The appearance of the man made Keith smile and he chided Barbara over her confused description.

"Five-nine, one-sixty, balding, glasses. He's not even close."

"Well he's sitting, and he's wearing sunglasses."

"He also has a head of hair." Keith laughed and she punched his arm.

"Okay, smart alec, but he's just sitting there. No paper, nothing to help pass his time – and he's always looking at Frossard's garage."

"What a suspicious mind! The guy's having a coffee, and you don't know he's watching the garage." Keith gave her a soft nudge. "If you're going to play detective you need to learn to separate fact from fantasy."

"So sayeth Professor Railton."

He shook his head, still smiling. "Alright, Sherlock, "Why do you think he's sitting there?"

"Maybe the same reason we are – to see Frossard."

"Okay, so who do you think he is?"

"French police?"

Keith looked thoughtful for a moment, his eyes straying back to the man in question. Barbara's suggestion might not be that far off the wall.

"That's a fair point, Watson."

"So I'm demoted from Sherlock now?"

"Yes, I'm Sherlock." He looked back at her and grinned. "You know, originally I wondered if Pierre Tremblay had discovered Aubert's impersonation, followed him and confronted him. The killing happened, intentional or not – probably not – then he took the papers and scrammed back to France."

"You think that might be Tremblay?"

"I don't know from here, but he doesn't really resemble the picture I had."

"I've never met him, but Arthur didn't have a very high opinion of him." She studied the man again. "You could have checked easily enough with customs and immigration . . . that he had been to Canada."

"Thank you, Miss Holmes. I never got around to it before this trip came up. Another member of the squad checked."

"I didn't mean to suggest – so, what now?"

"We watch and wait. We can watch your mystery man too if it makes you feel better."

She threw him an indifferent smirk and slipped away to the small shops where she picked up a couple of lattes and some pastries to snack on. Rejoining him on the bench he'd chosen, they continued their watch.

"What happens if Frossard shows up? Are you going to confront him?"

"Depends. He's hiding for a reason and I don't want to barge into something I can't control."

"Maybe he's hiding from that guy." She gestured with a crumbling pastry.

"Determined aren't you. How do you suppose he tracked him here?" Keith continued her fantasy.

"A friendly cop with GPS co-ordinates?"

He frowned and stopped chewing. "Not funny. I'm going to have to make some calls then think about this for a while."

***

Another small bed and breakfast out of town was the only accommodation Keith could find that would justify his expenses and, sitting on the double bed, he continued to apologize until Barbara threatened to go home.

"Will you cut that out! I'm perfectly fine with this. Just being on the Riviera is something I never thought would happen."

"But you said you travel for business plenty of times."

"Hit and run, Keith. I go, meet whomever, conduct business and back home. There is no time to sight see on the Galbraith dime."

"I didn't realize the high cost of living for tourists would dampen the thrill."

"It hasn't, and I'm not kidding. You keep this up and I'm gone."

He nodded, and took her hand. "I'd have to arrest you first."

"You don't have the authority."

"No . . . but I'm bigger than you." He pushed her back on the bed and pinned her arms. "Resisting arrest is a charge I could bring."

"Then I guess you got me, copper."

***

Ignoring the additional cost, they ordered a meal from the manager, who was more than delighted to provide something expensive enough to make a good profit but not quite enough to send them packing.

The evening had ended with Keith making collect calls home for any new information on Frossard and Aubert, and to his police contact in Nice for any updates. Dinner had been taken sitting on the bed, with little portions offered from each other's fingers.

When finished, the tray was set aside and they stretched out, backs against the pillows and shared the bottle of wine – the one thing they found that was very affordable.

"When will you hear?"

"I should get a call tomorrow from home, and Nice said they would call before noon. They were interested in the fact that Frossard might be sought by more than just me."

"So tomorrow we stake out his car again?"

"You like the jargon, eh?"

"If I'm going to be part of this team I have to talk the walk."

He took her glass and set it on the floor beside the bed alongside his, then turned toward her.

"That's true, and you should also learn the techniques in subduing a perp."

"And you're about to teach me."

"Can't think of a better time." He wrapped an arm across her and leaned in for a kiss.

"Perp!"

***

In the penthouse suite of the Hôtel Martinez in Cannes, Jean Paul Vateur toyed with the leaves of the potted tree on his terrace. Near the doors leading inside, two men stood taut and nervous as they awaited their boss's words.

Jean Paul was a recognized figure on the for his godfather like contributions to the city's arts and sciences along with many lesser charities, through which he was also a noted collector. Less publicized, but no less conspicuous, he was also the head of the local crime family.

In his collector's hat, Jean Paul had acquired the previously unknown scroll, assured by his source it was a legitimate draft of ancient letters and deemed to be rare and valuable because it was thought to be lost.

In his crime boss's hat, after the item was stolen from his collection, nothing was spared or too far-reaching for its recovery. His soldiers discovered the story of the impersonator and his employer, and enlisted their man in Canada to get the papers. The fact that he had killed the impersonator and disappeared with the papers, had them hunting him as well.

"You find those two and you bring them here, and if you don't, I have plenty of room in a different collection for both of you." Jean Paul loved to affect the same rasp Marlon Brando used in the movie, but it never quite made the cut, and his men were always terrified of laughing while being terrified.

***

Maurice left the taxi a block away from his apartment and circled around to the garage where he parked his car. He slipped in a rear exit and went to the car, checking it for tampering; paranoia, he felt, was justified.

There was little doubt that Jean Paul would be scouring the country for him. He left the garage and headed for his apartment, sticking close to shadowed areas and mixing with other pedestrians where possible.

There was still an outside chance he could make some money and then vanish.

***

When they returned the following morning to the park, Barbara excitedly pointed to her mystery man, once again at the same table in front of the café. Keith was surprised and confessed as much to her as they settled into their own blind and watched.

A short time passed then suddenly the man got up from the table and crossed the street to Frossard's apartment.

"Did you see anything?" Keith asked.

"No, I was watching him. Damn. You think he saw him go in?"

"Dunno, I never noticed anyone." Keith sat up and looked around. "I was watching the garage."

"Should we follow?"

"Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. Let's just see what happens. Don't forget, I can't arrest anyone and I don't want to get in the middle of something that could be dangerous."

"You think that's a possibility?" Barbara asked.

"One man has already been killed, remember? Let's just wait a bit."

***

Gregory climbed the stairs to the third floor and walked carefully down the corridor to Frossard's apartment. He listened at the door and heard voices from a radio or television, then he gently tried the handle, finding it locked. He stood back, took a breath and knocked. Immediately the voices stopped.

"Monsieur Frossard? Could you answer the door please? I am interested in buying the item you have for sale." He waited, straining to hear.

"You have the wrong address."

"Monsieur Frossard, I know you are the man I have been looking for. The events back home have not altered my interest in making the purchase." Another long pause then the door latch clicked open and Maurice appeared, gun in hand.

"I don't think that is necessary, I come in peace." Gregory raised his hands and smiled.

"You're not Tewksbury."

"No, but I am interested in the item, and so pleased you speak English."