“You’re being exceptionally thorough for someone who’s simply dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s.”

“Aren’t you?” Banks countered. “Thorough. When you’re cooking dinner?”

Marcel laughed. “I must say, you display a certain degree of ignorance when it comes to a chef’s duties,” he said. “I don’t do a great deal of cooking, though I’m quite happy to muck in if someone’s sick. I’ll even help with the washing up.” He tapped the papers in front of him. “My job is doing things like overseeing the menus and checking out the quality of ingredients, rather than actually cooking. I’m up well before everyone else, driving around the county sourcing the freshest local meat and produce. I may supervise the preparation of a few sauces this afternoon, but my main job’s usually done by the time the diners get here, apart from some last-minute touches. Of course, the prices they pay, they like to see the chef in full regalia, so I usually make a few appearances on the floor—you know, have a chat at each table, make sure everyone’s happy, take a bow. But I try not to overdo it. You won’t find anyone dropping by the tables here every five minutes to ask if you’re enjoying your meal. I also like to hang around the pass and check on what comes out. That’s an important part of the job.”

“So you don’t cook?”

Marcel shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint you. At least, not very often. I can cook, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have certificates to prove it, somewhere, and I’ve worked my way up through the kitchens of many a cafe and restaurant. Have you ever read Down and Out in Paris and London?”

“No, I haven’t,” said Banks, who had been intending to get around to Orwell for years, ever since reading an essay of his called “Decline of the English Murder.”

“You should,” said Marcel. “It’s a revelation. Especially the bit about working in the kitchens in Paris.”

“It’s on my list.”

Marcel glanced at his watch. “I don’t mean to be rude, but . . .”

“Fine,” said Banks, getting to his feet. “Sauces to prep. I understand. I’m done, anyway.” He held out his hand. “Thanks for your time.”

“No problem. I just hope Mr. Blaydon hasn’t done anything criminal. He’s a regular customer, and I need the money.”

Banks smiled. “Oh, I think he’s done plenty of things we might describe as criminal, but he’s got away with them so far. No reason to think he shouldn’t continue to do so.”

Marcel narrowed his eyes. “I should imagine that his chances are somewhat diminished now, with you on his tail. Still, c’est la vie. I can always go back to washing dishes.”

“I hardly think that will be necessary.”