There were five or six photographs. They were pictures of a woman, taken a long time before. She was young, in her thirties and very beautiful. It wasn’t Simone Vaugeois, but someone else. Maybe from the islands or some French colony. No idea, I was just guessing. In one of the pictures she was looking directly into the camera. Her face was so beautiful that it was easy to miss the fact that she was naked and covering herself with the bed sheet. Gilles had taken that photograph. He had been there with his lover. He wanted me to burn the photos so that Simone would never find them. He knew that unless the photographs were burned she would eventually open the box and find them. He was protecting her from the knowledge of an infidelity.

I didn’t judge. I found a box of fancy matches in the cigar drawer. I took the office garbage can and put it on the desk. Then one by one I set fire to each of the photographs. Gilles watched as the pictures burned. One by one the images of his beautiful young lover took flame and were consumed until all that was left was a pile of warm ash. As they burned, I dropped the corners into the garbage can.

When I was finished, he looked deflated. Worse than I’d ever seen. It was like from one minute to the next he had aged an extra decade. I picked up the cream-colored volume from the desk and brought it over to the other leather chair. Switched on the reading lamp. Then I sat down and opened up the secret book from Vaugeois’ safe.

It was a hand-written and sketched account of the system of caverns, caves, tunnels, and limestone passages hidden under Alencourt and the department surrounding the town. There was a history and an archaeology of the underground city. There were pages and pages of drawings and diagrams showing depth and distance, connecting tunnels and larger caverns. Some tunnels connected, others missed connecting by only several feet of raw stone.

It was a life’s work. Gilles Vaugeois’ life’s work.

I read the whole thing, from beginning to end, and tried my best to understand it. Gilles slept as I read. I had to stand up and consult other volumes in the main bookshelf. Maps of the region that laid out context for the caverns. Surface charts that allowed me to understand the logic of the system. Or as much of it as I could figure. It took all the rest of the night.

Afterwards, I put the volume back in the safe and closed it. Spun the dial to scramble the lock and closed the fake book panel. I memorized the combination and burned the note paper. Then I carried Vaugeois downstairs over my shoulder. And put him to bed next to his quietly snoring wife.