The terrace stood some six feet above the level of the ground, and a mass of rhododendron bushes ran along its entire length. Drapes were drawn across the French windows of the ballroom, but here and there a ray of light poked out into the cold night air.
They found the table and chair arranged at the north end of the terrace. They moved into the bushes until they were directly underneath it, and von Kraul said, “Simple, but extremely clever. Steiner can fire from here at virtually point-blank range and yet not be seen himself should anyone else appear on the terrace unexpectedly.”
Chavasse checked his watch without replying. It was a quarter to nine, and he squatted down beside von Kraul in the bushes and waited, feeling suddenly calm. A small wind brought the smell of the river with it through the darkness, and he could hear the sound of a ship’s engines clearly as it moved downriver.
He heard Steiner coming before von Kraul did, and rose to his feet, his hands coming out of his pockets. They stood together in the sheltering darkness of the bushes, and Steiner paused no more than a foot or two away from them.
A ray of light streamed through a gap in one of the drapes and continued down through the bushes and slanted into the ground. Steiner dropped on one knee and took out a gun, and quickly checked its action in the small pool of light. It was a Mauser with a silencer on the end of the barrel.
Chavasse said quietly, “Hello, you bastard,” and as the kneeling man glanced up in alarm, he kicked the Mauser out of his hand.
Steiner came to his feet slowly. “I knew you were trouble the first time I clapped eyes on you on the train. I should have put one between your eyes at Berndorf yesterday, but Nagel wanted to play games.” He laughed harshly. “But I fixed your girlfriend for you – one in the back and two in the belly.”
Chavasse kicked for the crotch, but Steiner caught the blow on his thigh and swung with his fist, catching Chavasse high on the right cheek, sending blood spurting from the gash that was already there.
Pain flooded through Chavasse and he lashed out viciously with the edge of his right hand, catching Steiner on the side of the neck. Steiner lurched into him and they fell to the ground, Chavasse underneath. He felt the big policeman’s hands wrap themselves around his throat, and he tensed his neck muscles and forced back the little finger of each hand.
Steiner grunted with pain and released his grip, and Chavasse pushed back the man’s head with the heel of his hand, twisting the neck until Steiner fell backward and rolled over onto his back, coming to a stop so that his face lay in a pool of light.
Chavasse moved forward, hands reaching for the throat, and then a hand appeared from the darkness holding the Mauser. The bulbous silencer on the end of the barrel was jammed against Steiner’s right ear and there was a slight, muffled cough. Steiner’s body jerked once, and then blood poured from his eyes and nostrils.
Chavasse got to his feet. Before he could speak, von Kraul whispered, “Someone is coming.”
They moved into the bushes and crouched down as one of the French windows was opened. It was carefully closed again and steps crossed the terrace.
“Are you there, Steiner?” Nagel whispered from the darkness, and he leaned over the balustrade.
Before Chavasse could move, von Kraul rose to his feet and shot Nagel between the eyes. He must have been killed instantly and fell across the balustrade, his body sliding headfirst into the bushes.
“We must move fast,” von Kraul said.
He took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped the Mauser clean of his fingerprints, and then he knelt down and folded the fingers of Steiner’s right hand around the butt.
He stood up and gave Chavasse a gentle push. “And now I think we had better leave events to take their course.”
As they crossed the wide lawn, rain started to fall and they hurried along the path, passed out through the gate in the hedge, and climbed into the car. Von Kraul drove back the way they had come, and they passed Blankenese station and moved on toward Hamburg.
After a while, they came to a beer house on a corner and von Kraul stopped the car and said, “I think we are entitled to drink, my friend.”
Chavasse nodded and they went inside. Von Kraul gave him a cheroot and they sat in silence over two glasses of brandy. Finally, von Kraul said, “You feel a little better now?”
Chavasse managed a smile. “I acted like a beginner on my first job. I’m sorry. When he boasted about what he’d done to her, I lost control.”
“Under the circumstances, it was understandable,” von Kraul said, “but my way was better. Police inspector suffering from brainstorm shoots well-known Hamburg industrialist and then commits suicide. The trimmings they give the story do not really matter. It is the result which counts.”
“But why did you want to handle it that way?” Chavasse said.
Von Kraul sighed. “Can you imagine how difficult it would have been to have proved your allegations against Nagel? Even Steiner would have presented us with quite a problem. Unfortunately, such people have many powerful sympathizers. A long drawn-out legal battle could have lasted for years.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Chavasse said. “So that wraps it up. I won’t be taking much back with me. Bormann was dead in the first place and his memoirs have gone up in smoke.”
“But you have been of great assistance to Germany, if I may say so,” Colonel von Kraul said.
Chavasse shrugged and said bitterly, “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”
Von Kraul placed his glass very carefully down upon the table, and when he spoke, there was a slight edge of emotion in his voice. “Presumably, this means nothing to you? Are we still fighting the war fifteen years later?”
Chavasse was immediately sorry. “I’m sorry if I sounded offhand. I didn’t mean to be.”
Von Kraul finished his brandy and stared into the empty glass. “Were you aware of the fact that at no time did the Nazis ever achieve a vote of more than thirty-seven percent, Herr Chavasse?”
Chavasse was surprised. “No, I can’t say I was.”
“Then tell me something else and be perfectly honest,” von Kraul said. “You are a Frenchman by birth and English by adoption, so you are an authority on two great nations. How many men have you met of both countries who you consider would have made conscientious members of the SS or some similar organization?”
“A hell of a lot,” Chavasse said.
“Thank you!” Von Kraul smiled slightly. “Perhaps you will not be too harsh on us in the future.” He got to his feet. “Are you ready, my friend?”
Chavasse shook his head. “No, I think I’ll stay and have another. Don’t worry about me. I’ll make my own way back.”
Von Kraul held out his hand. “A real pleasure, Herr Chavasse. Perhaps our paths will cross again. I hope so.” For a moment he appeared to hesitate, and then he said, “Forgive me for stating the obvious, but time is a great healer.” He turned without waiting for a reply and went outside.
Chavasse ordered another brandy and sat there for a little while longer, thinking about von Kraul’s last remark, but it didn’t help. It didn’t help at all. Suddenly the noise and the bustle and the cheerful laughter of the beer house was too much for him and he got to his feet and left, pushing his way roughly through a party of people who were at that moment coming in through the door.
As he walked along the pavement, collar turned up against the rain, a car drew up beside him and Sir George Harvey said, “Hello there, Chavasse. I thought it was you. Can I give you a lift?”
Chavasse hesitated, and then climbed in beside him without a word. As they moved away, Sir George said excitedly, “Terrible business at Nagel’s reception. Absolutely astounding. Somebody shot him and then committed suicide!”
Chavasse lit a cigarette and said carefully, “Were you there when they discovered the bodies?”