‘Indeed, they have long been my dearest friends. Do you know the family, Frau Winkler?’

‘Of course, sir. Oh dear, such a sad thing. Herr Generalmajor Somerfeld was much loved in these parts. Such a terrible way to go. Frau Somerfeld has not been here since . . . well, you know the story, sir . . . a terrible tragedy.’

‘He was a brave man, fighting for his country. Well, I thought I would go and look at the house as I was passing. Perhaps you would make me something to eat in the meantime?’

‘Of course, sir.’ She lowered her voice. ‘We even have a little meat and some potatoes.’

‘You are most kind.’

‘Will you require a room, sir?’

‘Is anyone else here?’

‘Two junior naval officers, sir.’

‘I probably have to get on with my journey, but we shall see.’

He could tell that she was eyeing up his expensive clothes, thinking there must be more money to come from this man. A natural enough thought when a woman has five small children to feed.

Now he was back, sitting in Frau Winkler’s kitchen as she fried up a thin beefsteak with potatoes and an egg. The children – all boys, it seemed – were crowded around the range, looking at the meal hungrily.

‘I suppose someone in the village keeps the key and looks after the place for Frau Somerfeld,’ he said casually.

‘I believe there is a key at the boatyard.’

‘The boatyard? Who would I speak to there?’

‘Herr Schmidt. Friedrich Schmidt. He is the proprietor. A very old friend of the Somerfelds. Like yourself, sir.’

‘Of course. I believe they may have mentioned him. He has some large seagoing boats, yes?’

She nodded, stiffly, and Jung realised he had asked one question too many. Coastal people were all in it together when it came to smuggling. There might well have been more to her sudden clamming up, however – for a little way east of Schalhagen, he had come across military installations. That would explain the presence of the naval men. The locals would have had the dangers of potential spies drummed into them. Time to change the subject.

‘Do you have any brandy, Frau Winkler?’

‘A little rum, sir.’

‘That would be a fine thing. It’s getting colder.’ He brought out his wallet and handed her thirty Reichsmarks. ‘For your excellent hospitality, dear lady. Perhaps you will find some sweets to buy for your fine boys. For St Nicholas Day.’

‘Oh, sir, that is too much,’ she said, stuffing the notes into her apron pocket. ‘Nicholas Day has gone now, but I will see if I can find them something for Christmas. They will be so pleased.’