1 January 2027
Friday. New Year’s Day once more, and the hotel is two years old. I spent the morning on the stairs, as is traditional.
I have been trying to count how many people I have met stepping out of Madame the lift into the frame. The management has the number exactly, on its register. I have only my casebook, which is full, and a second casebook, which is filling. Every one of them was the nearest face to a very unfortunate situation. Every one of them had sixty minutes to talk their way out of it, with evidence.
Some people ask me whether it grows tiresome, the same hotel, the same suite, the same telephone call. It does not. The case is the same, but the parties never are. Each argues differently, searches differently and stands in a different corner of the suite when I arrive.
Croissant is also two years older. He celebrated by sleeping across the top step, which is where I must stand to make an arrest. We have reached an understanding.
— Insp. A. Brochard, Gendarmerie
