A back door opened and a maid appeared, carrying two suitcases. She went over to the car and handed them to the driver.

‘When they appear, you’re going to have to translate’ said Maxwell. ‘I know what to say, but you’ll have to put it into French for me.’

The maid went back into the house and shortly afterwards Joseph and Henriette Caillaux appeared in hats and coats despite the warmth of the evening. Showing a turn of speed that surprised Anton, Maxwell crossed the cobbles and stopped them.

‘Tell him who we work for and that we’d like to talk to him.’

Anton, catching up, did as he was told. Caillaux eyed them both in silence.

‘Tell him we want to give him a chance to explain how France can stay out of the war. Him and Jaurès. Say our papers are dead against war.’

Elaborating a little on what Maxwell suggested, Anton threw in some flattery towards Madame Caillaux, using idioms he’d learned from Delphine.

Caillaux said nothing, but began to walk towards the motor car, where the chauffeur was cranking the engine.

‘Ask him if he’s going to his country retreat,’ said Maxwell.

Caillaux held the door open for his wife as she climbed into the back of the car. He looked Anton slowly up and down, then let his gaze travel over Maxwell. This was not a man, Anton thought, with warm feelings towards the press. But perhaps the fact that they were not from Paris, still less Le Figaro, might help.

Caillaux spoke briefly before climbing into the car and slamming the door.

Anton translated. ‘He said, “Tell your English friend I will make a statement at twelve if he wants to be there. But tell him it will be in French.”’

‘Dear God, Heideck, you’re a wonder. Let’s go. Gare Montparnasse, I think. He’ll switch to the train once he’s out of Paris. He won’t risk that contraption.’

‘I’m not coming.’

‘Don’t be a bloody fool, Heideck. This is the chance of a lifetime!’

They followed the car out of the mews and back onto the main street, where a newsboy was selling the evening paper. ‘Austria Declares War’ was the headline. Anton ran across the street and bought a copy.

‘You can’t go back now, can you?’ said Maxwell, laughing.

‘I can if I hurry.’

‘If Austria’s declared war, then Germany’s in as well. The game’s up.’

‘I’ve got to try.’

‘The trains won’t be running. Come with me. I need your French. Let’s get this Caillaux thing done. Then in a couple of days, things will be clearer and you can go back to your little sweetheart. Come on, Heideck! Two days won’t make any difference. It’s your big chance!’

Maxwell hailed another taxi and asked for the Gare Montparnasse. Anton climbed in beside him, his head full of misgivings.

Near Le Mans, they stayed at a small inn on the edge of the village in which Caillaux had his country house. Maxwell was able to get his story over to London, where it appeared on the front page, with Caillaux’s comments on the trial translated for English readers by an uncredited interpreter. Anton’s magazine worked on a longer deadline, so he offered what he had to the daily newspapers. They either had their own correspondents or were more interested in the fact that their country was at war. Die Presse took two paragraphs of quotation from Caillaux for an inside page. It was hardly the career-changing moment Maxwell had promised.