‘I imagine you and I are somewhat alike, Hendrie: dogsbodies, not really appreciated, taken for granted. This office here, Webster calls it logistics. We’re more like a travel agency. Once an agent is selected to be sent to Denmark, I arrange their journey with the considerable help of Miss Poulsen. But Webster takes me for granted, rather as you have been by the sounds of it. You know, he’s a lucky bugger is Webster, if you’ll pardon my language. Fought on the Western Front throughout the war, front line, trenches and all that, and came through unscathed. Not just physically: if a car backfires, he doesn’t even jump. Whereas I…’ He was now walking slowly back to his desk. ‘I was based at army HQ in Montreuil-sur-Mer, miles from the action. I looked after logistics there too, ensuring supplies reached the front. My one trip forward was in late 1917, when I was sent to Cambrai during the fighting – there’d been a problem with ammunition backing up at a forward depot and I was supposed to sort it out. I was still a few miles from the town, which was taking quite a battering, I can tell you. As we were leaving, heading back to Montreuil, our convoy was hit by shellfire. Lorry in front of the car I was in was destroyed and we were peppered with shrapnel. Not to put too fine a point on it, Hendrie, a piece lodged itself in my balls. I’ve been in constant pain since that day. Still, probably kept me out of trouble, eh?’

At the end of his first week in Llewellyn Tindall’s office, Hendrie was summoned to a meeting in Gilbey’s office at MI6. He walked to Broadway, south through Mayfair and St James’s Park, and when he arrived there, Gilbey and Lieutenant Colonel Robert Webster were waiting for him in reception.

‘We’ll pop across the road to St Ermin’s,’ said Gilbey. ‘No reason why we can’t do this over a decent drink.’

They found a table at the end of the Caxton Bar, overlooking the tree-lined courtyard entrance. ‘You know we’ve got one of the floors here, don’t you, Hendrie?’ Gilbey was looking up at the ceiling. ‘I tried to get my office moved here, but somehow didn’t manage it. SOE have a floor to themselves too, don’t they, Webster?’

Webster joined the other two peering wistfully upwards, all of them wishing they were based here rather than in the more utilitarian premises that the rest of MI6 and the SOE had to make do with.

‘Robert has been of the view,’ said Gilbey, ‘that the fate of the agents we’re sending into Denmark is either an unfortunate coincidence or else the source is in Denmark itself. He has been reluctant to concede that the information is coming from within his own section. I think that is fair, Robert?’