“Without a doubt.” His grandfather shrugged. “I just, eh, haven’t been able to work out why they’re doing it.”

“Well—for money?”

“Hmm? Oh, no.” The old man shook his head. “He has little need of that. And if he did, he has more subtle ways. That’s one of the things that worries me about this, Alex. They’re risking drawing attention. And they’re getting increasingly reckless. Far as I can tell, eight paintings have been taken since Christmas. They seem in a desperate rush.” He stared out over the industrial landscape now flitting by and repeated quietly to himself: “Desperate.”

After a moment, he started to gather his papers and put them away. “Clearly, it’s for some purpose,” he continued. “Something on—y’know—the sinister side. I have the feeling it’s a very bad business indeed.” He paused, pursing his lips doubtfully. “Ah, how about Shadow Gate, Alex? Ever come across anything about that anywhere?”

“No. What is it?”

“Just an old story I heard one time,” his grandfather said. He blinked away his dark look and smiled. “Long time ago. Well, half a story. Not even that much. I’ve been trying to remember it.”

A tinny voice sounded above, welcoming them to Paris.

“Tell you about it when we get to Harry’s office.” The old man was already standing, pulling on his coat, eager to get moving.

•  •  •

“PRUDENT TO EMPLOY the standard precautions,” Alex’s grandfather muttered as they threaded through the echoing din of the Gare du Nord. Outside, traffic thrummed, cars and coaches, trucks and bikes, an ambulance, a hearse. They took a taxi across the city center and got out on a bustling side street.

After a few minutes’ walking, the old man hailed another cab for a snaking ride back toward the Gare du Nord. He had the driver drop them a few streets beyond, beside a Métro entrance. He paused, scanning the road. Half-hearted rain flitted around them.

“Keep alert,” the old man said as he started down the stairs.

It was lunchtime. The underground was busy. Instead of heading for the platforms, his grandfather led him through tunnel-like corridors to another exit and out. After another long, weaving taxi ride, they were standing on a derelict-looking gray street beyond the city outskirts, watching their cab drive away.