“Come in?” He bristled. “Madame, women may not enter the club except on special ladies’ nights.”
My frustration was now threatening to boil over. “I had no idea that people in Paris could be so unhelpful and that a fellow American would be so rudely received at the American Club. I thought it was a city of good manners.”
“You could go to the Prefecture of Police,” he suggested. “All foreigners must register with them when they move here. Perhaps they will be able to tell you more.”
“And how far is it to this prefecture?” I snapped.
“On the ?le de la Cité. If you walk up to the Champs-élysées you can find the Métro and it will take you. Or if you cross the Seine you will find an omnibus that takes you along that bank, but the Métro would undoubtedly be quicker—”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I muttered. “I don’t have all the time in the world, you know. I have left my baby and have to get back to him. And I’ll certainly let Mr. Bryce know how unhelpful you were to a visitor from New York.”
“What’s going on, Harry?” A man in unmistakably American tweeds came to the front door. He gave me a friendly smile. “Is old Harry here being as stuffy and difficult as usual?”
“I’m trying to find the address of one of your members,” I said. “I have an important message to deliver to him. But apparently Harry is not allowed to give out information about members and I, as a woman, am not allowed in.”
The man laughed. “Quite right. If they relaxed those rules we’d have every wife in Paris hunting down her husband when he needs to escape for a bit of peace and quiet.”
“This is no joking matter,” I said coldly. “I have an important message for one of your members and it needs to be delivered to him immediately.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t get upset. Look, if you’d care to write it down, I’ll make sure he gets it when he next shows up.”
“It’s Mr. Reynold Bryce,” I said. “Does he come in often?”
“Reynold Bryce?” The expression on his face changed. “Oh, I see.” He exchanged a glance with the doorman that I didn’t quite understand.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Are you a family member?” he asked.
“No, just a friend of the family.”
“Look here,” he said. “We think there might be something strange going on. Mr. McBride, the newspaperman from New York, went around to see Bryce a couple of days ago. But when he got there he found policemen stationed outside the house. They wouldn’t let him in and they wouldn’t tell him anything. We’ve checked the newspapers since and no mention of Reynold Bryce, so we can’t think what might have happened.”
“All the more reason for me to go there myself,” I said. “I have to find out what’s happening, for his family’s sake.”
“Of course you do,” he said. “I’d escort you there myself, but I’m due at a meeting with my bank manager. And one does not keep one’s bank manager waiting, especially if one wants to eat next month.”
“So you know Mr. Bryce’s address?”
“It’s on Rue Fran?ois Premier,” he said. “I don’t know the number, but I presume you’ll deduce which one it is if it still has policemen outside. If not, the neighbors will know. They are a nosy lot, the French. They like to keep an eye on what’s going on around them.”
“And the Rue Fran?ois? Is it far from here? I have to get back to my child and…”
“No, not too far, is it, Harry?”
Harry was looking most displeased that the young man was betraying a club confidence in this way. He simply shrugged. “Not for me to say, sir,” he said.
The young man grinned. “Go back along the quay until you get to the bridge. I believe it’s called the Pont de l’Alma. It’s the first proper bridge you’ll come to. Then take the Avenue Montaigne away from the river until you come to Rue Fran?ois Premier. Not far at all.”
“Thank you, you’ve been most kind,” I said.
“Not at all.” He tipped his homburg to me. “Always delighted to assist a damsel in distress. Are you alone in the city or is your husband with you?”
“No, unfortunately. His business keeps him in New York,” I said.
“If you need a gentleman to escort you, I’d be happy to show you some of the best night spots.” He held out a hand. “Frank Lahm at your service.”
“Mrs. Molly Sullivan,” I said. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, but I don’t think I’ll be wanting to visit any night spots in the near future. I’m staying with friends.”
“Ah, I see.” His face fell. “Well, you can always find me here if you need anything.” He touched his hat again and set off. I gave the porter a barely civil nod and turned on my heel. By now my heart was really thumping and it wasn’t just from tiredness after walking so far at such a great clip. The nagging worry that I had tried to keep at bay had risen to the surface again. Something was wrong at Reynold Bryce’s house. Police were standing outside. Had Reynold Bryce committed a crime or had something bad happened to him?
Fifteen