Whether true or not, up closer the chateau looked as dark and empty as it had from the road, with not a single light in any of its windows. If Segal was genuinely away on business, he’d either taken Madame Segal along for the ride or she was having an early night. Ben reached the edge of the encircling lawn and crossed a gravelled courtyard, past an ornamental stone fountain that could have belonged to the Palace of Versailles, and crept silently up to the house. Its walls were thick with ivy and the neoclassical columns on its facade gleamed white in the moonlight. As he skirted the side of the building an automatic light came on, and he retreated into the shadows for a few moments, listening and watching. The light went dark again, and he moved on, in search of an easy and discreet way to get inside the house.

When he found the little side door set into an ivy-framed recess in the thick stone wall, he realised that he wasn’t the first uninvited visitor to have turned up recently with the idea of breaking into the Segal home. The hasp and padlock securing the door had been ripped loose. The splinters and flakes of paint on the ground at its foot hadn’t been there long.

Ben slipped the pistol out from under his jacket and slowly, cautiously, made his way inside the house. He stood immobile in the darkness for a long time, listening, barely breathing. There was total silence, and a feeling of emptiness that told him it was safe to use his torch. The side entrance led into a utility area, comprising a laundry room and a back kitchen, then a short passage took him into the large main hallway. The floor was polished marble and gilt-framed paintings hung on the walls. An eighteenth-century longcase clock sonorously chimed the hour as he passed by. Ten p.m. but the house felt like four in the morning. The illuminated digital panel of an expensive home security system glowed dimly near the front entrance. If nobody was at home, they’d gone out without arming the alarm. Just a little odd, in Ben’s experience.

It was a very big house, and it would take him some time to explore all of it. The salon was grand and huge, the dining room even more so. A music room displayed a collection of antique instruments. A library contained ceiling-high bookcases filled with leather-backed classics of literature, poetry, history and philosophical works. Every room Ben looked inside was a treasure trove of art and beauty, and yet nothing at all seemed to have been disturbed. Whoever had broken into the house before him was either the world’s most respectful burglar, or they’d had other reasons for being here.