Page 135 of The Last Library of Paris

In the dim light of the library, I could see the tourists. Three of them were ahead, with one of the women – who had strange curly hair – closest to me. The others were speaking so quietly it was hard to hear, but it sounded like English. I slid a little closer and as I did so, a floorboard creaked beneath my foot.

‘Shh,’ said the curly-haired woman. ‘Was ist das?’

German, then?

Everyone stopped moving, listening for more noise, and I knew I had to act. I stepped forward, cocked the pistol and held it to the woman’s head.

‘Hands where I can see them,’ I said, feeling like I was in a cowboy movie, rather than real life. ‘Or I will shoot.’

Slowly the woman raised her hands.

‘Archie?’ she said, alerting the others, who all turned round and stared in shock.

I took a breath, not completely sure what to do next. I looked at the women’s smart clothes, the men’s well-cut jackets, and – most confusingly of all – their suitcases. It made absolutely no sense to me.

‘Now I have you here,’ I said. ‘Would you mind telling me who the bloody hell you are?’

‘Are you Frances?’ said the other woman. She held her hands out to me in a gesture of peace. ‘Frances Reed?’

‘Who’s asking?’

‘I’m Archie Valentine,’ said the older of the two men. He stepped towards me and I growled at him – surprising him and myself. ‘Stay right where you are, buddy.’ He stopped moving immediately, which was rather satisfying.

‘Archie Valentine,’ he said again. ‘From British intelligence. These are my colleagues, Henry Hughes, Cassandra Watkins, and Lara … erm … Lara …’

‘Hope,’ said the younger woman. ‘My name is Lara Hope. And yes, Valentine is his real name, even though it’s ridiculous.’

‘We’re all from British intelligence,’ Cassandra – whose temple I was still aiming the gun at – said. Her voice trembled a little. ‘We’re friends with Bea Allen. And we’re here to help you.’

I didn’t move. My mind was racing.

‘Marcus Oxley told us where to find you,’ said Henry Hughes, in a deep, melodic voice that didn’t match his appearance. ‘We came from Lisbon.’

My heart leapt at the mention of Marcus. But was this a trick?

Lara Hope sat down on the floor and opened her suitcase, sifting through the clothes inside. I watched her in confusion, until she produced a copy of Cold Comfort Farm and brandished it above her head.

‘We do the books,’ she said. ‘Well, they do.’

Weak with relief that someone had finally come to help, I lowered the gun. Cassandra almost leaped across the floor into the arms of Archie Valentine, while my legs began shaking so uncontrollably that I sat down on the floor next to Lara Hope.

With Cassandra tucked in the crook of his arm, Archie reached out his hand to me. ‘Could I have the gun, do you think?’

I handed it to him. ‘It’s not loaded,’ I said. ‘I realised that as I came up the stairs, but by then it was too late.’

‘Good lord,’ he said, chuckling to himself. But he still checked, just in case. I quite liked that.

‘I can’t believe you came all the way from Lisbon?’ I said. ‘And you’ve seen Marcus?’

‘Yes,’ said Henry. ‘He’s terribly ill though. He’s had a rough time of it.’

‘Did someone send you? Someone from British intelligence. He talked about someone called Digby?’

‘Ah,’ said Cassandra, who appeared to be regaining her composure from the safety of Archie’s arms. ‘Not exactly.’

‘Are you alone?’ Lara asked, looking round as if she expected lots of other librarians to jump out from behind the stacks.

‘No,’ I said. ‘There’s Sylvie and Guy, and we did have Alain but he’s gone.’