She went up to him, her arms crossed over the book.

“What year was this library built?” she inquired.

“About 1977,” replied the guard.

He seemed to be about fifty and had a salt-and-pepper beard.

He spoke French with barely a trace of an accent.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, speaking to Jack. “Théo couldn’t have been here. The library didn’t exist.”

“Théo’s my brother,” Jack explained. “We don’t know where he is exactly, and we’re looking all over. All we know is that he was in Gaspé about fifteen years ago, because we found his trail there, in a library. After that we think he went to St. Louis, Missouri.”

“So he would have come through Toronto,” added the girl.

“And you’ve tried to find his trail here?”

“Not really. I wanted to read a book about Etienne Brûlé,” she said, uncrossing her arms in a gesture of defiance.

The guard looked her up and down, his gaze resting for a moment on the bulge in her shirt.

“I see you found what you were looking for,” he said with a knowing smile.

“You aren’t a real security guard, are you?” asked the girl.

“My actual work is doing research in philosophy,” he said, “but times are tough and you have to earn a living, right? And anyway, I like books.”

“I promise I’ll mail it back,” she said apologetically.

“Are you a professor?” asked Jack.

“Student,” said the guard. “It may strike you as odd at my age, but that’s how it is. I didn’t realize that time was passing, as I’ve been studying all my life.”

“Are you interested in history?”

“You have to know history if you want to be a good philosopher . . . But why do you ask?”

“I’d like to know what you think of Etienne Brûlé.”

The guard stroked his beard pensively.

“Do you . . . do you hold him in special esteem?” he inquired cautiously.

“N . . . no, not exactly.”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

“Of course.”

“I think Etienne Brûlé was a bum.”

“Aha!”

Jack stood with his mouth open for a moment and the man asked, “Don’t you use that word in Quebec?”

“Oh, we use it, all right,” said Jack.

“Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

“No, it’s okay.”

They thanked the man for his information and were about to take their leave when he added, “About your brother, perhaps you should go to police headquarters.”

“What for?” asked Jack sharply. “Do you think my brother . . .”

“I don’t mean that! You ought to go because they have excellent records, that’s all. When I did some historical research, for instance, I found all sorts of interesting things in their files. If your brother stopped over in Toronto, they may have information on him. Sometimes you find just small details, but they can lead to important discoveries if you do some — how do you say “crosschecking” in French?”

“Recoupements,” said Jack.