Most of the German firepower that entered Paris earlier in the day had exited south, where it was being used to press the Germans’ advantage over the retreating French. Paris was a ghost town. Every shop closed, every road empty. There were no checkpoints and few patrols, but the Germans’ fearsome reputation kept the population indoors. Marc, Henderson and the pursuing Germans seemed to have the streets of Paris to themselves.

Henderson clipped a kerb as they rounded a tight corner. Marc found himself half a metre off the ground in the sidecar as Henderson threw his weight to correct the tilt whilst struggling to avoid a line of dustbins.

The Mercedes had a higher top speed than the bike and sidecar, but that counted for little on the tight streets of Paris. The driver never got close enough for the passenger to open fire and after three corners it had dropped out of sight. The two pursuing motorbikes were nimbler and as they didn’t have the weight of a sidecar they were also faster than their prey.

But the Germans couldn’t make their speed count because Marc lay on his belly in the sidecar and shot at them whenever they closed in. And what the bikes gained in a straight line, Henderson pulled back on hilltops and blind corners. He’d lived in Paris for years and knew the streets, whereas the Germans had to slow down because they didn’t know what lay ahead.

By the time Henderson had got all three wheels back on the ground, the German riders pursuing them were the closest they’d been. Marc’s first shots had been crazy, but he was getting the hang of the pistol and had already hit one of the bikes, although the shot had deflected off the front wheel arch.

Henderson slowed down to turn right and suddenly the headlamp on the lead bike was right in Marc’s face, less than four metres away. He pulled the trigger and hit the rider square in the chest. The shot knocked the man backwards as they turned the corner. Marc was astonished to see the motorbike continue in a straight line, whilst its rider froze in midair, legs apart and hands out front as though he was still riding.

‘I got one,’ Marc yelled.

Henderson couldn’t acknowledge this because they’d turned on to a steeply descending street paved with cobbles. The homes built close to the kerb on either side passed in a blur. They were gaining speed, but Henderson knew that the sidecar didn’t have its own brake and if he tried to slow its momentum would pull them into a hopeless spin.

Marc’s shoulder banged against the sidecar as he saw the single headlight of the remaining bike poised at the top of the hill. But it wasn’t coming after them.

‘I think he’s chickened out!’ Marc shouted jubilantly.