For a few seconds, Vidocq simply stared at the bare table. Somewhere within the wooden skeleton of the house, an old rheumatic plank creaked pitifully. In the attic, the window frame finally got tired of swaying back and forth in the draft and collapsed from its loose hinges with a dull clang. The bronze clock on the second floor croaked quarter to four.

Slowly, Vidocq stood up from his seat at the desk, pushed in his chair, straightened the quill in the inkstand, collected a stray piece of blotting paper from the floor, replaced it in its box, then picked up his suddenly rather light coat from the back of the chair… and was out the door like a shot.

Javert was sitting on the top step of the porch with his back against a support column and his face tilted towards the sunlight. Even with his eyes closed, he looked despicably smug.

"Hand it over," said Vidocq glumly.

Still squinting blissfully into the caressing warmth, Javert lifted up two fingers grasped in a pinch around the gold chain and dropped the watch onto Vidocq's waiting palm.

"And the purse that you lifted from my coat pocket, too."

Javert's face lost its battle against a burgeoning grin, and the corners of his mouth slowly drifted almost all the way to his earlobes. A little leather purse with a steel clasp sailed over his shoulder. Vidocq caught it, glanced inside to check for the two golden napoleons and put it away.

"And I suppose you'll be wanting those papers of yours back as well," drawled Javert in a tone of supercilious concession.

Vidocq's blood ran cold. He couldn't have…

"Papers?" he inquired casually. "What papers?"

"Little crinkly ones," elaborated Javert with a theatrically overblown Provencal accent, drawing air noisily through his nostrils and stretching like a sated python. "Rrreal important-looking, with all them little stamps and signatures going 'cross and lengthwise."

"Those were in my vest," said Vidocq incredulously. "In the inner pocket of my vest. How did you… no, you know what, don't even answer that. Just give them back."

Javert stood up, hopped onto the bottom stair of the porch to be on eye level with Vidocq, who remained on the top one, and solemnly extracted several thin folded sheets from inside his jacket.

"I hope you're taking better precautions than that against real thieves," he said seriously and without the accent.

"So far, there haven't been any thieves bold enough to pat me down like that in broad daylight," said Vidocq through clenched teeth.

Javert shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"Touchy, touchy, touchy," he said, sat back down onto the top stair and fished an apple out of his trouser pocket. "Be grateful I left that pretty little arbalest on your neck. Could've taken that, too." Having rubbed the apple off on his trousers, Javert proceeded to consume it in two gigantic bites.

"I'm not a woman to wear an arbalest," said Vidocq sourly. "It's a relic, not a cross. And if you lay a finger on it, you're a dead man."

Javert tilted his head back and lifted a well-shaped black eyebrow.

"So now you are angry with me?" he asked through a full mouth. "Whatever for? First you want me to be a thief, then you don't want me to be a thief. You confuse me. Make up your mind already." He tossed the apple core into the bushes.

In lieu of a response, Vidocq pulled on his cap and inclined his head towards the street.

"Come on," he said. "It's all perfectly clear with you. We've got a four o'clock appointment with the Chief of the Second Division."

Javert gave what sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"'L'Ange Malin' himself?" he said, standing up and dusting off the back of his trousers. "I tremble in advance."

Vidocq stopped in his tracks.

"How the hell… how long have you been in Paris?"

Javert screwed his eyes up to the glimmering heavens in thought.

"Since about six in the evening yesterday. I've been asleep for most of it, though."

"Where did you hear about that 'Bad Angel' business? I assume Monsieur Henry's fame hasn't yet spread into Russia, has it?"

"Here and there," evaded Javert. "I may be between jobs, but my ears aren't plugged up."

Vidocq shook his head. They started down the garden path.

"So why do people call him that, anyway?" asked Javert.

"If we don't pick up the pace, you're guaranteed to find out," said Vidocq, unlatching the rusty wrought iron gate. "He's not an easy man to talk to under any circumstances, but if you are late to an appointment, he can be a really ugly customer."

"But we're going to be on time," he said confidently, re-latching the gate from the outside. "And then after he's done with us, we'll look into putting you up. Where are you staying?"

"In a tavern near Place de la Concorde. I didn't feel like exploring when I arrived."

"Settle your accounts today," instructed Vidocq. "This evening I'll show you some digs that'll make your mouth water."