While Gilberte and I were having lunch on the Grandhotel’s outdoor terrace, she has told me that yesterday night she had missed the grand piano that used to be in his room. Immediately I have connected the dots, but I have not dared to tell Gilberte that yesterday her piano jumped across the balcony landing on the head of an Austro-Hungarian General. However, I must confess that I myself begin to have doubts about whether the piano jumped on its own initiative or someone pushed it. When Gilberte has gone to the bathroom, one of the guys who follow me everywhere has addressed me. He was a compatriot, a Frenchman named Julien Latour, a spy by profession. He has confessed to me that M. Swann is also a spy at the service of France and that it was he who threw the piano on the Austro-Hungarian general, but that I mustn’t take it into account. He added that Karlsbad is currently an international nest of spies and that I should be careful because I am in the spotlight of all of them because of the exclusive spa treatment I am being administered. And finally he has warned me that “to take the waters” can be beneficial for health, but also harmful. Then he has turned around and disappeared from my field of vision. When Gilberte joined me again, we heard a thud similar to that I had heard yesterday but with some small differences. I didn’t tell Gilberte so she wouldn’t worry but we had just heard the impact of a grand piano fallen from a fourth floor on a man without a mustache. And indeed, I later learned that M. Latour had been crushed by a grand piano fallen from the fourth floor of the hotel. And, as I told the manager, when pianos start raining it’s not a good sign, no sir.