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“On what?”
“How you answer my next question.”
“You want to know what really happened to my face?”
Gabriel nodded. “The truth this time, Julian.”
“I was attacked by a lamppost.”
“Another one?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Please tell me it was a foggy night in London.”
“Actually, it was yesterday afternoon in Bordeaux. I went there at the invitation of a woman named Valerie Bérrangar. She said she wanted to tell me something about a painting I sold not long ago.”
“Not the Van Dyck?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Is there a problem?”
“I wouldn’t know. You see, Madame Bérrangar died in an automobile accident on the way to our meeting.”
“And the incident involving the lamppost?” asked Gabriel.
“Two men on a motorcycle tried to steal my briefcase as I was walking back to my hotel. At least I think that’s what they were doing. For all I know,” said Julian, “they were trying to kill me, too.”
