Maxim Noah moved swiftly down the hill. I quickened my pace. If he wasn’t staying any longer with Josette at Le Bateau-Lavoir I should try to follow him and see where he was hiding out. It was precarious walking in my dainty pointed shoes over the cobbles as the road dropped steeply. He turned to the left, taking a narrow alley between buildings. I followed and came out to see him crossing the road and entering what seemed to be a cemetery. Perhaps he had found a good spot to hide out among the dead, I thought.

I crossed the street after him and went through the gate into the cemetery. It was not like our graveyards in Ireland, with their low granite tombs and Celtic crosses, but full of impressive monuments, angels, cherubs, statues, and mausoleums—veritable houses of the dead for whole families, all piled close together. I looked around but could no longer see him. I took a step or two forward then stopped. Even in daylight I didn’t fancy poking around in a cemetery on my own, especially on the trail of a dangerous man. I turned to leave and suddenly there he was, blocking my path.

“Madame Sullivan,” he said. “What a pleasure to find you here. You enjoy visiting the dead, do you?”

“As much as you do, obviously, Monsieur Noah,” I said. “You find inspiration for your painting here, do you?”

“Sometimes. But today I have other reasons for being here.”

“Yes?”

He nodded. “Such as luring you to a place where nobody can see us. I have been keeping an eye on my sister, you see. Such a rickety old building, it’s easy to listen to what is being said. I realized that you have discovered the truth.”

“The truth that you are Jakob Klein and in no way related to my friend Elena Goldfarb. Why did you claim to be her cousin?”

He looked at me scornfully, as if I was particularly dense. “She’s a rich American. I overheard her talking about looking for her family in Paris and I decided she’d be helpful to a poor struggling cousin.” He shrugged. “It was easy to convince her. She herself had supplied all the details.”

“You deceived her,” I said angrily.

“One does what one must to survive. They burned our village. They killed our parents. We came here with nothing. I had my sister to protect.”

“And yet you let her model for Reynold Bryce? Was that protecting her?”