"Hi again, gendarme."

"Hi again, gendarme."

"Tell me again about that muscular type who came to investigate the crime."

"Oh, yes... let's see. He knocked on my door a few days after the lynching. I think he was going through the entire building, asking questions."

"Besides muscular, did he have any other identifying traits?"

"Oh, let me think..." He turns his eyes upward in recollection. "He had an accent. He sounded like one of those mercenaries."

"He sounded vaguely Oranjese." He closes his eyes. "No, not vaguely, scratch that. He sounded definitely Oranjese."

"What did he look like?"

"Muscular. Handsome." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Strong. Like one of those military types."

"Was he alone?"

"Yes, but he was speaking to someone on his earpiece."

"His earpiece?"

"Yes, you know those tiny speaker-microphones that fancy security guards sometimes wear."

"What was he saying?"

"Just reporting back whatever I was telling him."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. That I didn't see anything."

"Did you tell him about your friend?"

He takes another drag of his cigarette before knitting his brows. "What friend?"

"Your Sunday friend, the witness."

"No, I don't think it came up."

"And he believed you?"

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Thanks for the information."

"Sure. Anything else on your mind?" His lazy eyes stroll over your face.

"About this hat I'm wearing..."

"You can keep it, I don't mind. I can appreciate beauty when I see it."

"I wasn't really planning on giving it back anyway."

"How cunning." He raises his brows and you're not sure whether he's mocking you or not. "I like men who take what they want."

"Thanks. It's like carrying a piece of you with me at all times."

"Is it now?" He starts laughing. "Well, enjoy it."

"I took it to blend in. I'm undercover, you see?"

"Blend in where?" He raises his brows. "A carneval?"

"About the hat and the robe I'm wearing..."

"I need to talk with your Sunday friend again, it's about committee business."

"Oh, a committee." He smiles. "How interesting..."

"There's only one problem: I don't think he wants to talk with you."

There's only one way through this. You're going to have to apologise...

Fortunately, saying sorry is practically second-nature for you.

"You can tell him I'm prepared to accept his apology anytime."

A bemused expression. "Oh, I don't think you should be expecting an apology from him."

Then you have nothing more to say here.

Don't be foolish. There's greater things at stake here than your pride.

"Then he and I have nothing more to discuss."

"Oh, he'll be devastated to hear that, I'm sure..." He smiles.

He doesn't care one way or another. For him, it's all one entertaining chamber play.

"What, you're going to blow a lead, just like that?" The lieutenant gives you an incredulous look.

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, but Martinaise isn't exactly crawling with Coalition representatives. You're going to have to look for someone else now."

What are you doing, Harry? You better hope there's someone else around who can help you get in touch with the Coalition...

"In any event, good luck with whatever it is you're up to."

"Okay, fine. I'm the one who should apologise."

"Yes." He nods. "I think that would be prudent..."

"In any case, I would love to help, but the thing is, I don't know where he is. We don't talk about everything, you see..." He gently taps the end of his cigarette with his forefinger.

"He might have mentioned something about making a tour of some historical sites up the coast... in an unofficial capacity, of course."

"I guess I'll have to look for him along the coast."

"I guess you will." He tips his head ever so slightly toward you.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Not a clue. I'm not his agenda keeper, you see."

"How did he get over the water lock? I thought it was impassable?"

He shrugs. "He has his ways. I don't need to know every detail of his life."

"Maybe you could intercede on my behalf?"