He ran out of the cafe, shouting over his shoulder, ‘Quickly, Strachan, we’ve no time to lose.’
Strachan chased after him. ‘Where are we going, sir?’
‘The Cercle Sportif.’
‘The French club, sir? Why there?’
‘It’s the only place she could be. Quickly, man.’
At the top of the alley, Danilov turned right on to rue Brenner de Montmerrand, increasing his pace. Strachan caught him easily.
‘Shouldn’t we take the car, sir?’
Danilov was already breathing heavily. ‘No time… this way.’ He ran left on to Avenue Joffre. ‘It’s over there on the right.’
‘I’ll go ahead, sir’ With a kick of his heels, Strachan surged down the road. Pedestrians jumped out of his way. A couple out shopping tried to move aside, only for the man to be caught by his shoulder and tumbled to the ground. Strachan shouted a brief apology and ran on.
‘Be careful.’ Danilov was trying to keep up but Strachan was already running down the road, dodging the trishaw drivers, young men with brilliantined hair and spats, delivery men on bikes, elegant ladies dressed in tight qipaos, hawkers selling the latest fashions from France made in Shanghai, and the rest of the denizens of Shanghai out for a day of quiet shopping.
‘Be careful,’ Danilov shouted again as Strachan disappeared from view into the crowd.