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the subscriber was not a person but a company: Escargot Investments, with a billing address in Monaco.
    For a moment, there was a disappointed silence, eventually broken by Sam. “I have an old friend on Wall Street, a researcher for an investment banker. She specializes in corporate secrets. Give her the name of any company, registered anywhere in the world, and she’ll find out who owns it.” Sam looked around at the others and shrugged. “Or we could go to Monaco and try our luck.”
    Elena was intrigued by the idea of going to Monaco, which she had never seen, and she asked the obvious question: “Why not do both?”
    Activity is the next-best thing to progress, and it was quickly agreed that both was what they would do. First, the call. It was only 7:30 a.m. in New York, but on Wall Street they start early, and Sam’s friend picked up after the second ring.
    “Gail? It’s your old admirer, Sam. Are you still as beautiful as ever?” He winced, and held the phone away from his ear. “That bad at keeping in touch, am I? I’m sorry, I really am, but I’ve been traveling a lot. Gail, listen: I’m doing a job in France, and I could use a little information about a company in Monaco.” Sam had to endure a few minutes of good-natured scolding from Gail before she calmed down and agreed to see what she could dig up about Escargot Investments in return for lunch—a long lunch—at Daniel next time Sam was in New York.
    Sam and Elena set off for Monaco early the next morning. Reboul had insisted that Olivier drive them since he was familiar with Monaco, and said that he had a favorite aunt there he’d be happy to see. As they left Marseille for the autoroute, Elena, always avid for information about any new destination, had her nose deep in a guidebook borrowed from Reboul’s library. She shared odd items with Sam: Monaco, covering only 500 acres, could easily fit into New York’s Central Park, at nearly 850 acres. The population is about 36,000, made up of more than 120 different nationalities.The first stone of the castle, home of the current prince, was laid on June 10, 1215.
    “Morning or afternoon?” said Sam, whose thirst for statistics was limited.
    Elena sighed before continuing. “To lure new inhabitants, the early rulers established an attractive fiscal system.”
    “In other words, residents don’t pay taxes. Nice.”
    The Monaco lecture was tactfully interrupted by Olivier, who asked if they had any plans for lunch. If it was OK with them, he said, he would like to slip away and see his aunt.
    Arriving in Monaco, Olivier dropped them off in the Place du Casino, where Sam’s attention was caught by one of his favorite French landscapes: the long, shady, inviting terrace of a bar and restaurant. This was the Café de Paris, which Sam at once identified as a perfect spot for lunch. But first, to give them an appetite, he wanted to visit the headquarters of Escargot Investments.
    The address supplied by the phone company turned out to be a modern apartment building not far from the casino. Judging by the dozens of discreet brass plaques displayed in the lobby, ordinary residents were vastly outnumbered by companies. And among them, on the fifteenth floor, was Escargot Investments.
    The office was marked by yet another brass plaque, fixed to a heavy, locked door. Sam pressed the buzzer, and a metallic voice asked him to identify himself and state his business. “The name is Phillips,” said Sam, “and Herr Trauner, mybanker in Zurich, has recommended that I come to see you to discuss an investment project.”
    The door clicked open, and Elena and Sam found themselves in a small reception area elegantly decorated in shades of gray. A receptionist, equally elegant, was stationed behind a highly polished partners’ desk that was bare except for a vase of white roses and an open copy of
Vogue
.
    “
Bonjour
,” she said. “I don’t believe you have an appointment, do you?”
    “That’s what I’m