The scene is Paris. Not the Paris of the bright lights, the boulevards, the cafes and the theatres, but that Paris of dark, narrow, crooked streets. That Paris in which murder is no stranger. That Paris where the wrong glance or a carelessly spoken word is answered by a knife thrust, and the offender is found cold and stark, staring with glassy eyes and a waning moon. It's 2am when Mademoiselle Rose Delacour turns into La Rue Morgue...