Otto’s shock was so profound, he was aware of little for the next hour or so. He was taken to the Gestapo headquarters on Kampmannsgade and interrogated. They told him he was being sent to Berlin ‘to be dealt with’, but in the meantime he was to tell them all he knew about Peter Rasmussen.

He said he didn’t know a Peter Rasmussen, but when they insisted he must do because he’d travelled to Berlin with him the previous month, he knew the game was up. He could feel tears welling in his eyes. It had been a good life, not as fulfilled in some ways as he’d hoped, but it had been interesting, and he’d been comfortable and had enjoyed good health, which now felt somewhat ironic. But since meeting the Englishman, he’d feared it could end like this, and he’d resolved what to do. He was prepared.

‘I’ll tell you everything: it’s all down to Rasmussen. I know where he is.’ They all nodded, evidently pleased that it had been so easy. ‘Perhaps if I could use the toilet first?’

He was searched, but they seemed to be looking for weapons. Nonetheless, he didn’t have long. One of them stood just outside the cubicle, the door open. From inside his collar he removed the pill he’d obtained just before the trip to Berlin. His pharmacist friend told him he’d supplied dozens of them. The Nazis are good for the poison industry. This will take up to twenty seconds to work, Otto, and I’m afraid it won’t be a very pleasant twenty seconds. Whatever you do, make sure you swallow it quickly. Don’t keep it in your mouth or they could pull it out. Once you’ve swallowed it, you’ll have passed the point of no return.

‘Hurry up!’

He couldn’t wait any longer. He didn’t regret helping the Allies, but then again… he slipped the pill into his mouth. It felt much larger than he’d imagined, and he had to cough to gather enough saliva to swallow it. He heard shouting – maybe they suspected something – but by the time someone grabbed him by the shoulder, his body had begun to tighten from the inside and a dizziness swept over him, followed by darkness, and then it was too late.

It was a sign of failure for the Gestapo to seek the help of the Danish police. That they barely trusted them went without saying. What bothered them more was how it showed them up: the Gestapo were meant to be the elite, the representatives of the master race, the occupiers. Asking for assistance was not part of the image they sought to encourage.