‘Oh, I think she is.’ Molyneux kept watching her, despite speaking as though she wasn’t there. ‘I’ve known Camille since she was in swaddling clothes. A sweet girl, and always an honest one.’ He sat back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach like a parish priest at lunch. ‘We all cope with the uncertainties of life in different ways. I believe in her line of work a certain attitude is a benefit.’

‘People tell me my attitude is charming. I’ll have you done for slander. Or is it libel?’

‘Libel is for comments in print,’ replied Comtois. ‘You might prefer the term defamation as it covers all mediums. I’m afraid you don’t come off so well in these notes either.’

‘As interesting as this is, can you just tell me what you want?’ She leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. The muzzle of the gun was still pressed against her skull. She could feel the bite of metal through her hair. ‘I need the toilet and these stays are horribly uncomfortable, you can’t even imagine. Yes, I am wearing stays with trousers, if you were wondering.’

She was satisfied to see Comtois’s ears grow pink.

Molyneux gave a patronising chuckle. ‘All right, all right. I have only one question. A young girl in our charge has gone missing. I want to know if you had anything to do with it.’

Camille swallowed. ‘Why would I have anything to do with it?’

‘You have a knack for picking up strays. And being in places you shouldn’t be.’

She gave him a grim smile, remembering his plump figure, hands neatly clasped behind his back as he watched her father being led up the scaffold steps.

‘That’s a matter of opinion. I happen to think I’ve been in the right place at the right time more often than not. Enough to know who’s responsible for the bad things that happen.’

Molyneux ignored her, considering the paper in his hands.

‘We have intelligence that places your people in the Conciergerie prison, flying – is this right – a hot air balloon?’

‘Might be.’

‘Before disappearing in the confusion after a powder store was ignited.’

‘How unfortunate.’

‘Indeed. And around the same time the girl went missing.’

Camille cocked her head, feeling the gun slide along her skin to prod her ear. ‘But, citoyen, what does the most notorious prison in France have to do with your young charge? You didn’t say she was a prisoner.’

Comtois and Molyneux exchanged a glance.

‘She is not a prisoner,’ explained Molyneux. ‘But she is … important to us. She will be missed. And she’s a risk if she falls into the wrong hands.’

‘Would those be Royalist hands?’

‘Any hands,’ Comtois cut in. ‘Believe me, you do not want that girl loose on the streets of Paris.’

Camille gave him a bland smile. ‘Well, what a shame you lost her.’