Marc shook his head meekly. ‘All I know is that Henderson lives here, sir. I don’t know him. I’ve never even seen him.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘I came from the north,’ Marc explained. ‘I came here to shelter.’

‘All the doors and windows are intact,’ the German said. Then he turned towards one of his junior officers. ‘I don’t believe him. Fetch my bag from the car.’

‘I swear it’s true, sir. I pulled out the bathroom window. There’s still a hole, and you can go and look if you don’t believe me.’

Without warning, the Gestapo officer grabbed Marc out of the chair and smacked him hard across the face. ‘I don’t believe you. And you will address me as Herr Oberst, is that clear?’

The blow left Marc in a daze, with blood welling in his nostril. He was slow to respond and the Oberst dragged him across the room and knocked the side of his head against the wall.

‘I understand, Herr Oberst,’ Marc said, seeing stars and fighting tears as the blood dribbled over his top lip.

‘Who is Henderson? Where is Henderson?’ the Oberst shouted, as he jabbed two fingers into Marc’s stomach.

‘I swear I don’t know.’

The Oberst looked at one of the junior officers. ‘Check the bathroom window, then search the house for his things.’

The officer clicked his heels and headed out as his colleague returned with a leather doctor’s bag. The bag jangled as the officer placed it on a tabletop.

‘Pliers,’ the Oberst ordered. ‘Then hold the boy around the neck.’

Marc could hardly stand after the beating and put up no fight as the junior officer stood close behind him and wrapped an arm around his neck.

‘This is your last chance to tell me about Henderson,’ the Oberst warned, as he rested the cold pliers against the squashy tip of Marc’s nose.

Marc considered inventing something to satisfy the Oberst, but he knew a lie would only lead him into deeper trouble and his head was too fuzzy to come up with anything convincing.

‘I swear I don’t know anything,’ he said, crying now as his blood soaked into the junior officer’s sleeve.

‘We shall see,’ the Oberst said, pinching Marc’s nostrils shut, forcing him to open his mouth.

‘Please,’ Marc begged, as the arm tightened at his throat.

The Oberst pushed the open pliers into Marc’s mouth and clamped one of his upper front teeth. Blood flowed as the Oberst twisted the pliers, accompanied by a pain beyond any Director Tomas had ever inflicted on him. The tooth made a shocking crunch as the Oberst twisted it out of Marc’s jaw, then it hit the floor with a delicate clatter.

‘I demand you tell me everything,’ the Oberst bellowed, as the junior officer released the grip on Marc’s neck a little.