“Yes, we certainly do.” The cat’s charming Southern voice continued. “Now then, good Doctor, I believe I have something you want. And you have something I want. There is no need for anyone else to be concerned in this—and no one else shall be as long as you follow instructions to the letter. But please believe me, if I find the gendarmerie curious at my door, or sense the slightest duplicity on your part, I’m apt to be irritable. The rather desirable exchange I am contemplating will be off. I hope that’s quite clear?” Lucy observed that every word was succinct, and that he pronounced “gendarmerie” with an excellent French accent.

He got out of his chair and walked slowly across the room toward the fire, and as he did so Lucy caught the quiet drift of Alex’s voice from the earpiece. This gave her heart: it sounded just as steady as usual. “…understand these papers which seem to excite your interest have very little fascination for me. I marvel at grown men becoming so enthralled by them. Do you really think…”

Her host turned away again to deny her the security of knowing what was happening. She watched his face, finding him somehow pathetic in his attempts to do verbal battle with Alex. He picked up a chess piece that had fallen over and played with it. He finally returned to her and sat close enough for her to hear Alex’s voice clearly again. She realized he wanted her emotional reaction to it.

“…is recovering from surgery and requires very gentle handling. I will move heaven and earth to make sure that some very uncomfortable questions are put to you. And although Mr. Petersen advises me that you’re a man to whom nothing sticks, I promise you’ll find me unrelenting. So let’s drop the verbal chess games, make our arrangements, and adhere to them. My flight for De Gaulle leaves in fifteen minutes and gets down at eleven p.m. How do you suggest…?”

Lucy turned her own head away. She understood they wanted Alex to bring them the papers he’d dug up, but she had no idea how they knew, or why they were so important, or what on earth “Mr. Petersen” had to do with it. She refused to look again at the man who kept her hostage, and tried indeed to block out the last words he spoke on the phone:

“It is such a pleasure negotiating with an intelligent human being. It saves so much wasted time and pain. And I’ve missed the opera tonight for this; although in fact, some very high-caliber people will assure you that I am there, even now collecting my glass of champagne in the interval. Don’t you love the opera, Dr. Stafford? Lucia di Lammermoor?”