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"OK, how do you want to do this?"

She looks up and down the street. "It's pretty quiet here. If you think you can get that door open without attracting everybody's attention, I can keep watch while you work. Otherwise we need to go down the alley. There's a little courtyard round the back. Maybe we can find a way in through there."

We'll try the front door. As a master of subterfuge, my lock picking skills are unmatched.

It's no good. You fiddle and fumble, but the tumblers won't budge.

Cleo interrupts you. "Someone's coming!" she hisses.

You abandon your aborted career as a housebreaker and pretend to be making light conversation with Cleo as two waistcoat-clad dandies stroll past arm in arm. When they've gone, you both relax visibly.

"OK, this isn't going to work," Cleo says. "Back door it is."

A small covered alleyway leads into a picturesque courtyard behind Maman's building. The backs of other stores loom over you on all sides. A pretty little putto fountain with a sculpted putto tinkles in the center of the yard, and a flowering lemon tree provides shade and scents the air with citrus. This would be a pleasant spot if your purpose here weren't so serious.

You take a look. Maman's back door actually looks pretty flimsy; kicking it in should be easy enough. Alternatively, if you are feeling sufficiently athletic, there's a very climbable drainpipe leading up to the roof; it goes right past a second-floor window that is hanging temptingly ajar.