Free Night Rounds by Patrick Modiano

alone in the evening to put the files in order. I worked in the waiting room. No one would have guessed that this apartment housed a detective agency. A retired couple used to live there. I drew the curtains. Silence. Wavering light. The scent of faded things. "Dreaming, my boy?" The Khedive laughs and straightens his hat in the mirror. We walk through the vestibule. Mr. Philibert snaps on a flashlight. We're having a housewarming tonight at 3 bis Cimarosa Square. The owners have left. We have taken over their house. A cause for celebration. Hurry. Our friends are waiting for us at L'Heure Mauve, a night club on the Champs-Élysées …
    The following week the Khedive instructs me to get information for our "agency" on the activities of a certain Lieutenant Dominique. We received a memorandum on him giving his address, his photo, and the comment: "To be kept under surveillance." I have to find some way of approaching this man. I go to his house at 5 rue Boisrobert, in the 15 th District. A modest little building. The Lieutenant himself comes to the door. I ask for Mr. Henri Normand. He tells me there's some mistake. Then I stammer out my whole story: I'm an escaped prisoner of war. One of my buddies told me to get in touch with Mr. Normand, 5 rue Boisrobert, if I ever managed to escape. He would hide me. My buddy probably got the address wrong. I don't know a soul in Paris. I've run out of money. I don't know where to turn. He eyes me carefully. I squeeze out a couple of tears to convince him. The next thing I know I'm in his office. In a deep, vibrant voice he tells me that boys my age mustn't be demoralized by the disaster that has struck our country. He's still trying to size me up. And suddenly, this question: "Do you want to work with us?" He's in charge of a group of "terrific" guys. Most of them are escaped prisoners like myself. Boys from Saint-Cyr. Career army officers. A few civilians too. Tough as they come. The elite of the ranks. We're waging a hidden struggle against the powers of darkness that are presently in command. A difficult task, but when there's courage, nothing's impossible. Goodness, Freedom, and Morality will rule again before too long. He, Lieutenant Dominique, swears by it. I don't share his optimism. I think of the report I'll have to turn in to the Khedive this evening at Cimarosa Square. The Lieutenant supplies me with some other facts: he calls his group the Ring of the Knights of the Shadows, R.K.S. No chance of fighting in the open, obviously. It's an underground war. We'll live like hunted men. Each member of the group has taken an alias, the name of a métro station. He'll introduce them to me shortly: Saint-Georges. Obligado. Corvisart. Pernety. Still others. As for me, I'll be known as "Princess de Lamballe." Why "Princess de Lamballe"? Just a whim of the Lieutenant's." Are you prepared to join our network? Honor demands it. You shouldn't hesitate. Well?" I reply: "Yes," in a faint voice. "Don't ever waver, lad. I know, times are pretty sad. The gangsters are running the show. There's a whiff of rot in the air. It won't last. Have a little will power, Lamballe." He wants me to stay on at the Rue Boisrobert, but I quickly invent an old uncle in the suburbs who'll put me up. We make a date for tomorrow afternoon at the Place des Pyramides in front of Joan of Arc's statue. "Goodbye, Lamballe." He gives me a piercing look, his eyes narrow, and I can't bear the glint of them. He repeats: "Goodbye, LAM-BALLE , stressing each syllable in a funny way: LAMBALLE . He shuts the door. It was getting dark. I wandered aimlessly through this unfamiliar section of town. They must be waiting for me at Cimarosa Square. What shall I tell them? To put it baldly, Lieutenant Dominique was a hero. And so was every member of his group ... But I still had to make a detailed report to the Khedive and Mr. Philibert. The existence of the R.K.S. surprised them. They weren't expecting that extensive an operation.