Free The Bormann Testament by Jack Higgins

break, and in its gray light he looked sickly and unwell.
    “I didn’t lose my nerve back there,” he said.
    “I know that,” Chavasse told him.
    “It was just that ghastly sound when his head hit the cobbles. I’ve seen men die, I’ve killed several myself, but I’ve never heard anything quite like that.”
    “Go home to bed.”
    For a moment longer, Hardt stared fixedly at him, and then he walked slowly away along the wet pavement. Chavasse watched him for a little while, and then he turned in through the entrance to the apartment house and went quickly upstairs.
    At his first light knock, Anna opened the door and let him in. As he peeled off his raincoat, she said anxiously, “Where’s Mark?”
    “Gone back to his hotel,” Chavasse told her. “He’ll be getting in touch later in the day after he’s checked on Kruger’s clinic at Blankenese. We’ll be paying it a visit tonight after dark.”
    She went into the kitchen and returned almost at once with a fresh pot of coffee. As she filled two cups, she said, “What happened—did you see Schmidt?”
    He drank his coffee, sitting beside her on the couch, and told her. When he finished, she shuddered. “That poor man—what a horrible way to die.”
    “He couldn’t have known much about it,” Chavasse said. “He must have been killed instantly.”
    “At least we now know who we’re working against,” she said.
    He nodded. “According to Schmidt, Steiner was a group leader in the SS. Kruger was probably a camp doctor or something of the sort.”
    “Do you think they’ll be mentioned in Bormann’s memoirs?”
    He shook his head. “I shouldn’t think so. My hunch is that they’re both simply active members of the Nazi underground. The people they take their orders from probably figure in Bormann’s book.”
    “And you think they’ll have Muller at this clinic in Blankenese?”
    “Let’s hope so.” He put down his coffee cup and got to his feet. “And now, if I can have the use of your couch?”
    She went into the bedroom and came back carrying several blankets and a pillow. As he watched, she quickly made a bed for him. She turned with a smile. “I think you’ll find it’s pretty comfortable and I can promise you won’t be disturbed. I could sleep for a week myself.”
    Suddenly, she seemed very close and he felt tired—really tired. “You’re very sweet, Anna,” he said.
    She raised a hand and touched his cheek, and he bent his head quickly and kissed her on the mouth. For a moment, she responded, but as soon as she felt his hands on her waist, she pulled away and rushed across to her bedroom.
    The door closed behind her. For a moment, Chavasse looked at it, and then he sighed and started to peel off his clothes. By the time he had finished, fatigue had seeped into his brain. He had barely enough strength left to crawl between the blankets and switch off the table lamp before he dived into darkness.

CHAPTER 6
    H e awakened slowly from a deep, dreamless sleep to an atmosphere of brooding quiet. Pale autumn sunlight reached in through the window, and faintly in the distance he could hear church bells and remembered it was Sunday.
    He checked his watch and found, with something of a shock, that it was half past one. He threw aside the blankets and started to get dressed, and then he saw the letter propped against the flower vase on the small table.
    It was from Anna. She had decided to pay Katie Holdt’s landlady a visit in the hope of getting a lead on the girl’s whereabouts. She expected to be back by three o’clock at the latest.
    He lit a cigarette and went into the kitchen. He didn’t feel hungry, and ate only one buttered roll as he waited for his coffee to brew, and then returned to the living room.
    He sat on the edge of the couch with the cup in both hands and wondered how Hardt was getting on. He felt restless and ill at ease, and he got to his feet and paced up and down the apartment. It was the inaction he hated. He