Dusk had fallen by the time Anton returned to his apartment overlooking the Parc de Montsouris. As usual no-one at work had questioned him when he"d left early. No-one ever did, though if they had done he always had a good reason ready to explain his departure. Oh yes, he knew how to be clever, and a clever man indeed was Anton Bouchard, far cleverer than the fools with whom he had to work, cleverer than those who sought to bring his reign of terror to an end.
A fever had gripped Paris in those days, a terrifying fever wrought by fear of the terrible crimes perpetrated by the as yet unidentified assassin who prowled the streets at night, selecting his victims seemingly at random and subjecting them to unspeakable mutilations before finally despatching them to their meeting with Death, wit
