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‘Oh, yes,’ said Park casually. ‘I may have better news for you.’ He took a little notebook out of a drawer in his desk, studied it briefly, replaced it and excused himself for a moment.

Tommy recalled:

He had left the drawer in his writing desk open. I doubt he had any training for the work he did as a paymaster on behalf of the intelligence services. As soon as he went out, I jumped across the desk and found his notebook. In it were lots of names, people I assumed to be agents. There were mostly Polish and Swedish names. Some of them appeared to be operating in Germany, some further east, others in Sweden. Two names stood out in bold letters, those of a Captain Wahlqvist and Commissaire Runerheim. Their Swedish addresses suggested to me that they were part of the intelligence services over the water, perhaps among the top people.

I memorized as much as I could in the space of a few seconds, and just had time to replace the notebook and return to where I had been standing before Park came back.

Tommy didn’t know precisely what it all meant, nor how much the British knew about Swedish operations. Was Park also a paymaster for the Swedish Legation in Copenhagen? If so, he had just gone down a notch in Tommy’s estimation, as the young spy was less than impressed by Denmark’s Scandinavian neighbors: ‘The Swedes were pro-German in my mind at the time,’ he said later. ‘Although I may have made a mistake about that.’

Oblivious to the fact that his carelessness had just compromised the security of an entire spy ring, Park handed over a small envelope. Tommy quickly counted the cash and looked questioningly at the lawyer, who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders to make it clear that there would be no more for now.

With the meeting over, Sneum returned to his flat to reflect on what had happened. He carefully wrote down the names ‘Wahlqvist’ and ‘Runerheim’, and added some of the others still in his mind. This helped him recall several addresses he had seen alongside the names. Once he had memorized all the information, he destroyed the piece of paper. ‘I didn’t know how these names would come in useful,’ he said later. ‘I just thought they might.’

Far more important, for now at least, was the money. It wasn’t much, given that he needed a better radio, funds for future intelligence-gathering operations, and of course his daily living expenses. But it would have to suffice for now.

For all the pleasure and comfort she gave him, Emmy Valentin was worth even more to Tommy for the social contacts she had among the upper reaches of the German command in Denmark. ‘The Princes had completely wasted Mrs Valentin’s contacts among the Germans in my opinion,’ he reflected later. ‘She had known all kinds of high-ranking officers, even in German Intelligence, because her husband had been German Consul in Kalundborg. Those officers invited Emmy out and they were generous. Hitler paid.’

Sneum was keen to tap into this gold-mine and, as he now had a strong bond with his hostess, he was in a perfect position to take advantage. ‘Would you mind living a little more dangerously?’ he asked her.

‘No, Tommy,’ she said with a mischievous smile. ‘I don’t think I would mind at all.’

Sneum thought he detected a flicker of anger, perhaps even jealousy, in Hans Lunding when the Danish Intelligence officer visited Emmy one day and found the younger man sitting comfortably in her ground-floor apartment. Worse for Lunding, he had to pretend he didn’t know Tommy, and he showed such formal courtesy that the spy almost burst out laughing.

His mood was not so buouyant a few days later when he stepped on to a tram and bumped straight into his wife, Else. Tommy recalled: ‘We just looked at each other in complete astonishment.’ When he had climbed into the Hornet Moth and taken off for England, he had never expected to see Else again. If the flight didn’t kill him, he imagined the war probably would. Even when he had survived above