“Ah.” He nodded. “She too has her problems, then. Life always makes problems, no?”

“So how exactly are you related to her?” I asked.

“My mother, she was also from the family Goldfarb. She told me two brothers left Poland. One went to America, one to Paris.”

“So your grandfathers were brothers?”

“So it seems. So tell me—what do you think of my art?”

“It’s striking,” I said tactfully. “Different.”

“Picasso says it shows genius, and Picasso he is a genius himself. He says the world is not ready for us yet. And that is true. Most people want pretty pictures on their walls. I too can paint pretty pictures if I have to. But I must paint where my soul is.” And he thumped his chest. A most dramatic young man.

“You should paint the occasional pretty picture to pay the rent,” I said. “Every artist has to compromise.”

“I try this. Believe me, I do try this, but it leads only to destruction. So you will buy a painting?”

I gave an embarrassed smile. “I’m afraid I’m not rich like my friends. I’m the wife of a poor policeman.”

“No? A policeman? In America?”

“In New York.”

“Ah, I see.” He nodded. “So you do not come to Paris to buy paintings.”

“No. Actually I came to find you because I’m worried about Miss Goldfarb and Miss Walcott.”

“Worried, why?”

“They’ve vanished. I arrived in Paris, expecting to stay with them and they are not at their apartment. Nobody knows where they have gone. Have you seen them recently? Have they said anything to you about leaving the city?”

Those sorrowful dark eyes turned to me. “No. I know nothing that explains this. Last time I saw them they were happy. The artist lady hopes for one of her paintings to be in the big exhibition. She was working to complete a new canvas. Why should they leave Paris at such a moment? Unless they have been taken ill, do you think?”

“Surely even from a hospital bed they could write to me, or get someone to write to me. And their landlady would know. And is it likely that they are both taken ill at the same time?”

“They could both have eaten bad food and been poisoned. There are bad oysters in the city, so I am told. Many people are sick. Some die.”

My stomach lurched. Food poisoning. Why hadn’t I thought of that? But surely if one has food poisoning it usually strikes at home, several hours after the meal. Wouldn’t the landlady have been consulted about which hospital or doctor they should go to? Still, it was a possibility I hadn’t considered and it gave me a new area to search.