floor and Stoller gazed at a red button set in a plastic frame which had just been exposed. He pressed the button and a section of bookcase slid back revealing the spiral staircase beyond.
'Peter,' he ordered, 'go and see what is down there. Should you meet any resistance use your gun.' He glanced round the room. I doubt if I have to remind anyone terrorist kidnapping is punishable by long terms of imprisonment…'
'I was upstairs helping Klara,' Dietrich began.
'Was he, Miss Beck?' Stoller enquired. 'Be careful how you reply since criminal proceedings may be involved.'
'I'm confused…' Beck started choking on her cigarette but was saved from saying more by the appearance of Martel brushing dirt from his sleeve. There was dried blood on his knuckles where his hands had hit the cellar flagstones. Peter came into the room behind him and spoke to Stoller.
'He was imprisoned in a cellar like a pig-pen but they left the key on the Outside of the door – it saved shooting off the lock.'
'Well, Dietrich?' Stoller asked.
'He is an imposter… I was sure he was an assassin sent to kill me… After he made an appointment I phoned The Times in London… They told me Johnson is in Paris… I have many enemies…'
The Delta leader was talking like a machine-gun, gesturing to indicate his alarm, the words tumbling out as he struggled forcefully to make his story sound plausible enough to make Stoller doubt the wisdom of preferring charges. It was Martel who guided Stoller to a decision.
'I suggest we get to hell out of this den of nauseating clowns. The atmosphere here smells even fouler than it did in that filthy cellar…'