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Hoffman.  “But you should also note that there are also shipments arriving on Japanese submarines.”
    “Japanese?”
    “Yes, their submarines have been visiting our ports on the French coast since 1942.  They call them ‘Yanagi’ missions; apparently Yanagi translates as ‘Willow’, but goodness only knows how that relates to the military objective.” Hoffman flapped his hand at the absurdity, paused and took some moments to bring his mind back to the subject he had strayed from.  “But the objective is simple.  Exchange of personnel and technology, trade of goods and so forth.  My point being, none of the gold delivered by the Japanese subs has been switched.”
    “So we are back to German submarines,” finished Marner.  “Noting that if the gold carried by Japanese submarines was also handled by the Gestapo but not tampered with, then the Kriegsmarine is logically the common factor!”
    “This brings us full circle to your question regarding what Schull was doing here in Paris.  If the missing bullion was the reason for his murder, then presumably he was reasonably close to whoever is responsible.”
    “Where had Schull been before Paris?”
    “He came here directly from Berlin because he was following the trail backwards.  He didn’t get very far!” concluded Hoffman. 
    Marner dipped his head in feigned acknowledgement of this attempt at humour.  “But why Paris?  Was the gold routed through here?”
    “I really don’t know. You will have to ask your own SS colleagues about that.  I was simply instructed by my superiors in Berlin to extend to Schull the authority to do what he needed and to go where he wanted.  Just to contact me if he met any, ahh, obstacles.  But since my initial meeting with Schull last week when he arrived, I had not seen nor heard of him until his death was reported to me.”
    Marner learned that Schull had been offered a desk to use in the building, but Hoffman did not even know where that was, having delegated the minor organisational details to his aide.  Directed to Schull’s assigned desk in the corner of a chaotic office shared by numerous other officers, it took Marner twenty seconds to establish that there was nothing on it or in the drawers that had any link to Schull.  So his next course of action was to go to the only other place in the city that Schull was connected to: his hotel. 

Chapter Five
    The Hotel Dauphin was a scruffy low grade affair in the Rue de l’Isly, close to the Gare Saint-Lazare.  It would have seen better days in peacetime, benefiting from its proximity to the station.  Now, with few commercial or tourist travellers and being just that bit too far out of the sphere of central Paris activity to make it attractive to German officers as a permanent residence, it made only minimal trade from those passing through on temporary assignments.  Such as Schull. 
    At the reception desk Marner encountered a tired and elderly woman who was more interested in reading her week-old newspaper than in his demand for the key to Schull’s room, although how she could see the paper through the toxic haze of cigarette smoke that enveloped her was a mystery to him.  He offered no explanation for why he required the key, citing simply ‘official business’.  She grunted, shrugged and clattered the key onto the scarred wooden counter rather than into his outstretched palm and then returned to her paper. 
    Stepping into the elevator and closing the gate, he pushed the button for the fifth floor but it did not move.  After several stabs at the button and opening and re-closing the gate to verify that it was shut, he returned to the desk to be informed that it was out of order due to lack of spare parts.  So he was left with no option but to ascend via the reeking and unlit stairwell to the top level. 
    As he walked along the gloomy corridor he became aware that his boots were sticking slightly to the threadbare carpet covering the creaking and