Against the cool, blue shade of the street, the interior was dazzling. Sunlight streamed in through the glass roof, ricocheting off the pale mosaic floor and the display windows of the shops lining both sides of the arcade. Unaware he was being tailed by three men, Vennet had gone into an antiquarian bookstore. The two other men were pretending, not very convincingly, to study the displays of nearby shops. I stepped into the shop where Vennet was talking to the bookseller, showing off the manuscript he’d just purchased. Remembering what Madeleine had told me, I realized he was in some kind of danger, although I couldn’t say precisely what kind. I wanted to warn him without revealing myself. Speaking to him was out of the question, on account of my accent, so I took my notebook and pencil out of my shirt pocket and scribbled a note: You are being followed by two men. Your life may be in peril. Hide the manuscript and watch out for yourself. I tore the paper from the notebook, folded it, tapped Vennet on the shoulder and handed it to him without uttering a word, face averted. I didn’t wait to see his reaction—as he opened the note, I slipped out of the bookshop, hiding my face from the two men with my hat, then turned and began to run.

Behind me, I heard Vennet stumble out of the shop and yell, “Hey! Hey there! What is the meaning of this?” I continued running, the coins in my pocket jangling like a tambourine as I did, to such an extent that I had to hold my hands against my thighs to keep them quiet. I darted across the Boulevard Montmartre and into the Passage des Panoramas, without looking behind me to check if I was being pursued. I weaved around some window-shoppers, ducked left into the Galerie des Variétés, and left again, up a narrow stairwell, three steps at a time until I reached a door at the top. I entered a softly lit room where a stout woman in her fifties sat smoking from an opera-length cigarette holder behind a Second Empire desk.

“Bonjour, Madame Yolande,” I wheezed, puffing, my every heartbeat the thrust of a dagger in my chest. “I’m glad to see you’re still open, despite everything.”

“Bonjour, monsieur, good to see you again,” replied the madame. “We’ve never been busier. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes,” I panted, “all is well.” I bent forward to catch my breath. “I just … ran into someone … I didn’t want to see.”

“Have you brought trouble with you? You know we don’t like trouble.”

“No trouble, madame, no trouble at all … Room twelve, please.”

“Room twelve is Simone’s room, monsieur. As you know, Simone sees customers by appointment only, without exception.”

“Simone, yes, of course, it slipped my mind, my apologies. What about Room Eleven?”