“Ah,” Criou thought, “that toff over there looks promising.” And, indeed, it proved correct. That same toff wore a silk shirt under a buttoned jacket, the pocket of which evidently contained a timepiece, its fine fob chain dangling ostentatiously. “This one will have to be a snatch, grab it and run,” he decided.
As he neared his prey, he wound himself up like a lion about to leap, waiting for the optimum moment. It came when the man turned his head, exchanging pleasantries with a stallholder to his left. Thus, he went to the right, seized the fob, pulled it away and ran off into the crowd. It all happened in a flash, too suddenly for the unfortunate toff to react, let alone give chase.
Baudet walked past the scene of the crime, scarcely giving it a glance, not wanting to be identified wi
