‘Unfortunately not, no – I’m from Luxembourg. I feel unable to return there because of my… activities.’

‘I don’t believe you.’ The older man had produced a knife.

Stephens shouted – a loud shout in English, hoping the Americans were looking for him and would hear – ‘I’m here… help me!’ He repeated it and tried to kick the man with the knife, but it was too late. One of the others had plunged a blade into his side.

When the Americans found him a few minutes later, the surface of the small yard was coated in the Englishman’s blood, like a pond unexpectedly appearing in a forest.

Friedrich Steiner turned up as instructed at the grocery store on Türkenstrasse. He told the woman behind the counter that he never wanted to see another potato again, and when he asked if she had any cauliflower, she ushered him into the back of the shop. His delight at seeing his father ended when his father slapped him repeatedly round the face.

What on earth do you think you’re up to?

Did I not give you very strict orders?

Why have you been volunteering information about yourself here in Munich?

Did you know an Englishman was sent here to find you?

Friedrich sank to the floor and started sobbing. He said he was so sorry, but he couldn’t stand it in the Tyrol and thought he’d be safer in a city. He’d only told one or two people about himself, and then it was because he knew they were good Nazis like him, and never – on his mother’s memory – had he told anyone what his real name was, so really things weren’t that bad. And he was a reformed character, he assured his father. His behaviour had improved – he didn’t lose his temper as often – and he’d found himself a woman. ‘In fact, she lives with me.’

‘You’re not marrying her, are you, Friedrich?’

‘I don’t think she’s old enough, Father.’

Wolfgang Steiner shook his head. ‘You’ve obviously not learned your lesson. Tomorrow you will go to Frankfurt with Ulrich. He’ll arrange your escape from there: fortunately, I’ve made some arrangements. You’re to do what he says, do you understand?’

‘But Father—’

‘Listen to me! It’s not just your safety, it’s mine too. You will stay with Ulrich until the morning and then leave for Frankfurt.’

‘Can I go to my room?’

‘No, it’s too dangerous – let me have the address, though.’

When Wolfgang Steiner went to the address near the Theresienwiese the following morning, the place was deserted. A neighbour told him the girl had left the previous evening, and said there were bruises all over her face. Steiner thought it was ironic how close she’d come to being killed without realising it.

In the short time he’d been in the building, the rain had turned from a light shower to such a heavy one it was bouncing off the pavement. He waited in the dark entrance, smoking as he watched people hurrying by, all hunched and avoiding looking at anyone else. One man did glance towards the building, and for a brief moment Steiner thought he looked familiar, so he stepped back further into the shadows.