Certain that the man had moved on, Dirk planted his eye back at his peephole, and his mouth popped open at the appearance of the blond knockout from Madame Dupree’s boardinghouse. With her was a girl about her age, a midget in comparison to the blonde’s height but pretty as a peach, while the knockout was downright gorgeous. After a glance up and down the street and a quick embrace, they set off in opposite directions.

His breath trapped in his lungs, Dirk kept his eye on the café door for the exit of Stephane Beaulieu and was rewarded with sight of him a few minutes later. Like the others, he gave the street the same once-over, now coming to life with people hurrying home before dark. His eye also lit on the bell tower. This time Dirk simply moved his head to one side and remained perfectly still, his heart knocking so loudly that temporarily he went deaf to outside sound. Steady, he told himself. The first Frenchman to enter could simply be a customer; Beaulieu and the blonde could be secret lovers and the café their meeting place. It was smart in France these days to keep your private life to yourself, and it wasn’t unusual for people to look over their shoulders for watching eyes in this country where everybody had become afraid of their own shadow.

Stephane had taken off toward the metro. Dirk would give him time to put distance between them, then, glad to get out of this literal rat hole, head that way himself to consider what he would do with his newly gained windfall of information. Just to make sure he’d seen all there was to see, he placed his eye once more at his observation post and instantly lost his restored breath. Coming out the café and pausing to survey the street was his best friend in all the world, his neighborhood pal he’d known his entire life, Christoph Brandt of New Braunfels, Texas.

*  *  *