They forced me into a chair. Tied my wrists and ankles to it.

I told them I knew they had given me a forgery. Asked if the finished Mona Lisa in Chaudron’s studio was the original. They refused to tell me.

Valfiero drew his spidery hand across my cheek and I spit in his face.

Chaudron tied an oily paint rag around the bottom of my face. Stuffed it into my mouth.

Then they drank wine and smoked cigars. They dared to raise their glasses of wine to me. And laughed.

I watched. Bound and gagged. Impotent rage burning in my gut like acid.

I tried to think clearly. My knives lay on the table just beside Valfiero’s gun. Could I jerk the chair closer? But there was no way to reach them with my hands tied.

The two of them became quite drunk. Chaudron wound his phonograph and played the record. Did a drunken little dance while Valfiero applauded.

The windows grew dark. They were about to take me outside and kill me.

Then the front door flung open and Georges Fournier stood in the doorway. A pistol in his hand.

Chaudron made a grab for the gun on the table. Fournier knocked it to the floor. He trained his pistol on the two men. Ordered them to untie me.

I coughed and cursed as the gag came out of my mouth.

The bank president demanded that Valfiero and Chaudron return his money. Valfiero was all innocence. Asked Fournier if he was unhappy with his purchase.

Fournier said he knew it was a forgery.

Valfiero denied it. Said it was Leonardo’s masterpiece.

I shouted he was a liar. But Fournier already knew that. He had seen the proof. He whipped his pistol across Valfiero’s face and Valfiero stumbled and fell. Chaudron pressed a linen napkin to his friend’s bloody lip. Then he sprang up. A wild man! Leaping at Fournier. Knocking the pistol from Fournier’s hand. It skidded across the floor. I made a dash for it but Valfiero got there first. He waved the gun in the air ordering all of us to get back. But too late. I was already in motion and our bodies collided.

The shot reverberated throughout the stone house.

Chaudron fell.

Valfiero scampered on hands and knees to his friend. Chaudron stared down at the blood on his smock. It was a moment before Valfiero saw the wound. He assured Chaudron it was only his shoulder and not serious.

I raced to get the gun. So did Fournier. Then Valfiero. The three of us struggled over the weapon. One more time the gun fired.

Fournier stumbled back. Hands at his neck. Blood spurting. Then he fell to the floor. I tore the hem from my shirt and wrapped it around his neck. The blood seeped through quickly. Fournier got an arm around me and pulled me close. Whispered that no one must ever know what happened here. Then his arm dropped. His body went slack.