On the other side of the bridge, he stepped onto the Île Saint-Louis and slow-walked with the tourists for two blocks onto the old Pont Marie.

Still no followers.

On the northern side of the Pont Marie he veered right into a series of narrow lanes that took him eastwards again, alongside the Jardin de l’Hôtel de Sens and into the maze around the Rue de l’Hôtel-de-Ville, a series of medieval streets that became more nonsensical the further east he walked. This area had once been used by the Company to attune agents to the signature sounds of footwear on Paris streets. The echoes rang like a bell and even the rubber soles of de Payns’ sneakers made a lingering sound. If there was anyone behind him, he’d have heard it by the time he turned north onto the Rue Saint-Paul.

At the Place de la Bastille he did a broad loop around the square, at the centre of which stood the massive July Column, commemorating the revolution of July 1830—a strange idea of revolution, since the revolt simply replaced a Bourbon king with one from the Orléans line. De Payns moved with the pace of the sightseers and confirmed yet again that he was clean. He looked at his watch—it was 2.26 p.m. Across the square was the Café Français, which, if he wanted to come in to the debriefing, he’d have to enter at the half-hour. This was the plan that Manerie wanted him to follow, as if nothing were amiss.

He sauntered towards the cafe’s blue canvas awnings, aiming to be inside and at a table at 2.30 precisely but knowing he had a –1/+2 minute window.

The place was crowded with Americans and Australians, and de Payns looked around for a place to sit before moving to one of the multi-coloured tables outside. He sat where he could watch the square and also look in the cafe’s main window, where he saw a male patron with a green golf cap resting on his table. The waitress approached him quickly, probably thinking that de Payns’ clothing was the sign of a foreigner who would tip too much. He ordered a coffee and leaned back, giving himself a view of the golf cap through the window. Before the waitress could return, the man sitting beside the cap put it on his head and walked out of the Café Français. De Payns dropped a few euros on the table and followed.