"No."

"Humph," Roux said. "Our friend the inspector didn't believe your story?"

"Someone removed the bodies," she said. "The quake closed the cave again."

"Pity. It would have been an exciting episode for your show."

She whirled on him. "You know about Chasing History's Monsters?"

"I must confess," Roux admitted, "I'm something of a fan, I'm afraid. Not quite as stimulating as Survivor, but well worth the investment of time. I particularly like… I can't remember her name. The girl with the clothing problems." He smiled a little.

"You would," Annja said, disgusted.

Look at the fire in her, Roux thought. Simply amazing.

"I'm a man of simple pleasures," Roux said.

"Mr. Roux," Inspector Richelieu called out.

Roux turned to face the man. "Yes, Inspector?"

"Would you like to make a statement?"

Grinning, Roux shook his head. "No. Thank you." When he turned around, he discovered that Annja had left him. She was making her way out the door. He hurried to catch up.

Night had fallen while they were inside the police station. Shadows draped the streets.

"You'll have a hard time finding a cab at this time of night," Roux said.

She ignored him, arms folded over her breasts and facing the street.

"Probably," Roux went on, "walking back to wherever you're staying wouldn't be the wisest thing you could do."

She still didn't respond.

"I could give you a ride," Roux suggested. More than anything, he wanted a look at the metal charm she had found in the cave. If it was what he thought it was, his long search might at last be over. "I at least owe you that after what we've been through."

She looked at him then. "You didn't try to tell them about the men who chased us."

"No."

"Why?"

"I knew they wouldn't listen."

She continued to glare at him.

"Corvin Lesauvage," Roux said, "is a very connected man in this area. A very dangerous man."

"Tell me about him."

"Over dinner," Roux countered. "I know a little bistro not far from here that has some of the best wines you could hope for."

She looked at him askance.

"You won't regret it," Roux said.

Chapter 8

THE BISTRO DID carry a very fine selection of wines. Roux insisted on their sampling a variety during dinner. The meal was superb. Annja devoured filet mignon, steamed vegetables, baked potatoes smothered in cheese, salads and rolls as big as her fist and so fresh from the oven they almost burned her fingers.

She hadn't eaten since breakfast, so she didn't strive for modesty. She ate with gusto, and Roux complimented her on her appetite.

As it turned out, Roux didn't know much about Corvin Lesauvage. All he had was a collection of vague rumors. Lesauvage was a murderer several times over. He ran drugs. He peddled archaeological forgeries. If an illegal dollar was made in the Lozère area, ten percent of it belonged to Corvin Lesauvage because he brokered the deal, allowed it to take place or kept quiet about it.

The bistro was quiet and dark. French love songs played softly in the background. A wall of trickling water backlit by aquamarine lights kept the shadows at bay. The wait staff proved almost undetectable.

Warmed by the wine, exhausted by her exertions, Annja found herself relaxing perhaps a little more than she should have. But her curiosity about Roux was rampant.

"Are you French?" she asked after they had finished discovering how little he knew about Lesauvage.

"As French as can be," Roux promised. He refilled her glass, then his own.

"Yet you speak Latin fluently."

Roux gestured magnanimously. "Doesn't everyone?"

"No. What do you do, Mr. Roux?"

"Please," he said, turning up a hand, "just call me Roux. It's a name that's suited me long enough."

"The question's still on the table," Annja pointed out.

"So it is." He sipped his wine. "Truthfully? I do whatever pleases me. If fortune smiles on me, there's a reason to get up in the morning. If I'm truly blessed, there are several reasons."

"Then you must be independently wealthy," Annja said, half in jest.

"Yes," he admitted. "Very. I've had plenty of time to amass a fortune. It's not hard if you live long enough and don't try to be greedy."

"Where do you live?"

"In Paris." Roux smiled. "I've always loved Paris. Even after it's gotten as gaudy and overpopulated and dirty as it has. You open the window in the morning there, you can almost feel the magic in the air."

"How did you make your fortune?"

"Slowly. Investments, mostly. I've been very lucky where investments are concerned. I've always been able to take the long view, I suppose."

Annja eyed him over her glass. "How old are you?"

"Far, far older than I look, I assure you." His blue eyes twinkled merrily.

Santa Claus should have eyes like that, Annja couldn't help thinking.

"You are quite aggressive in your investigative approach," he said gently.

"I've been accused of that before." Annja leaned forward, studying him. "I've made my peace with it. As an archaeologist, you're trained to ask questions. Of the situation. Of the people around you. Of yourself."

"I see."

"What were you doing up in the mountains this afternoon?"

"Taking a constitutional."

Annja smiled. Despite the abrasive nature the old man brought out in her, there was something about him that she liked. He was as openly secretive as the nuns at the orphanage where she'd grown up.

"I don't believe you," she told him.

"I take no offense," he told her. "I wouldn't believe me, either."

"You were looking for something."

Roux shrugged.

"But you're not going to tell me what it is," Annja said.

"Let me ask you something." Roux leaned in close to her and spoke conspiratorially. "You found something in that cave this afternoon, didn't you?"

Annja picked at a bit of leftover bread and used the time to think. "I found La Bête."

"A creature that you believe was once La Bête."

"I showed you the pictures."

"I saw it, too," Roux reminded her.

"You don't believe it was La Bête?" Annja asked.

"Perhaps." Roux lifted his shoulders and dropped them. "The light was uncertain. Things were happening very quickly in there."

"What do you think it was?"

"A fabrication, perhaps."

"It was real." Annja had no doubt about that.

"There's something else I'm interested in," the old man replied. "Something you haven't told me. I saw you in that cave. You had something in your hand."

"A human skull," she replied.

"That isn't all."

The charm was still in Annja's pocket. She'd had it out only once. That was back in the police station bathroom. She'd been afraid the police were going to take charm away from her so she'd made a rubbing of both sides in her journal.

"I saw you with something else in your hand," he said. "Something shiny. Something metallic. It looked old." He paused. "If you found it in the cave, I would think it was very old."