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“You are here in a British Secret Service prison and it’s our job in wartime to see that we get your whole story. Do you see?” The threat didn’t need to be made. Chapman told him everything, in a great tumbling torrent of confession. He told Stephens about his criminal past, the Jersey prison, his recruitment, his training in Nantes and Berlin and the parachute drop. He told him about the codes he knew, the sabotage techniques he had learned, the secret writing, the passwords, and wireless frequencies. When he described his mission to blow up the De Havilland aircraft factory at Hatfield, north of London, Stephens interrupted.

“Pretty hazardous undertaking, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You were rather a favourite. Did they trust you?” “Yes.”

“They said they thought rather highly of you, that you could get in anywhere and do virtually anything?”

“Yes, I could.”

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In the course of 48 hours, Chapman provided more than 50 descriptions of individuals, including Von Gröning, his spymaster. He told them some things the British knew, such as wireless codes they had broken, which allowed them to test Chapman’s truthfulness — but he also told them much that was new, painting an astonishingly detailed picture of German espionage methods.

That night, Chapman wrote a letter to Stephens. It is an extraordinary document, a combination of self-pity, self-examination and self-assertion, reflecting the internal agony of the spy: “One does not expect gratitude from one’s own country but allow me to draw your attention to a few facts. For 13 months now I have been under German rule. During this time even when undergoing detention I was treated with strict fairness and friendliness. I made many friends — people who I respect and who I think came to like me — unfortunately for them and for me.

“I set out from the first day to try to mass together facts, places, dates etc. concerning the German organisation . . . Don’t think I’m asking for any friendship now, it’s a little late — on the other hand this strange thing patriotism. I laugh a little cynically when I think of it sometimes. I have fought the fight and my country won (why, I can’t explain). I wish like hell there had been no war — I begin to wish I had never started this affair. To spy and cheat on one’s friends it’s not nice it’s dirty. However, I started, this affair and I will finish it. Don’t think I ask anything for this, I don’t. It seems very strange to be working for two governments — one offers me the chance of money, success and a career. The other offers me a prison cell.”

While Chapman was writing, Stephens was gathering his interrogators for a conference on what to do with this potentially very valuable crook. “If Chapman is to be believed, he offered to work for the Germans as a means of escape (and) on landing, he immediately put himself at the disposal of the British authorities to work against the Germans . . . He is possessed of courage and nerve.” Chapman revealed that he had been offered a huge reward by the Germans if his mission succeeded, and he seemed to retain a strong affection for Von Gröning.

Without being asked, he offered to return to France and work for MI5 behind enemy lines. Could he be trusted? Chapman had a long criminal record, and an even longer history as a philanderer. He had an illegitimate child in Britain, an ex-wife in London and a string of former lovers, as well as a wide network of criminal associates. Yet Stephens was convinced that Chapman would make a first-class double agent. That evening Camp 020 sent a message to the commander of B1A, the MI5 section responsible for running double-agents: “In our opinion, Chapman genuinely means to work for the British against the Germans. By his courage and resourcefulness, he is ideally fitted to be an agent.”