“I’m not lost. Oh, no.” Bastille smiled, revealing teeth the color of French mustard. “No. But I want to know what he told you. I want to know what you know.”

Tim turned to me, puzzled.

“What exactly do you mean?” I asked.

“The steward on the train. What did he tell you?” There was a pause. “Lavache!”

Bastille nodded and his partner produced what looked like a little model of that famous statue, the Venus de Milo. You know the one. The naked woman with no arms that stands somewhere in the Louvre.

“No thank you,” Tim began. “We’re not . . .”

Lavache pressed a button and four inches of razor-sharp metal sprang out of the head of the statue. It was a neat trick. I don’t think the real statue ever did that.

Tim stared at it.

“Where is it?” Bastille demanded.

“Your friend’s holding it in his hand!” Tim gasped.

“Not the knife! Sacré bleu! Are all the English such idiots? I am talking about the object. The item that you were given this morning at the Gare du Nord.”

“I wasn’t given anything!” Tim wailed.

“It’s true,” I said, even though I knew that it wasn’t.

Bastille blinked heavily. “You’re lying.”

“No, we’re not,” Tim replied. “Cross my heart and hope to—”

“Tim!” I interrupted.

“Kill them both!” Bastille snapped.

They really did mean to kill us there and then in that quiet Paris street. Lavache lifted the knife, his stubby fingers curving around the base, a bead of saliva glistening at the corner of his mouth. I glanced back, wondering if we could run. But it was hopeless. We’d be cut down before we could take a step.

“The older one first,” Bastille commanded.

“That’s him!” Tim said, pointing at me.

“Tim!” I exclaimed.

The knife hovered between us.

But then suddenly a party of American tourists turned the corner—about twenty of them, following a guide who was holding an umbrella with a Stars and Stripes attached to the tip. They were jabbering excitedly as they descended on us. There was nothing Bastille and Lavache could do. Suddenly they were surrounded, and realizing this was our only chance I grabbed hold of Tim and moved away, keeping a wall of American tourists between us and our attackers. Only when we’d come to the top of the street where it joined the wide and busy Boulevard St. Michel did we break away and run.