Well, she couldn’t do anything about that now. Lotti raised her chin and, in her most defiant voice, announced that she had come to see Madame St. Rémy.

“Madame St. Rémy is resting,” replied the housekeeper, coldly. “She cannot be disturbed.”

Lotti faltered. “Would you mind … please could you … could you tell her that her granddaughter is here?”

Madame’s granddaughter! Well, that settled it. The housekeeper had not worked long for Madame St. Rémy, but Madame kept a photograph of her granddaughter on her desk, and the child looked nothing like this. Madame’s granddaughter was a pretty little thing with long shiny curls, pleasingly dressed in the sort of frock in which rich English people liked to show off their children.

She was not an urchin.

The housekeeper blamed the war, which had caused people to become desperate and crime rates to soar. Thieves would try anything to trick you out of your money. Just outside the gate, she spotted a rumpled-looking man with an eye patch, who had clearly slept in a ditch and was obviously an accomplice.

Nonetheless, if there was the slightest chance …

“Do you have proof?” asked the housekeeper.

“Proof?” stammered Lotti.

“A passport maybe, something like that?”

Lotti felt all the color drain from her face.

“I … I don’t,” she gabbled. “I mean, I had one but … the thing is, I was on a boat, and it sank, and …”

“A likely story,” said the housekeeper.

“Oh, please!” begged Lotti. “There’s a policeman after me, and …”

The housekeeper closed the door in her face.

Dazed, Lotti returned to Henri and told him what had happened.

“What shall I do now?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Wring her neck,” said Lotti fiercely. “Kick down the door. Or scream and scream until Moune wakes up. Horrible old bat! The way she looked at me!”

“I’m not sure that would help.” Henri looked at Lotti appraisingly. “I must say, I don’t think I’d believe your story either if you turned up on my doorstep. Come on, the others must have arrived by now. Let’s go and get your things and tidy you up and come back when your grandmother’s awake. We’ll bring Mademoiselle Clara with us too. She can vouch for you.”

“But Constable Skinner …” wailed Lotti, her fierceness deserting her. “My uncle …”

“Uncles and policemen be damned,” said Henri. “I’ll protect you.”

And so back on to the motorbike climbed Lotti, and back down the winding road she went with Henri de Beauchesne, past the square and the market to the quayside, and there, just coming out of the taxi, were Ben and Sam and Clara and the dogs with all the things rescued from the Sparrowhawk.

Henri pulled up beside them.

“Well?” asked Clara.

“Slight hiccup,” said Henri. “We need to tidy Lotti up.”