I held up the copy of Le Temps I’d just bought. “The English are sending more troops, apparently, and the Americans may enter the war at any moment.”

“Well,” she huffed, “you’re quite the optimist. I don’t believe a word of it. It’s a veritable nightmare. When I think of my poor Jeannot…” Her son was a conscript. She lifted a crate by her feet and carried it to the building’s entranceway, where her husband was packing their belongings onto an old Peugeot. “We’re going to my aunt’s place in Vichy. There’ll be no trouble there. You should leave too, if you know what’s good for you.”

Inside my front door, the black suitcase was waiting for me like a faithful hound. But instead of picking it up and leaving, as I ought to have done, I lay down on my bed and started reading the newspaper. The headlines were upbeat, it was true, but reading in between the lines there was no denying Madame Barbier was right. The situation was worsening: Belgium routed, the French army outmaneuvered, and the British evacuating at Dunkirk. The government itself was leaving Paris for the relative safety of Tours. By concentrating on a total military victory in the north, I calculated, the Germans had delayed their arrival in Paris by a few more days. That, I figured, gave me just enough time. I wanted to get to the bottom of this affair—if there was indeed a bottom to get to. And if my plans went awry, there was always the morphine.

The next day, I sent a letter by pneumatic tube to the Baudelaire Society on the Quai d’Anjou, signing it with Arthur’s name and apartment number.

Paris, Wednesday, June 5, 1940

Dear Madame Chanel,

I recently acquired a previously unpublished work by Charles Baudelaire, a story entitled “The Education of a Monster.” The work is of enormous literary significance and prestige. I cannot guarantee its safekeeping in these troubled times. Given that the libraries are all closed, I would be grateful if the Baudelaire Society would consider accepting it with a view to assuring its preservation. As for obvious reasons I do not wish to send you the manuscript in the post, I am happy to bring it to the Society and give it to you in person at your earliest convenience.

Cordially, Arthur Koestler