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From the doorway Gaillard said, in shocked tones, 'For God's sake, Claire, what are you saying?'

She turned on him feverishly. 'Oh, yes, it's true. I was the puppet - he pulled the strings. Meet my master, Paul. Reichsleiter Martin Bormann.'

'I really am growing rather weary of that bit,' Strasser said.

'Would you like to know why I did it, Paul? Shall I tell you? It's really very simple. Etienne wasn't killed escaping from SD Headquarters in Paris as we thought. He's alive. A prisoner at Mauthausen concentration camp.'

There was agony on Paul Gaillard's face - an overwhelming pity. He took her hands in his. 'I know, Claire, that Etienne wasn't shot trying to escape from Avenue Foche. I've known for a long time. I also know they took him to Mauthausen.'

'You knew?' she whispered. 'But I don't understand.'

'Mauthausen is an extermination camp. You only go in, you never come out. Etienne died there in the stone quarry two years ago along with forty-seven American, British and French fliers. There seemed no point in causing you needless distress when you already believed him dead.'

'How did they die?'

Gaillard hesitated.

'Please, Paul, I must know.'

'Very well. At one point in the quarry there was a flight of steps, 127 of them. Etienne and the others were made to climb them carrying heavy stones. Seventy, eighty, ninety, even one hundred pounds in weight. If they fell down they were clubbed and kicked until they got up again. By the evening of the first day half of them were dead. The rest died the following morning.'

Canning and Justin Birr had a plan of the castle open across the top of the piano. Claudine Chevalier sat opposite them, playing softly. The door opened and Hesser and Howard entered, the German brushing snowflakes from the fur collar of his greatcoat.

Canning said briskly, 'I've called you together for a final briefing on what the plan must be in case of an all-out assault.'

'You think that's still possible, sir?' Howard asked.

'I've no reason to believe otherwise. One thing is absolutely certain. If it comes at all, it must come soon. I'd say no later than dawn because the one thing Strasser or Bormann or whoever he is doesn't have is time. An Allied column could cross this place. However' - he pulled the plan forward - 'let's say they do attack and force the drawbridge. How long can you hold them before they blast that gate. Howard?'

'Not long enough, General. All we have are rifles, Schmeissers and grenades and one machine gun up there. They still have two half-tracks with heavy machine guns and a lot more manpower.'

'Okay - so they force the gates and you have to fall back. What about Big Bertha, Max?'

'She is in position thirty yards from the mouth of the tunnel and overflowing with scrap metal. However, I can't guarantee that she won't blow up in the face of whoever puts light to her.'

'That's my department,' Canning told him. 'I said it, I meant it. If it works, we dispose of the first half-track out of the tunnel and probably every man in it. That should even things up a little.'

'Then what?' Howard demanded.

'We retreat into the north tower, get the door shut and stand them off for as long as we can.'

Justin Birr said mildly, 'I hate to mention it, Hamilton, but it really isn't much of a barrier, that door. Not if somebody starts chucking grenades at it.'

'Then we retreat up the stairs,' Canning said. 'Fight them floor by floor, or has anybody got a better suggestion?' There was only silence. 'All right, gentlemen, let's get moving. I'll see you on the wall in five minutes.'

They went out. He stood there looking at the plan for a while, then picked up a German-issue parka and pulled it over his head.

'A long wait until dawn, Hamilton,' Claudine Chevalier said. 'You really think they'll come?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'And Paul and Claire? I wonder what will happen to them?'

'I don't know.'

'Or care?'

'About Gaillard - yes.' Canning buckled on his holstered pistol.

'How strange,' she said, still playing, 'that