The Bormann Testament Read Free

that affair in Cuba. I’ve put him into the home for six months.” The Chief sighed. “I had a psychiatrist’s report this morning. Frankly, it wasn’t too good. I’m afraid we won’t be able to use LaCosta again.”
    Chavasse moved across to his chair and slumped down into it. He helped himself to a cigarette from the box the Chief held out to him and lit it with a steady hand. After a while, he smiled. “All right, I give in. You’d better put me in the picture.”
    The Chief got to his feet. “I knew you’d see it my way, Paul. And don’t worry. You’ll get that holiday. This affair shouldn’t take you more than a couple of weeks at the most.”
    “Where am I going?” Chavasse said simply.
    “West Germany!” The Chief walked to the window and spoke without turning round. “What do you know about Martin Bormann?”
    Chavasse frowned. “One of the top Nazis, probably killed in the final holocaust in Berlin when the Russians moved in. Wasn’t he in the bunker with Hitler till the very end?”
    The Chief turned and nodded. “We know that for certain. He was last reported trying to break out of the city in a tank. What actually happened, we don’t know, but certainly his body was never identified.”
    Chavasse shrugged. “That’s hardly surprising. A lot of people died when the Russians moved in.”
    The Chief moved back to the desk and sat down. “From time to time, there have been vague rumors about Bormann. One of them said that he was living in the Argentine, another that he was farming in Ireland. We checked these stories very carefully, but they proved to have no foundation in fact.”
    Chavasse straightened slowly. “And now you’ve had another report? Something a little more substantial this time?”
    The Chief nodded. “Do you know Sir George Harvey?”
    Chavasse frowned slightly. “Wasn’t he Minister of Intelligence for a time in the coalition government during the war?”
    “That’s the man,” the Chief said. “He retired from politics after the war to concentrate on his business interests. Yesterday, he went to the Foreign Office with a very strange story. The Foreign Secretary sent him straight to me. I’d like you to hear what he has to say.”
    He pressed a buzzer on his desk twice. After a moment, the door opened and Jean ushered in a tall, graying man in his early sixties. She went out, closing the door softly behind her, and the Chief got to his feet. “Come in, Sir George. I’d like you to meet Paul Chavasse, the young man I was telling you about earlier.”
    Chavasse stood up and they shook hands. Sir George Harvey had obviously kept himself in good condition. His handclasp was strong, his face tanned, and the clipped mustache gave him a faintly military appearance.
    He smiled pleasantly and sat down. “I’ve been hearing some very complimentary things about you, Mr. Chavasse.”
    Chavasse grinned and offered him a cigarette. “I’ve had my share of luck.”
    Sir George took one and smiled again. “In your game you need it, my friend.”
    The Chief struck a match and held it out in cupped hands. “I wonder if you’d mind telling Chavasse here exactly what you told me, Sir George.”
    Sir George nodded and leaned back in his chair. He turned slightly toward Chavasse. “Among my many business interests, Mr. Chavasse, I hold a great number of shares in a publishing house which shall remain nameless. Yesterday morning, the managing director came to see me with an extraordinary letter. He and his board felt that it should be placed before the Foreign Secretary as soon as possible, and knowing that I was a personal friend of his, they asked me to handle the affair.”
    “Who was the letter from?” Chavasse said.
    “A German called Hans Muller,” Sir George told him. “This man states in the letter that Martin Bormann is alive. He says that he lived in Portugal until 1955, when he returned to Germany, where he has since been living quietly under an assumed