Heil Harris!

suspicion of strangers. Before nine o’clock three different people had said to him, “Journalist? You won’t find the Hitler treasure in these mountains.” But after nine o’clock they became willing to boast about the German economic recovery even though it had little to do with Bavaria.
    It was no accident, it seemed, that Hitler had gained his first support from this part of Germany, and that the N.P.D. had gained the most ground here. These were the thinkers and the philosophers; they didn’t mind the Ruhr valley providing the economic strength and Bonn the administration. This was where three men in braces had the vision. One of them was a Burgomaster and the other two were shopkeepers. They spoke, they told Steed, for Germany.
    By the end of the evening Steed realised that the Second World War had really been about the unification of Europe, and that this was now being brought about by the common market. Unfortunately Germany was again a divided nation as she had been after the First World War, and that would have to be put right. The other point that roused them to fury was that she was an occupied country, occupied by the Russians in one half and the Americans in the other. They banged their empty mugs on the wooden table until Steed had them all refilled.
    Beer was not a civilised drink, Steed reflected as he picked his way gently upstairs to bed. He decided to have a decent British drink before retiring for a good night’s sleep. But when he reached his room he found that the bottle of Scotch had been stolen. You can’t trust anybody in these foreign hotels.
    The following morning he discovered a Continental “bug” fastened to the inside of the windowsill. He frowned. He had a long day ahead of him and he couldn’t be late to meet Heinrich Toppler, otherwise he would have taught Herr Goldberg a lesson in professional etiquette.
    Steed drove out for seven miles towards Herzogstandhaus and then left the car by the side of the road. He walked three miles across desolate hilly country until he reached another part of the massive lake. A deserted cove with not an ice-cream seller or beach hut in sight. Steed sat on the rocks and waited. It was seven minutes to eleven.
    At eleven o’clock precisely a rowing boat came round the headland. Steed watched in alarm. The boat was being rowed by a lone girl of about twenty and as she saw him she waved. She was, Steed had to admit, rather fetching, but she wasn’t Heinrich Toppler.
    “Hello, you must be Steed.” She jumped gracefully out of the boat and shook hands. “I’m Heidi Toppler.” She was blonde and in thirty years she might become square and forbidding. For the moment she was buxom, blue eyed and athletic. “I was expecting Heinrich Toppler,” he said carefully.
    “He was my father, but he couldn’t make it.” She looked Steed in the eyes as she spoke and then decided she could trust him. “They murdered him six months ago when the N.P.D. discovered that he was a British agent during the war.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Thank you. I’ll settle with them when the opportunity arises.” She smiled, this time to show that Steed could rely on her. “They didn’t find my father’s radio or the code communication with London, so I decided to continue his work. Now, are we still in business?”
    “Of course. I’m delighted to be working with you.” Things were looking up at last. Steed followed her along the side of the lake saying the usual things about her charming country and her delightful command of the English language. He even leapt nimbly up the side of a cliff and lifted her over a mountain stream.
    “What,” she asked abruptly, “will you do with the treasure if you do find it?”
    Steed shrugged. “I’m not concerned with that. I expect the West German government will distribute it as they think fit. My only worry is to prevent a few troublesome people in England from getting their hands on it.”
    “Good,” said Heidi. “I will show you what I know.” They went down a steep slope to the edge of the water. “Be careful,” she called out, “it’s dangerous along this ledge. Lean back against the rocks.”
    Steed did as he was told, and about thirty feet further along they reached an artificial cave.
    “My father said this cave was formed by accident. They were trying to fill in the small inlet and instead they made a hole. Dynamite was tricky in those days. You had to be experienced with it.”
    The small cave was