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As
expected
,
it
was
the
concierge
.
«
Mr
.
Langdon
,
again
my
apologies
.
I
am
calling
to
inform
you
that
your
guest
is
now
en
route
to
your
room
.
I
thought
I
should
alert
you
.
»
Langdon
was
wide
awake
now
.
«
You
sent
someone
to
my
room
?
»
«
I
apologize
,
monsieur
,
but
a
man
like
this
…
I
cannot
presume
the
authority
to
stop
him
.
»
«
Who
exactly
is
he
?
»
But
the
concierge
was
gone
.
Almost
immediately
,
a
heavy
fist
pounded
on
Langdon
’
s
door
.
Uncertain
,
Langdon
slid
off
the
bed
,
feeling
his
toes
sink
deep
into
the
savonniere
carpet
.
He
donned
the
hotel
bathrobe
and
moved
toward
the
door
.
«
Who
is
it
?
»
«
Mr
.
Langdon
?
I
need
to
speak
with
you
.
»
The
man
’
s
English
was
accented
–
a
sharp
,
authoritative
bark
.
«
My
name
is
Lieutenant
Jerome
Collet
.
Direction
Centrale
Police
Judiciaire
.
»
Langdon
paused
.
The
Judicial
Police
?
The
DCPJ
was
the
rough
equivalent
of
the
U
.
S
.
FBI
.
Leaving
the
security
chain
in
place
,
Langdon
opened
the
door
a
few
inches
.
The
face
staring
back
at
him
was
thin
and
washed
out
.
The
man
was
exceptionally
lean
,
dressed
in
an
official
-
looking
blue
uniform
.
«
May
I
come
in
?
»
the
agent
asked
.
