'e back。 Darling； please e back。' 'Why？'
'You're tired。 You need rest。'
'I have to reach Trignon。 Pierre Trignon。 He's the bookkeeper。'
'Do it tomorrow。 It can wait until tomorrow。〃 'No。 Tomorrow's for the captains。' What was he saying？ Captains。 Troops。 Figures colliding in panic。 But it was the way； the only way。 The chameleon was a。。。 provocateur。
'Listen to me；' said Marie； her voice insistent。 'Something's happening to you。 It's happened before； we both know that； my darling。 And when it does； you have got to stop； we know that； too。 e back to the hotel。 Please。'
Bourne closed his eyes； the sweat was drying and the sounds of the traffic outside the box replaced the screeching in his ears。 He could see the stars in the cold night sky； no more blinding sunlight； no more unbearable heat。 It had passed； whatever it was。 'I'm all right。 Really； I'm okay now。 A couple of bad moments； that's all。'
'Jason？' Marie spoke slowly； forcing him to listen。 'What caused them？'
'I don't know；'
'You just saw the Brielle woman。 Did she say something to you？ Something that made you think of something else？'
'I'm not sure。 I was too busy figuring out what to say myself。'
' darling！'
Bourne closed his eyes； trying to remember。 Had there been something？ Something spoken casually or so rapidly that it was lost at the moment 'She called me a provocateur' said Jason； not understanding why the word came back to him。 'But then； that's what I am； aren't I？ That's what I'm doing。'
'Yes；' agreed Marie。
'I've got to get going；' continued Bourne。 'Trignon's place is only a couple of blocks from here。 I want to reach him before ten。'
'Be careful。' Marie spoke as if her thoughts were elsewhere。
'I will。 I love you。'
'I believe in you； said Marie St Jacques。
The street was quiet； the block； that odd mixture of shops and flats indigenous to the centre of Paris； bustling with activity during the day； deserted at night。
Jason reached the small apartment house listed in the telephone directory as Pierre Trignon's residence。 He climbed the steps and walked into the neat； dimly lit foyer。 A row of brass letterboxes was on the right； each one above a small spoked circle through which a caller raised his voice loud enough to identify himself。 Jason ran his finger along the printed names below the slots。 M。 Pierre Trignon。 App。 42。 He pushed the tiny black button twice； ten seconds later there was a crackling of static。
'Oui？'
'Monsieur Trignon； s'il vous plait？'
'Id。'
'Telegramme； monsieur。 Je ne laisse pas ma bicyclette。'
'Telegramme？ Pour minit？'
Pierre Trignon was not a man who often received telegrams； it was in his astonished tone。 The rest of his words were barely distinguishable； but a female voice in the background registered shock； equating a telegram with all manner of horrendous disasters。
Bourne waited outside the frosted glass door that led to the apartment house interior。 In seconds he heard the rapid clatter of footsteps growing louder as someone … obviously Ninon came rushing down the staircase。 The door swung open； concealing Jason； a balding； heavyset man； unnecessary braces creasing the flesh beneath a bulging white shirt； walked to the row of letterboxes； stopping at number 42。
'Monsieur Trignon？'
The heavy…set man spun round； his cherubic face set in an expression of helplessness。 'A telegram！ I have a telegram；' he cried。 'Did you bring me a telegram？
'I apologize for the ruse； Trignon； but it was for your own benefit I didn't think you wanted to be questioned in front of your wife and family。'
'Questioned？' exclaimed the bookkeeper； his thick； protruding lips curled； his eyes frightened。 'Me？ What about？ What is this？ Why are you here at my home？ I'm a law…abiding citizen！'
'You work in Saint…Honoree〃？ For a firm called Les Classiques？'
'I do。 Who are you？'
'If you prefer； we can go down to my office；' said Bourne。
'Who are you？'
'I'm a special investigator for the Bureau of Taxation and Records； Division of Fraud and Conspiracy。 e along； my official car is outside。'
