There was a pause as an incredulous Charles Falmer smiled and glanced first at Hanne, then at Prince.

‘Well, thank you very much indeed. I presume I’m free to leave now?’

They waited as he was led away to another office, where his briefcase was returned to him, and then stood at the window to watch his diminishing figure leave the building and walk across the rubble towards Fürstenbergerstrasse.

‘Do you really think he believed us?’

‘I hope so, Hanne. Don’t you?’

‘I’m not so sure. Yesterday we were telling him he’d committed a serious crime, and twenty-four hours later we inform him he’s free to go, and by the way, here’s all that money we apparently had such a problem with yesterday.’

‘That’s true, but don’t forget he wants to believe it. That counts for an awful lot. You and I have enough experience of interrogating suspects to know how biddable they are.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That they’re easily persuaded: if you tell a suspect you believe he’s innocent or admit there’s no evidence against him, he’s hardly likely to argue with you, is he?’

‘That’s true.’

‘Anyway, even if this is something of a long shot, it’s the only way we’re going to have a chance of finding about Kestrel. Those two chaps following Falmer – see them there?’

Hanne nodded.

‘They must be the Americans Gilbey sorted out – and there are more of them too, apparently. Let’s hope they’re as good as he says they are.’

They’d pulled more strings than there were in a large orchestra.

After interviewing Charles Falmer the previous day, both Hanne and Prince had agreed there was no question he was a link to the Kestrel escape line, and through that to Friedrich Steiner. But now that he was in custody and the money confiscated, that lead appeared to have vanished.

They needed to find a way of restoring it.

They managed to get a call through to Tom Gilbey in London, and he in turn contacted the senior OSS officer in the IG Farben building, who promised to do what he could. The man from the Office of Strategic Services turned out to be as good as his word, not least in promising the services of an officer called Tim Sorensen.

That night, the three of them hatched a plan. Falmer would be informed – with a degree of ill grace that would hopefully make it appear more credible – that the case against him was being dropped on technical grounds, and that not only was he free to go – with the money – but that he should also consider himself a very lucky man.

‘You don’t think he’ll be spooked?’ Sorensen seemed keen to help but was struggling to conceal a degree of scepticism.

‘In what way, Tim?’

‘What I mean is, one minute he’s being told he’s committed a serious offence and is losing all that money, and the next he’s being told he’s free. In those circumstances don’t you think the first thing he’ll do is get the hell out of Frankfurt and go back to Cologne – or indeed, just disappear? With all that money, I’d be tempted to.’