“I know. We checked your file. According to our records, you have lived in Paris only seven years. The origins of this crime are much older. Whether you know it or not, monsieur, you have stumbled upon one of the oldest cases of multiple homicide in the history of this marvelous city. And I believe you may be able to help us.”

“I will do whatever I can.”

Massu gave one of his little philosophical smiles. “Tell me, monsieur, how did you get tangled up in this mess? You shouldn’t even be in Paris.”

“I’m wondering that myself.”

“Have you seen the manuscript?”

“Yes, yesterday at the auction.”

“What did you make of it?”

“Well, I only looked at it for a few minutes, but nothing I saw suggested it was a fake. The handwriting appears to be Baudelaire’s, the paper stock seems old enough.”

“Have you read it?”

“I didn’t get time. I skimmed over the beginning—again, nothing appeared inauthentic.”

“I read it last week, at Jacquenet’s bookshop. I’d been waiting to read it for eighteen years. Let me tell you what is in it—this may interest you, not just as a scholar but as a human being. It is not a work of fiction. Baudelaire has written it as himself. It tells the story of his preparation for a transformation of the most unusual variety.”

Just as Madeleine described, I thought to myself. Much as I wanted to hear what Massu knew, I also intuitively felt compelled to keep everything I knew about Madeleine to myself. “A transformation?”

“Metempsychosis, monsieur—are you familiar with the term?”

“Of course, the transmigration of souls after death.”

“Precisely,” said Massu. “Except that what Baudelaire seems to allude to in this story is a transference of souls that occurs before death.”

“I see.” Massu was studying me closely. “Sounds like fiction to me.”

“Normally, I would tend to agree with you. But this case, which incidentally dates back at least eighteen years, blurs the lines between the real and the fictional. What do you know of the Baudelaire Society, or of its president, Madame Gabrielle Chanel?”

I’d been rather hoping he wouldn’t mention Chanel. By doing so, he’d made it impossible to keep pretending that Madeleine’s stories were delusions. Still, I thought, better to keep all this to myself. “Until recently, I’d never heard of the Society,” I replied. “The woman’s name rings a bell.”