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“Unfortunately, I can’t show you this,” said Armand. “It’s from the hospital and contains Monsieur Horowitz’s belongings. As you see, it’s sealed, and we need to keep it like that so that when he recovers he knows nothing has been tampered with. It’s for his protection, and ours.”

Armand made it clear the “ours” now included the duty manager.

There was a moment’s awkward silence.

In fact, as well as Stephen’s things from the hospital, Armand had swept the contents of the desk, including the laptop, into the box. As Reine-Marie stalled them down below, he’d resealed it, then quickly gone into the bedroom and thrown clothes into the satchel.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” said Monsieur Pannier.

“And I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Is there a problem?” a new voice came from the door.

Pannier practically shot to his feet. “Non. Not at all.”

A woman stood partway into his office, and Gamache knew he was now looking at the real boss.

She stepped forward, her hand out. “Jacqueline Béland. I’m the General Manager.”

They introduced themselves, and Monsieur Pannier briefly explained the situation.

Madame Béland listened quietly, waiting until he’d finished, then turned to the Gamaches.

“I’m so sorry to hear about Monsieur Horowitz. I expect Monsieur Pannier here has extended the sympathies of the hotel.”

The Gamaches looked at him. Then Reine-Marie turned back to the General Manager. “Yes, thank you. He’s been most gracious.”

They could hear Monsieur Pannier exhale.

There was a slight arch of surprise, and appreciation, to Madame Béland’s brow, but that was all. “You’re a relation of Monsieur Horowitz’s?”

“His godson,” said Armand.

Her eyes dropped to the box. “I’m afraid Monsieur Pannier is right. We’ll need to see what’s inside there, too. I hope you understand.”

And, to be fair, Armand did. Thieves took all shapes and sizes. At luxury hotels they were more likely to look like the Gamaches than a street thug.

“It’s sealed by the hospital,” Armand said. “And I want to keep it that way. But if you’d feel better calling the Préfecture, you might try”—Armand handed her a card—“him.”

Madame Béland’s eyes widened. “You know Monsieur Dussault?”

“I do. Clearly you do, too.”

“He was here just yesterday. A friend of yours?”

“And a colleague, oui. I’m the head of homicide.”

Gamache decided there was no need to specify his territory.

“Armand,” said Reine-Marie. “We should get his things over to him.”

“I’m afraid there is,” the General Manager said, “a small issue of his bill.”

Armand almost smiled. It was a brilliant move on Madame Béland’s part. If they were thieves, they would not be at all happy about handing over a credit card.

“Of course.” Armand placed a credit card on the duty manager’s desk. “I believe he checked in two nights ago.”

“Non, monsieur,” said the manager, consulting his computer to confirm. “Monsieur Horowitz arrived ten days ago. He was supposed to leave this coming Wednesday.”