As well as two clips and a box of ammo, Marc found three grenades on a belt, wrapped inside a set of battle fatigues that stank of urine and sweat.

‘Are these any use?’ Marc asked.

Henderson broke into a broad smile. ‘The ability to blow stuff up is always useful,’ he said, nodding. ‘So what do you think of the uniform? It’s not perfect, but I think I can pull it off.’

Marc nodded. ‘He was a bit taller than you, but it’s OK.’

‘I’d lose the velvet jacket,’ Henderson said. ‘It’s distinctive and they might be looking for it.’

‘So what’s our plan?’ Marc asked, as he took off the waistcoat. ‘Or are you still working on it?’

Henderson looked at the striped markings on his black uniform as he placed a grey, peaked cap on his head. ‘Looks like our friend Mr Corpse was a senior officer. Nobody will expect us to head out the front of the hotel and get in a German car, so that’s exactly what we’ll do.’

Marc looked aghast. ‘Are you insane?’

‘We’ve caused panic,’ Henderson said, as he stared into the mirror and looked at his stubble. He didn’t quite look the part, but there was no time to shave. ‘Once the panic dies down they’ll lock this hotel down tighter than the Führer’s toupee.’

With that, Henderson placed his silenced pistol into a leather holster and passed one of the grenades to Marc.

‘Once you pull the pin, you’ve got about fifteen seconds before it explodes.’

‘OK,’ Marc said weakly, as he stared briefly at the grenade before forcing it into his trousers.

With a gun tucked into the waistline and a grenade bulging from his pocket, Marc worried that his trousers were going to fall down as he left the hotel room and followed Henderson’s black uniform down the corridor.

The fire alarm meant the lifts were out of action, so they walked down the staircase that ran beside it. The alarm itself had stopped ringing, but the plush lobby was crammed with confused Gestapo officers. Nobody paid the blindest bit of notice as Marc and Henderson shuffled between bodies.

Marc caught snippets of conversation. Depending upon who you listened to the situation varied from French commandos holding men hostage on the top floor, to a fire, to a hoax played by a drunken officer.

‘Coming through,’ Henderson said, speaking his most pompous German and holding Marc firmly by the shoulder. ‘Urgent message from the Oberst.’