‘I’m afraid we have a very difficult decision to make,’ she said. ‘The police in London have intercepted a package on its way to Germany. A package of information and drawings. There are records and charts on the movements of British Naval vessels, and drawings depicting Stonegate harbour, the port of Dover and surrounding shipping hazards such as the sandbank off Dragon Bay. What can you tell us about these drawings, Mrs Zimmermann Smith?’

‘Drawings?’ said Mutti. They were passed to her and she looked at them, shaking her head.

Mr Gibbons’s full-moon eyes were fixed upon her: ‘You said yourself that you were destined to study art in Paris. You told us that just now, or do you deny it? You are an artist, are you not? You draw?’

‘I draw, yes,’ she said. ‘But these are not mine. I draw the sea, the cliffs, the storm clouds, the birds in the sky – these are . . .’ She struggled to find the right word. ‘These are more like maps, diagrams.’

Mr Gibbons shrugged. He did not see the difference.

Then a voice called out from the back of the court: ‘Of course they’re her drawings. She’s always out on the cliffs with her flamin’ pencils.’ It was Arthur Briggs.

Mags held my hand more tightly.

‘Order!’ shouted Mrs Baron. ‘If you have evidence, Mr Briggs – proper evidence – you had better stand up. If not, you must keep silent or you will be removed from the court room.’

There was a moment of silence. Mutti was staring towards the back of the court, her mouth slightly open. She was breathing quickly. Then Arthur Briggs got to his feet.

‘All I’m sayin’, Your Honours, is that I’ve seen her.’ A few people nodded. Mags was facing forwards, quite stiff and still. She was holding my hand so hard it almost hurt.

‘She’s been creepin’ about on the cliffs,’ Briggs went on. ‘I’ve seen her meself. There’s new army buildings being built up that way, aren’t there? Bunkers? Guns? Things Jerry would want to know about, I’m sure!’ A murmur bubbled up from the benches at the back.

‘Order!’ shouted Mrs Baron again.

I remembered Kipper Briggs and his accusation: ‘She’s been seen.’ I thought of that misty morning when I had followed Mutti up on to the south cliff. I knew she wasn’t drawing diagrams of the harbour or the new army buildings – of course she wasn’t – but . . . what was she doing there? Who had she been following? It didn’t make any sense. I felt Mags shift in her seat beside me. Her hands, clasped around mine, suddenly felt clammy.

‘And she lives in the lighthouse, for Pete’s sake!’ Briggs added. ‘She’s probably flashing secret messages to Fritz every flamin’ night!’

Another murmur of noise.