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Here is some corroboration for Hanfstaengle's claim from a second source.

One wonders the course of later events had the two met that evening? Might Hitler not have underestimated Churchill in Sept 1939?

The following is Hanfstaengle's version of his evening with Churchill:

The emergence of Hitler as a national, and indeed international, figure of the first rank nearly provided one of those confrontations which would have been the delight of historians - with Sir Winston Churchill. Sir Winston refers to the incident in his memoirs, but as he was not at the time in possession of all the facts, the story will bear retelling. I had seen quite a lot of his son Randolph during out election tours. I had even arranged for him to travel once or twice in the plane with us. He had indicated that his father was coming to Germany and that we should arrange a meeting. In April, either during or just after the second presidential campaign, I landed with Hitler at Munich airport to find a telephone message awaiting me from Randolph. His family were staying with a party at the Hotel Continental (not the Regina Palace, Sir Winston's memory plays him false), wanted me to join them for dinner, and hoped that I would be able to bring Hitler along to meet his father. I told him I would do what I could, but that we were tired, dirty and unshaven, and I would ring him back.
I caught up with Hitler at the Brown House and burst into his room. It looked, I might say like an hotel lounge, early Adlon and late North German Lloyd, but that was his taste. He was trying to catch up on business and in his most unapproachable mood. "Herr Hitler," I said, "Mr. Churchill is in Munich and wants to meet you. This is a tremendous opportunity. They want me to bring you along to dinner at the Hotel Continental tonight."
I could almost see the asbestos curtain drop down. "Um Gotteswillen, Hanfstaengle don't they realize how busy I am? What on earth would I talk to him about?" "But, Herr Hitler," I protested, "this is the easiest man to to talk to in the world - art, politics, architecture, anything you choose. This is one of the most influential men in England; you must meet him." But my heart sank. Hitler produced a thousand excuses, as he always did when he was afraid of meting someone. With a figure whom he knew to be his equal in political ability, the uncertain borgeois re-emerged again,the man who would not go to a dancing-class for fear of making a fool of himself, the man who only acquired confidence in his manipulation of a yelling audience. I tried one last gambit. "Herr Hitler, I will go to dinner and you arrive afterwards, as if you were calling for me, and stay to coffee." No, he would see, we had to leave the next day early - which was the first I had heard of it, as I thought we had two or three days free: "In any case, they say your Mr. Churchill is a rabid Francophile."
I rang Randolph back and tried to hide my disappointment, pointed out that he had caught us at the worst possible time, but suggested, against my better knowledge, that Hitler might join us for coffee. I turned up myself at the appointed hour. There was Mrs. Churchill, serene, intelligent and enchanting, Lord Camrose, Professor Lindemann, one of the Churchill daughters, and one or two other people whose names I forget. We sat down about ten to dinner, with myself on Mrs. Churchill's right and my host on the other side. We talked about this and that, and then Mr. Churchill taxed me about Hitler's anti-Semitic views. I tried to give as mild an account of the subject as I could, saying that the real problem was the influx of eastern European Jews and the excessive representation of their co-religionaries in the professions, to which Churchill listened very carefully,commenting: "Tell your boss from me that anti-Semitism may be a good starter, but it is a bad sticker." I had to get this bit of slang explained, which made the rest of the party laugh.
I had noticed Lord Camrose, on the other side of the table, was paying very close attention to everything that Churchill said, but over coffee, brandy and cigars, my host and I pushed out chairs back and he became confidential in his tone. I can remember the scene to this day. With his left hand, the one next to me, he held a brandy glass almost touching his lips, so that his words reached my ears alone, and in the other a fat cigar. "Tell me," he asked, "how does your chief feel about an alliance between your country, France and England?"
I was transfixed. I could feel my toes growing through my shoes into the carpet. Damn Hitler, I thought, here is the one thing which would give him prestige and keep him within bounds and he does not even have the social guts to be here to talk about it. "What about Italy?" I asked in an attempt to assess the full range of Churchill's ideas. "No, no," he said, "we cannot have everybody joining a club at once." I managed in my desperation to say how interested Hitler would be to discuss such a subject and expatiated excitedly on my own hopes. I must get hold of Hitler, I thought, and turning to Mrs. Churchill made a flimsy excuse about having forgotten to telephone my home to say how late I would be and would she please excuse me while I rang up. "But of course, ask your wife to join us," she said.
I got on to the Brown House. Hitler had left. I rang his apartment. Frau Winter had not seen him. Then I telephoned my wife to say I did not know what time she would see me. She was tired and preferred not to wait up or come out. I lurched out of the callbox into the hall and whom did I see nine or ten steps up the staircase -- Hitler, in his dirty white overcoat and green hat, just saying goodbye to a Dutchman, whom I knew was a friend of Goering's and had, I think channeled money to the Party in his time. I was beside myself.
"Herr Hitler, what are you doing here? Don't you realize the Churchills are sitting in the restaurant? They may well have seen you come in and out? They will certainly learn from the hotel servants that you have been here. They are expecting you for coffee and will think this is a deliberate insult." No, he was still unshaven, which was true. "Then for heaven's sake go home and shave and come back," I said. "I will play the piano for them or something until you get back." "I have too much to do Hanfstaengle. I have to get up early in the morning,"and he evaded me and walked out. I put on the best face I could and went back to the party. Who knows, I thought, perhaps after all he will turn up. Ikicked myself for not having been more explicit to Hitler, but the Continental had a narrow little panelled hall,with porters and receptionists every yard. I could not blurt this thing out in front of the Dutchman, and Hitler had been backing away from me the whole time. So I played my football marches, and Annie Laurie, and the Londonderry Air, and the party was in high fettle. All except me of course.
Hitler never turned up. He had funked it. The next morning early his car was waiting for me outside my house. We picked him up with his tame thugs and drove off to Nuremberg, where, if you please, he spent the whole morning talking shop with Julius Streicher. On the way there I leant forward in the car and told him all about my talk. He did not really believe it, or if he did I could feel that Hess and Rosenberg had been trying to prevent this outside contact at all cost. "In any case, what part does Churchill play?" Hitler complained. "He is in opposition and no one pays any attention to him." "People say the same thing about you," I answered,nettled. But it was no good. He had made up his mind not to expose himself to anyone with the capacity to steal his thunder. I did not even pass on Churchill's comment about his anti-Semitism in case it provided him with the excuse he needed. The Churchills stayed in Munich for two or three more days, I believe, but Hitler kept away until they had gone.

Hanfstaengle, Ernst. Hitler: The Missing Years. London: Eyre & Spottiswoode, 1957. 184-187