'Outside？ e along？。。。 I have no jacket； no coat； my wife。 She's upstairs expecting me to bring back a telegram。 A telegram！'
'You can send her one； if you like。 e along now。 I've been at this all day and I want to get it over with。'
'Please； Monsieur；' protested Trignon。 'I do not insist on going anywhere！ You said you had questions。 Ask your questions and let me go back upstairs。 I have no wish to go to your office。'
'It might take a few minutes；' said Jason。
I'll ring through to my wife and tell her it's a mistake。 The telegram's for old Gravel； he lives here on the first floor and can barely read。 She will understand。'
Madame Trignon did not understand； but her shrill objections were stilled by a shriller Monsieur Trignon。 There； you see；' said the bookkeeper； ing away from the letterbox； the strings of hair on his bald scalp matted with sweat。 There's no reason to go anywhere。 What's a few minutes of a man's life？ The television shows will be repeated in a month or two。。。 Now； what in God's name is this； Monsieur？ My books are immaculate； totally immaculate！ Of course； I cannot be responsible for the accountant's work。 That's a separate firm； he's a separate firm。 Frankly； I've never liked him； he swears a …great deal； if you know what I mean。 But then； who am I to say？' Trignon's hands were held out palms up； his face pinched 〃 in an obsequious smile。
To begin with；' said Bourne； dismissing the protestations； 'do not leave the city limits of Paris。 If for any reason； personal or professional； you are called upon to do so； notify us。 Frankly； it will not be permitted。'
'Surely you're joking； Monsieur！'
'Surely I'm not。'
'I have no reason to leave Paris … nor the money to do so …but to say such a thing to me is unbelievable。 What have I done？'
The Bureau will sequester your books in the morning。 Be prepared。'
'Sequester。。。 For what cause？ Prepared for what？'
'Payments to so…called suppliers whose invoices are fraudulent。 The merchandise was never received … was never meant to be received … the payments； instead； routed to a bank in Zurich。'
'Zurich？ I don't know what you're talking about！ I've prepared no cheques for Zurich。'
'Not directly； we know that。 But how easy it was for you to prepare them for nonexistent firms； the monies paid； then wired to Zurich。〃
'Every invoice is initialled by Madame Lavier！ I pay nothing on my own！ '
Jason paused； frowning。 'Now it's you who are joking；' he said。
'On my word！ It's the house policy。 Ask anyone！ Les Classiques does not pay a sou unless authorized by Madame。'
'What you're saying； then； is that you take your orders directly from her。'
'But naturally！'
'Whom does she take orders from？'
Trignon grinned。 'It is said from God； when not the other way round。 Of course； that's a joke； Monsieur。'
'I trust you can be more serious。 Who are the specific owners of Les Classiques？〃
'It is a partnership； Monsieur。 Madame Lavier has many wealthy friends； they have invested in her abilities。 And； of course； the talents of Rend Bergeron。'
'Do these investors meet frequently？ Do they suggest policy？ Perhaps advocate firms with which to do business？'
'I wouldn't know。 Monsieur。 Naturally； everyone has friends。〃
'We may have concentrated on the wrong people；〃 interrupted Bourne。 'It's quite possible that you and Madame Lavier … as the two directly involved with day…to…day finances …are being used。〃
'Used for what？〃
'To funnel money into Zurich。 To the account of one of the most vicious killers in Europe。〃
Trignon convulsed； his large stomach quivering as he fell back against the wall。 'In the name of God； what are you saying！'
'Prepare yourselves。 Especially you。 You prepared the cheques； no one else。〃
'Only upon approval！ '
'Did you ever check the merchandise against the invoices？〃
'It's not my job！'
'So； in essence you issued payments for supplies you never saw。'
'I never see anything！ Only invoices that have been initialled。 I pay only on those！'
'You'd better find every one。 You and Madame Lavier had better start digging up every authorization i