‘Yes, as far as I know. Just one.’ Hoffmann put his hand to the back of his head. His fingers touched a bandage, tightly wound. ‘What did he hit me with?’

‘By the looks of it, a fire extinguisher.’

‘Jesus. And how long was I unconscious?’

‘Twenty-five minutes.’

‘Is that all?’ Hoffmann felt as if he had been out for hours. But when he looked at the windows he saw it was still dark, and the Louis Quinze clock said it was not yet five o’clock. ‘And I was shouting to warn you,’ he said to Gabrielle. ‘I remember that.’

‘That’s right, I heard you. Then I came downstairs and found you lying there. The front door was open. The next thing I knew, the police were here.’

Hoffmann looked back at Leclerc. ‘Did you catch him?’

‘Unfortunately he was gone by the time our patrol arrived.’ Leclerc flicked back through his notebook. ‘It’s strange. He seems simply to have walked in through the gate and walked out again. Yet I gather you need two separate codes to access the gate and the front door. I wonder – was this man known to you in some way, perhaps? I’m assuming you didn’t let him in deliberately.’

‘I’ve never seen him before in my life.’

‘Ah.’ Leclerc made a note. ‘So you did get a good look at him?’

‘He was in the kitchen. I watched him through the window.’

‘I don’t understand. You were outside and he was inside?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry – how could that be?’

Haltingly at first, but with growing fluency as his strength and memory returned, Hoffmann relived it all: how he had heard a noise, had gone downstairs, had discovered the alarm turned off, had opened the door, seen the pair of boots, noticed the light shining from a ground-floor window, worked his way round the side of the house, and watched the intruder through the window.