Henderson smiled, before whispering his answer in English. ‘English is my native tongue. And if you study the hem of my trousers, you’ll see that this uniform is tailored for a fellow somewhat taller than myself.’

The operator’s English wasn’t good enough to understand all of this, but she understood the body language and glanced down at his hem. Then Henderson opened his tunic to reveal that his waistband was too big to do up his trousers properly.

‘You must have some nerve,’ Marte said, as she cracked a nervous smile. ‘I can take your message and pass it through to these numbers, or if you can wait two or three minutes I can connect you with Tours.’

Henderson’s jaw dropped. ‘Three minutes!’

‘I’ll work for the Boche,’ Marte said mischievously. ‘But that doesn’t mean that I’ll make it easy for them.’

She plugged a jack into the socket marked Dijon and grabbed her handset. ‘Elène,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ve got one for France. I need the Tours exchange quickly.’

It seemed that when a call was for France phone lines opened up with miraculous speed. Apart from half a minute waiting for the operator in Bourges to answer, the connection to Tours was made and a telephone rang three hundred kilometres away. Unfortunately, nobody picked up.

‘Try another,’ Henderson said anxiously.

With the connection from Paris established, it was a simple matter for the operator in Tours to dial another number. This time it was a parochial house and the phone was answered by a young priest named Father Fry.

Fry said he didn’t know of the retired priest, but that one of his older housemates almost certainly would. The young priest gave his word to pass on the message to wherever the retired priest happened to be, even if it meant walking there himself.

‘Bless you, Father,’ Henderson said brightly. ‘And tell them that I’m heading south, but it may take me a day or two to reach them.’

Henderson returned the handset to the operator when the call ended. ‘Try the third number,’ he said. ‘Father Fry sounded reliable, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.’

After a couple of minutes, a call came through. Marte shook her head as she put down the receiver.

‘No connection,’ she explained. ‘The Tours operator said that the number was for a Catholic college in the city centre and that there was a lot of bomb damage around there.’

Henderson shrugged. ‘Pity,’ he said. ‘I just hope we can rely on Father Fry.’

‘What now?’ Marc asked.

‘I’m exhausted,’ Henderson answered. ‘I need a night’s sleep, then I’ll set off for Tours in the morning.’

Marc looked unsettled. ‘You’re not going to abandon me are you?’

‘I suppose not,’ Henderson said uncertainly.

‘Have you got anywhere we can stay?’ Marc asked.