André had hurried as fast as his hangover would let him and had only just arrived and taken his position in the alley when a fiacre turned the corner into the lane. He wondered what a four-wheeled cab was doing in such a shabby little street, and then to his surprise it pulled up outside the butcher’s shop, blocking his line of sight to the apartment house door. He scurried out from his hiding place in time to catch sight of two people already settling into the cab before the blinds were drawn and they were hidden from view. They were followed by a man with a valise in each hand, getting in and slamming the door behind him. At once the driver whipped up the horse and the cab moved away, causing André to jump back into the alley. At first the street was so narrow that the fiacre made slow progress and André, setting off after it, managed to keep up, but as it reached a junction, the road widened and the cab picked up speed, leaving him choking in the cloud of dust it left behind. He stood gasping as he watched it round a corner and disappear, with no idea of where it was going, or indeed who was in it. What was he going to tell Barnier? It wasn’t his fault that they’d driven away in a fiacre. He had tried to follow, but it was, of course, impossible on foot. Still, he was pretty sure that the man he’d seen climb in was the Englishman he’d been following much of yesterday; but who were the other two? He wasn’t even certain that they were women. Was one of them the girl Monsieur Barnier was looking for? If so, she was gone.

He turned back the way he had come, considering what to do next. Should he continue to keep watch on the apartment, just in case there was something further to see, or should he go straight back to Barnier and tell him what he’d seen? He needed something to report or there’d be no more cash.

He was just deciding to go to the Pension Marguerite when a figure emerged from the alley and André suddenly found himself being dragged back out of sight, his arm twisted so high up his back that he screeched in pain.

‘Shut it!’ said a voice in his left ear. ‘And listen to me. I got a few questions for you. Answer them straight and I’ll let you go. Right?’ There was another sharp jerk on André’s arm and he screamed again. ‘Right?’ repeated the voice.

‘Right!’ croaked André. ‘Right!’

‘Who’re you working for?’ demanded the voice. ‘Barnier?’

‘Barnier!’ agree André.

‘And where will I find Monsieur Barnier?’

‘Pension Marguerite,’ squeaked André. ‘Rue des Loups.’

‘There we go then.’ The pressure went from his arm and he was given a hefty push that sent him staggering into the midden that ran down the middle of the alley. When he’d struggled to his feet, covered in the effluent of the street drain, and looked about him, he was alone. The alley was empty.