‘Believe me, we hear them too, my friend. There are maybe ten thousand of us in Denmark, possibly less, who knows for sure? We couldn’t be treated better by the Danes – I mean, we are Danes. But the rumours we hear, the terrible rumours… we fear it’s only a matter of time.’

Ferdinand Rudolf von Buhler conducted the meeting with the Dairy Industry Federation with a haste bordering on rudeness. There were times when representing the occupying power had unintended benefits. The dairy men hadn’t even got onto the vexed subject of butter when von Buhler announced the meeting had come to an end.

‘But Herr von Buhler, you specifically asked at the last meeting for more time to discuss the issue of—’

‘That can be for the next meeting, then – it gives us something to look forward to!’

He left the embassy via the rear entrance and hurried through the streets of central Copenhagen. Within ten minutes he was inside the bicycle shop off Pilestræde, breathless and anxious. He didn’t think he’d been followed, but he hadn’t had enough time to take the more circuitous route that would have allowed him to be certain.

Jensen was behind the counter as usual, a half-smile fixed on his face. The diplomat presented the receipt he’d removed from his desk earlier that morning.

‘I was wondering if my bicycle is ready yet?’

‘It is indeed, sir, though I wonder if you will require further adjustments?’

‘I’ll only know when I see it.’

‘Perhaps you should come into the workshop then. Give me a moment while I close the shop for lunch.’

Jensen locked the door and put up the closed sign before taking von Buhler into the back of the shop, through the workshop and into the small room behind it. Prince was still on the mattress on the floor, but was now propped up against the wall. The doctor was beside him, taking his blood pressure. The diplomat stepped away from the room and called Jensen over.

‘There’s someone else in there.’

‘Yes, Dr Oppenheim. He’s trustworthy, totally.’

‘And I take it he’s Jewish?’

Jensen nodded. ‘I hope that’s not a problem for you.’

‘Not at all; the opposite, in fact. It means I can trust him.’

Dr Oppenheim moved aside to allow the German into the small room. The diplomat asked him to wait in the workshop.

‘You speak German?’ Von Buhler was kneeling down beside Prince.

‘Some, yes.’

‘Do you want to give me a name?’

‘Are you Browning?’

The German nodded.

‘I’m known as Peter Rasmussen here in Denmark, but I’ve lost all my papers. I was based here, then sent into Germany. I was at the camp in Neuengamme, but I managed to escape. My contact here has disappeared and I need to get back to England. Gilbey told me I should contact you in an emergency.’