Rudolf Hoffmann struck Gunther Frank as a typical Bavarian: the accent of course and well-built, with a certain sense of arrogance, which he reckoned would not last too long.

‘I told the Gestapo I have no idea who these men were. It was busy downstairs so I moved them to the dining room upstairs, that’s all there is to it. If anyone else broke in using the back staircase, I know nothing about that. I never use that door myself.’

The interrogation continued, Frank probing the other man with a series of questions, all very similar, all intended to expose inconsistencies. After an hour, he told Hoffmann he was to wait in another room and they’d resume later.

‘Do I have to stay?’

‘What do you mean Hoffmann?’

‘Well, am I under arrest? If not, you can’t keep me here. I—’

‘If it helps your sense of propriety, Herr Hoffmann, I can certainly arrest you…’

He left the Bavarian waiting in a cell for four hours; by the time he returned, Hoffmann was a different man. The arrogance had gone; now he was frightened.

‘The problem is, Herr Hoffmann, I’m not sure I believe you.’

‘In what way, sir?’ It was the first time he’d shown such deference.

‘Hans Hinkler made it very clear you’d told him to seat the two men downstairs. I think you knew full well what would happen. Saying the restaurant was busy was a ruse to get them upstairs. I also think you knew about another man – or maybe more – letting himself in through the back staircase. I think you were bribed. I don’t think you’re mixed up in espionage, I—’

‘Espionage! What?’ All the colour – there’d not been a lot to start with – drained from Hoffman’s face. He clutched the sides of his chair. ‘What the fuck do you mean? I thought it was a business deal and they needed a quiet—’

‘Ah, so you did know about it?’ Frank said nothing for a while, allowing Hoffmann to fully savour his considerable predicament. ‘Two things can happen now, Herr Hoffman. One is you can tell me everything you know, including names. Without names I won’t be satisfied. You look like you could do with another cigarette.’

The Bavarian’s hand was trembling as he guided the cigarette to his lips. ‘What was the other thing, sir?’

‘I could hand you over to the Gestapo. They tend to adopt a different approach to interrogations than the Kripo. You could describe it as a more physical one.’