The flight on the A320 Airbus from Buenos Aires to El Calafate was uneventful and favourable tailwinds brought the journey time down to just under three hours. Vargas and Hembury slept for most of it and, by the time the wheels touched down, they were feeling rejuvenated. Both men were travelling light and, a few minutes after landing, they collected their Hertz hire car. The red Nissan Micra weaved its way out of the rental car park zone and headed west towards the small city of El Calafate. Although it had developed somewhat since the days of Hitler’s residency, it still only had a population of ten thousand, which made it one of the smallest cities in Patagonia.

Vargas was driving, with Hembury in the passenger seat studying a photo on his camera of Gerald Franklin’s ID card, giving the address of the farmhouse.

“Nic, you realise there is no street name on here? It just says the name of the farmhouse, El Blondi, and the town, El Calafate.”

“Back in the forties, Troy, when our friends set up home, El Calafate wasn’t even really a town, let alone a city, so there were no streets. It was just a stopping off place for wool traders travelling across country and the population was less than two hundred, so it was the perfect setting for a hideaway.”

The centre of the city was only a thirty-minute drive from the airport, and Vargas parked up on the front drive of the Esplendor Hotel, located just off the main street. They checked in and then set off by foot, hoping to find some inspiration. It was a charming, bustling city that tourists used as a convenient hang-out to visit the nearby Glacier Park, which housed one of the most spectacular glaciers in Patagonia, a 240-foot high monster named Perito Moreno.

The pair worked their way across the north and south districts of the city, stopping off at various bars and restaurants to enquire if anybody knew the whereabouts of El Blondi, but drew a total blank. After four hours of fruitless footwork, they called it a night and consoled themselves in an upmarket steakhouse where they ordered a couple of giant fillets, accompanied by a bottle of Argentinian Malbec.

Back in the hotel room, the two detectives pondered their next move.

“Troy, let’s split up in the morning. You work the east side and I’ll take the west. Before I start, I’ll check in with their city hall and see if they have any old records that might help.”