“I’m sorry?” Auger replied, answering him in French.
“Mademoiselle, you must come with me. I am afraid we must ask some questions of you.”
“I don’t understand. What have I done?”
“That is to be determined.” He pointed to a nearby door marked with a “no entry” sign. “If you would step into our office, please. It would be best for all concerned if you do not make a scene.”
She did not move. The official was a short middle-aged man with a greying moustache and a pink nose marked by complex tributaries of broken veins. He most definitely did not want a scene, Auger thought.
“I still don’t quite—”
“We had reports of a young woman entering the tunnel an hour or two ago,” he said in a low voice. “We were inclined to dismiss them, but there were at least two witnesses. As a matter of precaution, I decided to keep watch on the tunnel myself in case anyone emerged.”
“But you didn’t see anyone emerge,” Auger insisted. “Not me, certainly. I just got off that train.”
“I know what I saw.”
“Then you must be mistaken.”
He shifted uncomfortably, doubtless wondering if he should use force to persuade her into the room, or call for assistance from another official. “Please, do not make this difficult for me,” he said. “We have every right to call in the police. If there is a simple explanation, however, that may not be necessary.”
“Is there a problem here?” asked another voice, differently accented.
Auger looked around. Another passenger was walking towards them, hands in the pockets of his long, grey raincoat. He wore a fedora with the brim tipped low over his face, but she recognised him immediately.
“Wendell,” she said.
“What’s going on, Verity?”
She had no idea what was going on, but Floyd seemed to expect her to fall into a role, one for which only he had seen the script. Stumbling over her words, she said, “I’m not sure, Floyd, but this man wants to take me into that room and ask me some questions.”
Floyd examined the man with a look of patient concern. “Why on Earth would you want to do that?”
“Do you know this woman, sir?”
“Know her? I should think so. She’s my wife.”
“Then perhaps you could kindly explain what she was doing crawling around in the tunnel.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Floyd said. He took off his hat, smoothing down his hair.
The man scratched his veined bulb of a nose. “I know what I saw. Perhaps it would be best for us to continue this discussion in my office.”
“As you wish,” Floyd said, “but I assure you that you’re making a very serious mistake.”
Auger sighed. “Come on, Wendell. Let’s get this over with, and then perhaps this silly little man will leave us alone.”
The man let them walk ahead of him, then used a key on a chain to unlock the faded green door into a bare, spartan private office. A single unshaded bulb hung from the ceiling like the lure of an angler fish.
“Sit here,” the man said, indicating a warped wooden table and a couple of pull-up chairs that had seen better days.
“I’ll stand, if you don’t mind,” Floyd said. “Now, let me explain. Thirty minutes ago, I received a telephone call from my wife. She works in a haberdasher’s on Gay-Lussac. All sorts of people visit the shop and occasionally the staff let customers use the upstairs washroom. Unfortunately, someone left the tap running. Why don’t you tell him the rest, Verity?”
“The sink overflowed,” Auger said, watching for the minutest nod of encouragement from Floyd. “The water built up and made the ceiling cave in. Everyone working below was either drenched or covered in dust and debris from the collapsing floor—that’s why I look like this. All our stock was ruined. I called my husband and told him we were all being sent home early from work, and he came to the station to meet me—I don’t want to wander the streets alone in this state.”
“Neither of you is French,” the man said, as if imparting grave news.
“There’s no law against it,” Floyd replied. “Anyway, you’re welcome to look at my identification papers.” He showed the man his identity card and one of the false business cards he kept handy for occasions just like this. “As you can see, my work as a literary translator means I spend most of the day in my own home. Go on, Verity—show the good man your papers as well.”
“Here,” she said, holding them out after rummaging in her handbag.
He looked at her documents, which were grubby with her fingerprints. “Verity Auger,” he read. “I shall remember that name. I shall also remember that neither of you is wearing a wedding ring.”
Beyond the closed door, another train arrived in the station. Auger was tempted to make a dash for it, but she feared that the official would be able to stop the train from departing. “Look,” she said, “I’m telling the truth, and so is my husband. What business would I have crawling around in a railway tunnel? It was bad enough taking the train looking like this, with everyone staring at me as if I was some kind of tramp.”
“I assure you, everything’s above board,” Floyd said, smiling winningly.
“As my wife says, she’d hardly be likely to crawl around in a Métro tunnel.”
“Someone was crawling around in it,” the man insisted.
“That may be the case,” Floyd said, his tone conciliatory, “but surely you can’t suspect every woman who steps off a train with a bit of dust on their clothes.”
“I saw her…” the man began, but his voice lacked conviction. “I saw someone come out of that tunnel.”
“And in the rush of passengers coming and going you must have lost track of the right person and ended up confusing them with my wife.” Floyd sounded very understanding. “Look, I don’t want to make things difficult for you, but my wife really needs to be getting home where she can have a hot shower and change her clothes.” He took Auger’s hand. His fingers were rough, but gentle. “Don’t you, dear?”
“I’m worried about whether there’ll be a job for me to go back to tomorrow,” Auger said. “The damage to the stock looked very bad.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Floyd returned his attention to the official. “Here. You’ve been very understanding. Will you accept this as a token of my thanks?” He had taken a ten-franc note from inside his coat, folded it discreetly in two and slipped it into the man’s top pocket, almost without blinking.
“Your thanks? For what? I’ve done nothing.”
“My wife is still a bit embarrassed about her appearance,” Floyd said, lowering his voice as if the two men were sharing a confidence. “She’d be grateful if you’d let us leave the station by the staff exit.”
“I couldn’t possibly…”
Floyd slipped the man another ten-franc note. “It’s highly irregular, I know, but we really would appreciate it. Treat yourself to a drink on me.”
The man pursed his lips, weighing possibilities. He reached a conclusion very quickly. “Stock damage, did you say?”
“We’d just moved everything in from the warehouse,” Auger said.
“I hope very much that your job will be safe, madame.” He opened the wooden door and ushered them back out on to the platform. “This way,” he said, leading them in the opposite direction from the public exit.
“You’re a very good man,” Floyd said. “I won’t forget you in a hurry.”
“You can be sure that I won’t forget you in a hurry either, Monsieur Floyd.”
NINETEEN