“Sorry to keep you, Mrs. Sullivan.” I spun around as the inspector returned. “Admiring the paintings, are you? These are more my kind of style. Not like that modern rubbish they’re turning out now. Fauves, this latest lot call themselves. Wild ones. I think it’s just an excuse for not being able to paint properly.” He went over to the Monet. “Now take this, for example. Here’s someone who knew how to paint. Old Monet. They were good friends, you know. He and Bryce. He’ll be upset to learn of Bryce’s death. Almost all the old Impressionists have died off now. Only that Renoir man and Degas…”

“May one ask how Mr. Bryce was killed?” I interrupted him. “Did his death indicate a violent struggle? Did it appear that he knew his attacker and was caught by surprise?”

He came closer to me, staring hard at my face. “You ask a lot of questions for someone who apparently has no interest in this case,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not a lady journalist, hoping to get a scoop?”

“I am not. But before my marriage I used to be a private investigator in New York City. I’m afraid I can’t stop being fascinated by crime.”

“Mon dieu. A lady investigator. What is the world coming to?” He shook his head.

“Perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity on just one thing then,” I went on cautiously. “Was Mr. Bryce all alone when he was killed? There were no other bodies or signs of other people being killed at the same time?”

“What are you suggesting?”

I decided to take the plunge. Surely I had nothing to lose at this stage and the worst that could happen was that the inspector would think I was a crackpot. “I’m afraid I haven’t been quite honest with you, Inspector,” I said.

“Ah, so now we’re getting to it.” He gave me a triumphant smile as if he’d suspected me all along. “Come on, then. Out with it. What was the real message?”

“No, this has nothing to do with any message. You see I came to visit Mr. Bryce because two friends of mine are missing. At least they may just have gone away, and nothing might have happened to them, but they are not at their address in Paris and Reynold Bryce may have been one of the last people with whom they communicated.”

“How long have they been missing?”

“At least two days, maybe longer. The concierge was not sure.”

“And these friends of yours are Americans?”

“Two American ladies. One is a painter. That was why they had been communicating with Mr. Bryce.”

“Age?”

“Late twenties.”

“And these two ladies were good friends of Mr. Bryce, were they?”

“No. They had only just been introduced to him.”

“Then what makes you think their disappearance had anything to do with Mr. Bryce’s death?”