They began searching the house, room by room. It was ranged over three floors and seemed as large inside as it had appeared from the outside. It was so spacious it could easily be a guest house or hotel, Wilde reflected. The main room was decorated with more antlers. Snowshoes and skis and old bows that might have been hundreds of years old were displayed on the wall over an immense stone fireplace.

A large, exquisitely detailed map of the Austrian Alps was laid out on the table. Next to it, tidily arranged, were fine-nibbed pens and an inkwell. Wilde studied the map and realised it was a hand-drawn work in progress and was signed ‘Jaeger, A.’ So he was a cartographer as well as a mountain guide. Schellenberg had been correct in one matter at least: it would be hard to find a man with more knowledge of these mountains if an Alpenfestung was ever being seriously planned.

Heck had wandered off into other rooms. Suddenly, Wilde heard a noise behind him and turned. Someone was standing in the doorway looking at him. It was the woman from down the road, only now she had discarded the dead chicken and the knife and the bloody apron. She had also donned a white cap to hold her fair hair in place.

She smiled awkwardly at him. ‘Grüss Gott,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘You said you were looking for Herr Jaeger?’ She spoke in an Austrian version of German which Wilde struggled with.

‘That’s right. You pointed us in this direction. Isn’t this his home?’

‘Indeed, sir. But he is not here. No one in Almrosen has seen him in more than a week.’

‘Isn’t that a little worrying?’

She shrugged her powerful shoulders. A real mountain woman, thought Wilde. ‘Not so much. He often disappears into the mountains for long periods, sometimes taking hikers and climbers, sometimes just on his own to do a bit of hunting and trail-finding.’

The lieutenant had reappeared and looked suspiciously at the woman. Wilde couldn’t fail to see the tension in him and could sense that he was holding his concealed pistol with an unnecessarily tight grip. Wilde repeated what the woman had told him about August Jaeger’s tendency to disappear into the mountains for extended periods.

‘What sort of timescale are we talking about, Fräulein?’ Heck demanded.

She shrugged again. ‘Days, weeks, even months. He comes and goes without telling anyone. But tell me, kind sirs, why do you want him? Are you climbers?’

‘Maybe,’ Heck said. ‘We were told he might be able to help us with a tour we want to make.’