Page 91 of A Death in Cornwall

“The woman from the other night?”

Gabriel nodded. “She’s a professional.”

“How do we get into the building?”

“Philippe will open the doors remotely. You’ll walk in, copy the documents, and walk out again.”

“How long will it take?”

“Three or four hours.”

“A lot can go wrong in four hours.”

“Or four minutes,” added Gabriel.

Monjean lapsed into silence.

“Any more questions, René?”

“Just one.”

“Fire away.”

“How do you know Don Orsati?”

“Someone hired him to kill me a long time ago.”

“Why aren’t you dead?”

“Luck of the Irish.”

“But you’re not Irish.”

“Figure of speech, René.”

“Mind if I ask one more question, Monsieur Allon?”

“If you must.”

“What really happened to your headlight?”

***

There was no embarrassing recurrence of the incident that morning, for once again Don Casabianca’s obstreperous goat allowed Gabriel to drive past the three ancient olive trees unmolested. Two of Don Orsati’s men were now standing watch outside the villa at the end of the dirt-and-gravel track. René Monjean dropped his duffel bag in the entrance hall and went into the sitting room. His sharp eye was caught by the Monet landscape hanging on the wall.

“Is it real?” he asked Gabriel.

“You tell me.”

The art thief leaned in for a closer look. “It’s definitely real.”

“Not bad, René.”

“I have no formal training, but I’ve managed to develop a pretty good eye for paintings.”

“I would advise you to forget that you ever saw that one.”

“The owner is a friend of Don Orsati?”

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