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Armand also got to his feet. “Can you get access to your files from anywhere?”

“Yes. They have trusted me with the passwords,” said the owner of AFP, with a smile.

“Bon. Make your excuses to your guests and meet me at the front door.”

Pinot joined him a couple of minutes later. “Well, I just left three baffled friends including a former Prime Minister of Italy, though I suspect he’s often baffled. I might’ve suggested I was going to meet a mistress. I just hope they don’t see us together.”

“You could do worse,” said Armand.

“True.” Pinot laughed. Then, at a subtle signal, a liveried chauffeur hurried over to a limousine. “We can use my car.”

“Best not,” said Gamache, and asked the doorman to get them a taxi. Telling him where they wanted to go.

“La Défense, s’il vous plaît,” the doorman told the driver.

Pinot opened his mouth, but at a stern look from Gamache, he shut it.

A block along, Gamache leaned forward again and said, “But first, we need to go to Place de la Concorde.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“I thought we were going to my offices,” said Pinot.

“Non,” was all Gamache said.

Pinot settled into the back of the taxi, marveling that it had been years, decades, since he’d used anything other than a limousine or a helicopter to get around Paris.

He did not like this new experience.

Once at Place de la Concorde, Gamache quickly crossed to the Fontaine des Mers. As the driver and Pinot watched, he took off his shoes and socks, rolled up his trousers, and climbed into the fountain.

Shoving up his sleeves, he reached into the freezing-cold water and moved his hands around until he found what he was looking for.

As he got out, a woman approached and gave him a two-euro coin. “Use it for food, monsieur.”

“Merci, mais—” Gamache began, but she’d walked away, into the night.

“What was that about?” asked Pinot when Gamache returned, shivering, to the taxi. With a look of warning not to actually speak, Armand opened his hand.

Resting in his palm were two Canadian nickels. Stuck firmly together.

CHAPTER 39

Annie was catching her breath after a labor pain, and Jean-Guy took the opportunity to leave the room to get her more ice water. And to catch his own breath.

Reine-Marie followed him out.

“Armand should be here,” she said, lowering her voice. “Why isn’t he? Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Jean-Guy. “I do know he’d be here if he could.”

“Something’s happened.” Reine-Marie looked behind her, at the closed door to the small private room where her daughter was laboring to give birth to her own daughter. “I’m going to call.”

The phone rang only once before Armand picked up.

“Is everything all right?” he asked without preamble.

At the sound of his voice, concerned but nothing more, she felt herself relax. “Yes, everything’s fine. We’re still hours away. Annie’s doing well. It’s Jean-Guy who’s driving us all crazy.”