He had access to thousands of records in the Nazi Party Chancellery: not just those relating to party members, but also the records of senior military officers, criminals, scientists, civil servants and members of the SS. In his safe he kept a Leica 35 mm camera, which he knew was a risk, but one he mitigated by ensuring there was never any incriminating film in it. He was often one of the last to leave the office, giving him ample opportunity to photograph important files, especially those that were revealing or incriminating.

His influence went beyond his ability to organise and be indispensable. He became adept at finding important people in Berlin who were experiencing difficulties and helping them. He gained a reputation as someone people could confide in when they were desperate, and who could help them in a practical manner, whether that be arranging an abortion for a mistress or sorting out a debt. He had discovered a large but little-used fund at the Party Chancellery intended for the welfare of Nazi Party members and their families. He became a trustee of it and used it for medical treatment, paying off blackmailers and a variety of other claims.

And he kept notes – of illegitimate children, of senior officials with sexual interests so unusual he needed to look some of them up in the Parteikanzlei library, of others who had a Jewish skeleton – or a communist one – hidden deep in the recesses of a wardrobe.

And it was in another wardrobe – this one in his bedroom, a large walnut one with a concealed base – that he hid the notebooks in which he’d written up what people were up to, and this was where he also stored his rolls of 35 mm film.

But the notebooks and rolls of film didn’t stay there long.

He’d found another hiding place.

This was a farm in the Rott Valley, near the small Bavarian town of Eggenfelden. He’d got to know the area when stopping there overnight on his journeys back to Vienna, a trip he preferred to do by car, and had sensed the farm would fit perfectly with his plans. It was owned by a Frau Moser, whose husband was listed as missing in action on the Eastern Front, presumed dead. She was struggling to keep the farm going and was most open to the proposal of the gentleman from Berlin.

He arranged for two Czech slave labourers to work at the farm and gave her a regular sum of money. In return, she agreed he could store items in the cellar and could assume the identity of her husband, though she only agreed to this once she’d been assured he was not interested in any other aspect of matrimonial life.

Back in Berlin, it was a simple matter for someone in Wolfgang Steiner’s position to alter Andreas Moser’s records, though for the time being it was an identity he wouldn’t use. Every couple of months he’d hide notebooks and rolls of film in his Daimler and stop overnight at the farm, where he’d secrete them in the cellar before continuing his journey to Vienna.