So he waited his turn, agreeing with the old man next to him that it was indeed warm for the time of year and smiling perhaps a shade too pleasantly at the German sentry who hurried them along. The soldier appeared to be suffering from a heavy cold, wiping his dripping nose with the sleeve of his greatcoat. He looked at Prince’s identity card, then at Prince himself, and once more at the card.

‘Name?’

‘Jesper Holm.’ He wondered whether to add ‘sir’ but decided against it.

‘Let me have a look.’ A short German wearing civilian clothes moved forward, one of a group of three observing the checkpoint: Gestapo. The soldier handed him the legitimationskort and he studied it carefully, then looked at Prince, appearing to go onto his tiptoes to get a better view. He turned round and said something to his colleagues, and before Prince could fully grasp what was going on, his arms had been grabbed from either side and he was being hauled away. He must have pulled against them, because a fist punched him hard in the ribs and he doubled up.

By the time someone spat in his ear that he was under arrest, he’d already gathered that might well be the case.

Chapter 7

Copenhagen, November 1942

He’d been blindfolded and bundled into the back of a car, so had no idea where they were going. His only impression of the vehicle was the tan-coloured seats he’d glimpsed under the blindfold and the aroma of leather and stale tobacco.

There was a man on either side of him and another in the front alongside the driver; he was able to work that out from the different voices as they argued about where he should be taken, clearly unaware he spoke German.

‘I’m telling you, we take him to our headquarters on Kampmannsgade. There’s no question about him. This is so clearly a case for the Gestapo. This name has been on our watch list!’

‘But the protocol is that all Danish citizens have to be processed by the local police first – you know that as well as I do, Klaus. The last thing we want is another row with these precious Danes.’

‘But according to our information, he’s probably not Danish. Let’s go straight to Kampmannsgade and then deal with the bloody Danes. We’re far too sensitive about their feelings as it is.’

‘Look, let’s go to the main police headquarters on Polititorvet, get him processed as a priority and then we can have him back at our place within an hour.’