Camille and Lucien went midway down the attic steps, just on the opposite side of the secret door to the landing that led to the apartment. She held the pistol c****d in her right hand as they listened closely.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” Mme. Abadie was saying as she opened her apartment door. “I was downstairs in my shop.”
Camille put her mouth to Lucien’s ear. “Can you hear who is speaking?”
He shook his head.
Camille leaned against the wall, her ear against the plaster.
“No, I haven’t,” Mme. Abadie said. “But I wouldn’t have noticed anyway. Many women in Tournai have blonde hair. Do you have a photograph? Maybe I can tell from that.”
Her reply was met with silence—at least Camille couldn’t hear what was being said. A few minutes passed, the content of the conversation a mystery.
