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Gott, Inspektor , they couldn’t be, could they?’
    And the Occupier does enjoy slumming from club to club until forced to leave before curfew or risk being locked in for the rest of the night, getting drunker and drunker until the sentimental tears came, or sleep.
    â€˜I have a friend who sings,’ he offered and she knew he was watching her closely for the slightest suggestion of alarm. ‘A chanteuse. The Club Mirage.’
    â€˜That’s nice. It’s over in Montparnasse, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Yes. The rue Delambre and eight hundred war-weary men a night. It’s quite a crowd.’
    â€˜But a living, I think,’ she said so softly her voice was like a caress.
    â€˜I thought, perhaps, you might have met. You wear the same perfume. Mirage .’
    She didn’t drop her eyes or give a hint of disquietude but steadily returned his gaze. ‘It’s very expensive. A general gave it to me. Not Hans, another.’
    â€˜And you’ve not met her?’
    â€˜No. No, six nights a week allows too little time to socialize. I’ve a son, also, and whatever free time I have is devoted entirely to him.’
    â€˜But not on evenings like this.’
    Touché , was that it? she wondered, cursing his questions but giving no hint of this. Herr Engelmann had expectantly sat up at the exchange. Hans had stopped fiddling about and was waiting anxiously for her response … ‘My son understands that occasionally his mother must visit with a friend for an hour or two.’
    â€˜But he isn’t aware of the nature of those visits?’
    And just what do you think was the nature of this visit? she wanted to demand of him but looked, instead, into the distance, perhaps to the welcome of a long-lost camp-fire.
    â€˜My Jani understands that sometimes mummy has to sing at private dinner parties and that she cannot always refuse.’
    Not these days.
    Her breath was held for just a split second. St-Cyr knew that tough exterior had at last been truly dented but she recovered so quickly, he had nothing but admiration for her.
    Herr Max’s scrutiny was now hard and penetrating. Hans Wehrle found himself lost in doubt and forced to sit down.
    â€˜These private dinner parties, Inspector …’ grunted Engelmann sourly.
    â€˜It’s Chief Inspector.’
    â€˜If you insist.’
    â€˜I do.’
    There was a nod and then the firmness of, ‘Please ask her to tell us about them. The most recent, I think.’
    â€˜Hans, is this necessary?’
    The look she gave was swift, hard and damning.
    â€˜Nana, I can do nothing. It’s up to them. Please try to understand it’s not me who has been robbed but the Reich.’
    Engelmann cleared his throat and, focusing on the gaping maw of the safe, let her have it. ‘Nothing you may well know, Fräulein, but someone made the Gypsy aware of the contents and the vulnerability of that safe, and someone alerted the authorities not only to a robbery by him but …’ He paused. ‘… also the timing of it. Not quite, however, thus his apprehension has unfortunately eluded us for the moment.’
    There was dust everywhere, still the stench of bitter almonds, of nitroglycerine.
    â€˜Nana, mein Gott , don’t be so stubborn. Tell them!’ leapt Wehrle.
    She shrugged. ‘It was nothing – how could it have been? The villa is mine but it has been requisitioned for the duration, so I had the opportunity to see at first hand if it was being properly cared for. One does wonder, isn’t that so? And, yes, many of the guests were in uniform – the men, that is. And, yes, I took some of my little orchestra with me and we sang a few “gypsy” songs for them.’
    â€˜When?’ breathed Hermann who had slid so quietly into the room none had noticed him and all wondered how long he’d been there.
    â€˜Last Monday.’
    A week ago … ‘SS, Gestapo and