‘I might have done,’ Henderson said with a smile. ‘I’ve popped a dozen Benzedrine pills to stay awake over the last week. My head’s banging like a drum.’

‘Makes two of us,’ Marc said, baring his lips to show Henderson the bloody sore inside his mouth.

‘Did you gargle saltwater like I told you last night? You don’t want to get an infection.’

‘Three times,’ Marc said, nodding. ‘So is there a plan for today or are we winging it again?’

‘Bit of both, I expect,’ Henderson said, rubbing his eyes with his palms before stretching into a yawn. ‘I know where I’ve got to go, but I’m not a hundred per cent on the details. Have you eaten?’

‘Just some tinned stuff. There’s loads in the cupboard.’

‘I’ll eat something, then we’ll get going. Have you had any thoughts about your plans?’

Marc sounded surprised. ‘I’m sticking with you aren’t I? I mean … if that’s OK.’

‘I meant longer term. Assuming our message got to the retired priest before Herr Potente, I should be picking up Digby Clarke’s kids and catching the boat to England. You don’t have any documents, but I can probably pull some strings and get you on board too.’

Marc smiled. ‘Really?’

‘You were at my side when it counted in the hotel. I’m not sure what my superiors will say when I bring home a stray, but they’ve never liked me much anyway and once you’re on the boat they can hardly send you back.’

Marc was happy enough with this. Making friends and moving to Britain was more than he’d dared hope for when he ran away from the orphanage.

They’d pushed the motorbike into a canal the previous night and once he’d eaten, Henderson decided against wearing the Gestapo uniform. He’d been able to bluff his way past a teenaged soldier to get inside the telephone exchange, but he didn’t have the paperwork to make it through a security checkpoint in daylight.

Henderson abandoned his usual smart clothing and dressed like a peasant. He ended up looking like Marc, in working boots, corduroy trousers held up with braces, a white shirt and a broad-rimmed hat to keep the bright sun out of his face.

At first glance they were a father and son; peasants seeking refuge with relatives in the south. Unlike peasants though, Henderson had a silenced pistol in a holster strapped to his chest and his suitcase contained pills, poisons, two grenades and fifteen ingots of twenty-four carat gold. Marc walked with his pigskin bag over his back and a case filled with a light load of clothing and a few tins of food.