“We asked ourselves the same thing,” Sid said. “But we didn’t know about his lack of money at the time. You want to know whether Mr. Bryce was supporting him financially and thus—”

“Hold on a minute,” Gus said. “You’re not suggesting that my cousin might have anything to do with Reynold Bryce’s death, are you? I’ve known Willie all my life. We used to play together at their summer cottage in Maine. He’s a good bit younger than I, but a sweet and funny kid. I’d say there was no malicious bone in him.”

“I’m sure he had nothing to do with the murder, Gus,” I said hastily, although I wasn’t so sure. I suspected that Willie Walcott did have a few malicious bones in him, given the right circumstances. Maybe tomorrow I’d learn whether he had been to visit Reynold Bryce recently and what had transpired between them.

Chapter 30

Thirty

That afternoon, after I had put Liam down for his nap, I took the Métro back to my old neighborhood in Montmartre. The cafés were full but I saw no sign of Maxim or any of his artist friends. So I trudged up the many steep alleyways and steps until I reached the very summit of the hill and found Le Bateau-Lavoir building. The front door, as usual, was half-open. I stepped inside and heard no sound of voices.

“Hello?” I called. “Bonjour?”

Nobody answered me. The place was as still as a morgue. I came out again. An old man was sitting on the fence opposite, smoking a long, old-fashioned pipe. He looked up at me and grinned, revealing a toothless mouth. “You won’t find them there on a Sunday afternoon,” he said. “They’ll be at the Moulin, with everyone else.”

Of course. The afternoon dance at the Moulin de la Galette. I followed the lane around, past gardens where people were working or just enjoying the fresh air, until I came to the windmill. It was in a garden, surrounded by a high wall. I heard the thump of lively music long before I reached the entrance. The place was packed. I could hardly squeeze up the steps and in through the narrow opening in the wall.

“Two francs, mademoiselle,” a voice to my right said in my ear and I saw that there was a gatekeeper.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not staying. I’m just looking for someone who might be here.”

He gave me a patronizing smirk. “You are not the only person who tries that, mademoiselle. If you wish to enter, you must pay the same as everyone and that is two francs.”

Grudgingly I fished two coins from my purse. “Enjoy yourself,” he said. “But beware of pickpockets. Guard your wallet, eh?”