"Confounding the police is something I've had quite a lot of practice with," she boasts, smiling to herself as she imagines how Inspector Hewitt and his underlings might've reacted to her little show, had they been there to see it. P and accomplice evaded capture, she imagined he'd write in his casebook (one day soon, she was going to work out what P stood for; she hoped it was something impressive). Damned frustrating, but P so brilliant, can't find it in my heart to be upset.

"Thank you for not criticizing my French," she says. Catching sight of the apartment building only a few blocks away, she presses onward, closing the distance a little more with each revolution of Gladys' pedals. "Even if it didn't really matter what I said, considering he couldn't understand a word of it."