There was a mirror next to the front door and but for that I wouldn’t have noticed what happened next. But as Tim and I made our way out, the man in the gray suit reached out and took my key, turning it around so that he could read the number. He was interested in us. That was for sure. His eyes, empty of emotion, were still scrutinizing us as the door swung shut and we found ourselves in the street.

First the whispered warning: “Beware the mad American!” Then the death of the steward from the train. And now this. There was a nasty smell in the air and already I knew it wasn’t just French cheese.

“Which way, Nick?” Tim was waiting for me, holding a camera. He had already taken three photographs of the hotel, a streetlamp, and a mailbox and he was waiting for me in the morning sunlight. I wondered if he had remembered to put in film.

I thought for a moment. I was probably being stupid. We were here in Paris for the weekend and nothing was going to happen. I couldn’t even be sure that it really was Marc Chabrol who had fallen under the train. “Let’s try down there,” I said, pointing down the street.

“Good idea,” Tim agreed as he turned the other way.

What can I tell you about Paris? I’m no travel writer. I’m not crazy about writing and I can’t usually afford to travel. But anyway . . .

Paris is a big city full of French people. It’s a lot prettier than London and for that matter so are the people. They’re everywhere: in the street-side cafés, sipping black coffee from thimble-sized cups, strolling along the Seine in their designer sunglasses, snapping at one another on the bridges through eighteen inches of the latest Japanese lens. The streets are narrower than in London and looking at the traffic you get the feeling that war has broken out. There are cars parked everywhere. On the streets and on the sidewalks. Actually, it’s hard to tell which cars are parked and which ones are just stuck in the traffic jams. But the strange thing is that nobody seems to be in a hurry. Life is just a big jumble that moves along at its own pace, and if you’re in a hurry to leave then maybe you should never have come there in the first place.