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to bear on the world. And he picked that up. As for the others, I’ve only known them a week, and they look OK so far. They’re a strange combination, each one with his great work he’s writing. Funny lot. Anyway, I have never heard of a case like yours before. It’s high time to do something about the tree.’
    ‘But what could I do?’ Sophia asked. ‘The police would have laughed at me.’
    ‘Very true,’ said Vandoosler.
    ‘And I didn’t want to alarm my husband.’
    ‘Quite right.’
    ‘So I was waiting until … I knew these young people better.’
    ‘But how can we help, without arousing your husband’s suspicions?’ asked Marc.
    ‘What I was thinking,’ said Sophia, ‘was that you might pretend to be workmen. Checking on buried electricity cables or something. Anything that would explain digging a trench, one that runs under the tree, of course. I’d pay you extra for some overalls, and to hire a van and tools.’
    ‘I’m on,’ said Marc.
    ‘Sounds do-able,’ said Mathias.
    ‘Well, if it’s about digging trenches,’ said Lucien, ‘I’m all for it. I’ll send a sick note to the school. It’ll take a couple of days.’
    ‘Can you face watching your husband’s reaction when they turn up proposing to dig their trench?’ asked Vandoosler.
    ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Sophia.
    ‘Won’t he recognise them?’
    ‘No, I’m sure he won’t. He’s taken absolutely no interest in them’.
    ‘Perfect,’ said Marc. ‘It’s Thursday today. We need a bit of time to organise the details. We’ll be knocking at your door on Monday morning, first thing.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Sophia. ‘It’s funny. Now we’ve arranged all this, I’m sure there’s nothing under the tree.’
    She opened her handbag. ‘Here’s the money,’ she said. ‘It’s all there.’
    ‘What, already?’ said Marc.
    Vandoosler senior smiled. Sophia Siméonidis was an unusual woman. She was timid and hesitant in manner, but she had brought the money with her. Was she so sure of persuading them? He found that interesting.

VIII
    ONCE SOPHIA HAD LEFT, NO-ONE KNEW QUITE WHAT TO DO, AS THEY all paced around the big room. Vandoosler senior preferred to take his meals upstairs. Before leaving the room, he looked at them. The three younger men were standing, oddly enough, each one in front of one of the tall windows, gazing into the dark garden. Standing like that, each framed in an archway, they looked like three statues with their backs to him. St Luke on the left, St Matthew in the middle, St Mark on the right. Each of them turned to stone in his niche. Strange figures and they made strange saints. Marc had crossed his hands behind his back and was standing stiffly, legs apart. Vandoosler had done a lot of stupid things in his life; but he loved his godson. Not that there had ever been a christening.
    ‘Dinner time,’ said Lucien. ‘I’ve made some pâté.’
    ‘What kind?’ asked Mathias.
    They had not moved, but were speaking to each other while still staring into the garden.
    ‘Jugged hare. A good dry pâté. I think it will taste fine.’
    ‘Hare? That’s expensive,’ said Mathias.
    ‘Marc shoplifted it this morning and delivered it to me.’
    ‘Terrific,’ said Mathias ironically. ‘Takes after the old man. Why did you pinch it, Marc?’
    ‘Because Lucien wanted one and it cost too much.’
    ‘Oh, of course, naturally,’ said Mathias. ‘Tell me something. How come your name is Vandoosler like his, if he is your mother’s brother.’
    ‘Because my mother wasn’t married, dickhead.’
    ‘Let’s eat,’ said Lucien. ‘Why are you badgering him?’
    ‘I’m not badgering him, I’m just asking him a question. And what did Vandoosler do to get thrown out?’
    ‘He helped a murderer escape.’
    ‘Oh, of course,’ said Mathias again. ‘And what sort of name is that anyway, Vandoosler?’
    ‘Belgian. It should be written Van Doos-l-a-e-r-e. Too complicated. My grandfather came to France in