"You're booked in here for three days," Skellsgard said, as they walked into the carpet-lined lobby, "but chances are you'll be out a lot sooner than that. If you need to stay longer, you have more than enough cash to cover your expenses."

Behind the lobby counter, the concierge was busy signing in a couple who must have arrived on an overnight train. They were fl.u.s.tered, and appeared to be disputing some detail of their booking.

"Promise me one thing," Auger said.

"I don't do promises, but let's hear it."

"If this works out-if I get your precious box of papers back into safe hands-then let me have some time here alone."

"I don't know about that."

"I'm here already, Maurya. What harm can it do?"

"Aveling won't like it."

"Aveling can shove it where the sun doesn't shine. The least he can give me is some time to play tourist."

"He'll say the deal was no tribunal, nothing more."

The couple moved away from the desk to the waiting elevator and the concierge beckoned Auger and Skellsgard forward. Auger shifted mental gears, forcing herself to speak French. The words emerged with surprising fluidity, as if some stiff part of her mind had suddenly been tuned and lubricated.

"My name is Auger," she said. "I have a reservation for the next three nights."

"Certainly, madame." The concierge glanced at Auger, then Skellsgard, then back to Auger. "Your bags have already arrived. How was your journey?"

"Fine, thank you."

He handed her the room key. "Number twenty-seven. I will have your luggage sent up in a moment."

"Is there a telephone in the room?"

"Of course, madame. We are a modern establishment."

She took the key and turned back to Skellsgard. "Guess I'm on my own now."

"You have the telephone number of the safe house near the station. One of us will be there around the

clock. Call to keep us updated on what happens over the next few days. We'll need to arrange downtime when you return to the tunnel."

"Somehow, I think I'll remember."

"And go easy with Blanchard. If he doesn't hand over the goods on the first try, don't turn up the pressure. We don't want him getting wind that they're more valuable than they appear, or he may do something rash."

"I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Auger." Skellsgard leaned in and gave her a quick sisterly hug. "Take care, all right?"

"Whatever happens," Auger said, "I'll be glad I've seen this much."

"I'll see what I can swing with Aveling about getting you some tourist time. No promises, OK?"

"No promises."

Behind Auger, the elevator chimed open.

The telephone was an antique, but she had handled examples like it in the museum section back home, lovingly restored and wired into a simple telephonic network. She entered the Paris number a digit at a time, waiting for the pleasant whirr as the clockwork dial spun sedately back around to its starting position. Slow, but calming. Even in the entering of a number, there was time for reflection. The task could be safely abandoned before completion. A well-bred Slasher, used to near-instantaneous communication, would have regarded the rotary telephone as not much of an improvement over semaph.o.r.e. To a Thresher, by contrast, there was something deeply rea.s.suring and trustworthy about any kind of electromechanical hardware. It couldn't lie, or distort the information it carried. It couldn't invade the mind or the flesh.

At the far end of the line, a similar telephone rang. Auger felt an impulse to hang up before Blanchard responded, convinced that she wasn't ready to go through with this. Her palm was slippery on the handset. But she forced herself to stay on the line, and after another few moments someone answered.

An old man's voice said, "Blanchard."

"Good morning, monsieur," she replied in French. "My name is Verity Auger. I'm not sure if you know my name, but-"

"Verity? As in the sister of Mademoiselle Susan White?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm calling about..."

Out of courtesy, or some misguided need to demonstrate his own skill, he shifted to English. His native French accent was obvious, but his speech was perfectly comprehensible. "Miss Auger, I am not sure if you have heard the news. If not, then perhaps-"

"It's all right, sir," she interrupted, also switching to English. "I know what happened to my sister." She heard an intake of breath: relief, perhaps, that he didn't have to break that particular piece of news to her.

"I am very, very sorry about what happened to her. I was fortunate to know your sister quite well. She was a very nice young woman."

"Susan spoke well of you, sir. It's obvious that she thought of you as someone she could trust."

"You speak of her belongings?"

"Yes," Auger replied, glad that he had raised the subject without prodding. "I understand that my sister left some items-"

"It's not much," he said quickly, as if she might be expecting the crown jewels.

"I never expected it to be, sir. All the same, whatever she left still has value to us...to her family, I mean."

"Of course. Might I ask where you are calling from, Miss Auger?"

"Paris, sir. A hotel in the fifteenth."

"Then you are really not very far away. You can take the number six line to place d'Italie, and then walk

the remaining distance. Shall we make an appointment?"

She knew she mustn't sound too surprised that he had agreed to hand over the box so easily. "Any time you like, sir."

"At the moment the box is not in my possession. I gave it to a private detective who is investigating the

circ.u.mstances surrounding Susan's death."

"Circ.u.mstances, sir?"

"The possibility that it may not have been accidental," he elaborated.

Auger's hand tightened on the phone. At no point in her briefing had anyone mentioned a private

detective snooping around. It had to be a new development, something Aveling and the others didn't know about.

Already she was off-script.

"It's really kind of you to take an interest, sir. This detective-"

"Oh, don't worry about him. I'm quite sure he's had time to examine Susan's things thoroughly by now."

"Then when would be-"

"An a.s.sociate of the detective is here now. I can speak to him and arrange for the items to be back in my possession by...shall we say by the end of the afternoon?"

"The end of the afternoon? Today, sir?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all, sir. Not in the least." Her heart was thudding in her chest.

"Let me have the name of your hotel and the telephone number. We shall say four o'clock in number

twenty-three rue des Peupliers, unless you hear from me. If you press the buzzer by my name, I shall let you into the building. My rooms are on the third floor."

"That's perfect, sir."

"I very much look forward to making your acquaintance, Miss Auger."

"And I look forward to meeting you, sir," she replied.

Ba.s.so opened the door to his tiny flat in porte d'Asnieres, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. "Wendell,"

he said. "I didn't think you'd remember the way. Is that a patient you have with you?"

Floyd offered the saxophone case. "She probably needs a little attention."

"I thought you said you had nothing that needed repairing."

"I did," Floyd said. "But I'm sure you can find something wrong with it."

Ba.s.so took the case and placed it down on the table next to his umbrella stand. "You're too kind. I am sure that the saxophone is in excellent health. But I never turn down a patient." He peered over Floyd's shoulder. "Are you still driving that old relic?"

"It's difficult to fit a double ba.s.s into anything smaller."

Ba.s.so shook his head amusedly. "You'll still be saying the same thing when that car's forty years old.

Now come in and have some tea."

Floyd removed his fedora. "Actually, I could really use some coffee. As strong as you can manage."

"Like that, is it?"

Ba.s.so ushered Floyd into his dark living room. An unfeasible number of clocks ticked and whirred to

themselves, some mounted on the walls, others perched on shelves and on the long granite mantelpiece. Supporting himself with a stick, Ba.s.so shuffled to one of the clocks, swung open its case and made some tiny adjustment with a tool he carried in his pocket.

"I was thinking about what you said about the spheres," Floyd said. "Being bells, I mean."

Ba.s.so wandered into his kitchen and raised his voice. "What about them?"

"I don't see how they could be. I've never heard of a completely round bell. How would it chime?

"I didn't mean that kind of bell, you buffoon. I meant diving bells, the kind you climb into. The size