“Frankly I don’t think he’s noticed,” Sid said. “Gus and I have been amusing him nonstop and Celeste has been feeding him all kinds of delicacies. He’s becoming thoroughly spoiled. Oh, and do you know what he did this morning?” She went on as I reached the door. “He stood by himself. If he wasn’t wearing all those annoying skirts he’d be walking.”

My child had stood by himself and I wasn’t there to see it, I thought as I went upstairs. What kind of mother was I? Was it really more important to solve this case and to clear Sid, or to be there for Liam? I considered this and decided that Liam was being fed and amused and quite safe. He’d survive without his mother around him for a few days.

When I tried to nurse him I noticed he was not as interested as he used to be. So that chapter of our lives was drawing to a close. I felt a sadness but also, it must be confessed, some relief too. I changed him, put him down for his afternoon nap, then joined the others for lunch before I set out again.

“You’ll be needing new soles on those shoes before the week is up,” Mary said as I bid them adieu. “You must have covered every inch of Paris by now.”

“My feet certainly feel that way.”

“Then take a rest this afternoon. Put your feet up. Read a book,” she suggested. “I’m sure what you’re about to do can wait until tomorrow. And remember the inspector has forbidden you to interview any more suspects.”

Sid and I looked at each other. “I’m going to check in with Sid and Gus’s old landlady,” I said. “I hope a letter from Daniel might have arrived by now.”

I didn’t look at her as I left the room. The inspector couldn’t stop me having a pleasant chat with a young girl, I decided as I pinned on my hat and left the house. Montmartre was in siesta mode as I came up the steps to Place Pigalle. The busy evening scene had not yet started. The ingredients for the evening meal had already been purchased. The shops were still shut for their long lunch hour. I stopped first of all at the Rue des Martyrs. Madame Hetreau looked surprised to see me. “I thought you’d be off in the country by now,” she said.

“I am visiting Paris to do some shopping,” I replied, “and wondered if any letters had arrived here for me. Letters from America, I mean.”

She shrugged. “Nothing that I’ve seen.”

My spirits fell. “If a letter does come from New York for me it will be from my husband,” I said. “Please keep it for me. I have written to give him my new address, but he won’t have received it yet.”