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'Only where matters of importance are concerned,' Strasser said, and as the drawbridge thudded down into place, they walked across together, Hoffer following.

The judas opened and Howard peered through briefly. He stepped back and they moved inside. As he closed the gate and barred it, Howard said to Hoover, 'Take Herr Strasser up to the north tower. General Canning is waiting. You, Major,' he continued to Ritter, 'will have to put up with my company until he gets back, I'm afraid.'

Strasser moved off, without a word, following Hoover. Hoffer stood, back to the gate, stony-faced. Ritter took out his case, selected a cigarette, then offered one to Howard.

'I must warn you. They're Russian, an acquired taste.'

Howard took one and leaned back against the wall, the butt of his Thompson braced against his hip. 'So, here we are again,' he said.

When Hoover knocked on the door and led the way into the upper dining hall, only Canning and Justin Birr stood by the fire. Strasser paused nonchalantly in the centre of the room, hands in the pockets of his leather coat, slouch hat slanted over one ear.

'Good evening, gentlemen.'

Canning nodded to Hoover. 'You can wait outside, Sergeant. I'll call you if I need you.'

The door closed. Strasser crossed to the fireplace and spread his hands to the blaze. 'Nothing like a log fire to take the chill off. It's cold out there tonight. The kind that eats into your bones like acid.'

Canning glanced at Birr and nodded. Birr crossed to the sideboard, poured a generous measure of brandy into a glass and returned.

'Just to show how humanitarian we are. Now what in the hell do you want, Bormann?'

Strasser paused in the act of drinking some of the brandy. 'Strasser, Herr General. The name is Strasser.'

'Strange,' Canning said. 'You look exactly like the man I saw in Berlin in 1936 standing on the rostrum behind Adolf Hitler at the Olympic Games. Reichsleiter Martin Bormann.'

'You flatter me, General. I am, I assure you, a relatively unimportant official of the Department of Prisoner of War Administration.'

'I have difficulty in imagining you as a relatively unimportant being. But go on.'

'Let us consider your situation here. There are twenty-four of you in this garrison, twenty-six if we count the ladies. Most of your men are reservists who have never fought or cripples who can barely lift a rifle.'

'So?'

'We, on the other hand, have almost forty battle-hardened shock-troops to call upon. Men of the Waffen-SS, and whatever you may think, General, however much you disapprove, that means the best in the world.'

'Get on with it,' Justin Birr said. 'Just what are you trying to prove?'

'That if we decide to move against you, the consequences will be disastrous - for you.'

'A matter of opinion,' Canning said. 'But accepting that what you say is true, what do you suggest we do about it? I mean, that is why you're here, isn't it? To offer us some kind of alternative solution. I mean before you try slipping a couple of men across the moat just before dawn to blow the drawbridge chains.'

'My goodness, somebody has been busy,' Strasser said. 'All right, General, it's simple. We have Dr Gaillard, whom we found at the Golden Eagle in Arlberg attending to the landlord's sick son. Sad, how good deeds can so often prove our undoing. However, if you and Colonel Birr will hand yourselves over, we'll be content with that and let the ladies go free.'

'Not a chance,' Canning said.

Strasser turned to Birr. 'You agree?'

'I'm afraid so, old stick. You see, we don't really trust you, that's the truth of it. Terribly sorry, but there it is.'

'And the ladies?' Strasser said. 'They have no say in this?'

Canning hesitated, then went and opened the door. He spoke briefly to Hoover, then returned. 'They'll be here directly.'

He and Birr lit cigarettes. Strasser turned to survey the room and immediately saw the great silver bowl of scarlet winter roses on the piano.

'Ah, my favourite flowers.' He was genuinely delighted and crossed the room to