Heil Harris!

night on earth.
    Christ! Steed saw suddenly that the bullet had been meant for him. Heidi had set him up, as they knew. A lone British agent staying at the inn. So the murder squad had turned up and killed the lone agent. And Steed, in his room with Heidi like a couple of newly weds had escaped because...
    He hurried across the passage and banged on Heidi’s door.
    “Who is it?”
    “It’s me.”
    “Drop dead.”
    Steed turned away, smiled fatuously at the police guard standing outside Goldberg’s room, and went back to finish the whisky. He wouldn’t escape because of Heidi the next time they came.
    After a thoroughly bad night’s sleep Steed was woken up too early by Heidi. “Good morning, I’ve brought you a pot of black coffee,” she said cheerfully. “I thought you might need it.”
    “Thanks. I wish you wouldn’t bounce up and down on the bed.”
    She laughed. “You have a hangover?”
    “No.”
    “That is good. Because we have work to do. During the night I was thinking of a way to find the people who killed Herr Goldberg.” She poured him the coffee. “You see, they obviously meant to kill you—”
    Steed groaned. “I thought beautiful women were supposed to be stupid.”
    “My small brother is twelve and he will spend the rest of the week on a fishing expedition near Zwergern with his friend?” She showed Steed a rather clever charm round her neck with a miniature radio inside where the portrait would be. “He will call us when the fun starts. That leaves us free to check up on the people who were drinking here late last night.”
    “So while I’m cleaning my teeth you could ask—”
    “I already have.” She took a slip of paper from her shoulder bag. “Herr Kurtmann finds me irresistible. These are all the names he can remember, and the three at the bottom were talking about you.”
    Steed glanced at the names. Hans Bohme, Friedl Eisenschiemal and Fritz Neufeld. “Do you know any of these people?”
    “No. I live across the other side—”
    “I’ve heard it all. What did Kurtmann tell you about Goldberg?”
    “Nothing. It seems that Herr Goldberg met no-one and kept to himself. He went out every morning before you woke up and returned every evening at nightfall. He was a mystery.”
    Steed put the coffee cup back on the bedside table.
    “All right, I’ll be getting dressed while you find out all you can about Fritz Neufeld.”
    Neufeld was a local doctor. He lived in a large house half a mile from the village. He was sixty-three and nothing was known of his politics. But he wasn’t Jewish; he attended the Catholic church on the minimum number of saint days required of a devout man. “All right,” said Steed. “I want you to go out and see him. Say that you’re a friend of Isaac Goldberg, that Goldberg is dead and you need his help to find the Nazi treasure. You know the style of thing. Assume that he and Goldberg were in this together.” Steed patted her on the arm. “I’ll see you back here for lunch.”
    When the girl was gone Steed put through a phone call to Tel Aviv. “A personal call to General Ben Halle,” he said, “and it’s urgent.” The operator said yes, she would ring him back. Steed lit a panatella and waited. He couldn’t get The Times in the God-forsaken place so he read the NeueZeiter Zeitung instead. But the trouble with foreign crosswords was that only a bloody foreigner would be able to do them.
    “Mr. Steed,” shouted Kurtmann eagerly. “Tel Aviv coming through!”
    Half the village was probably eager. He could imagine the telephone exchange crowded out with listeners.
    “Hello, Jacob. This is Steed. John Steed. Yes, I’m marvellous. Having a wonderful time in Bavaria just at this moment. Beautiful spot right next to Walchensee. Yes, yes, you must have read about it. Ha ha. As a matter of fact I’m pretty certain one of your men was staying in the same hotel. Name of Goldberg. But he’s dead now...”
    At four o’clock that afternoon Steed went for an invigorating walk up Mount Klausenkopf. He went about two miles and when he had established that no-one was following him he climbed back through the sparse woods until he came to a large house. He leaned his umbrella carefully against a tree and peered at each window through his binoculars. The house appeared to be empty, but that couldn’t be. Heidi Toppler had to be in there somewhere.
    Steed blamed himself. The girl was inexperienced. He shouldn’t have sent her on such a