“Really, Marceau, did you have to lead us onto the Champs-Élysées too?”, groaned Éloïse as she walked along the famous boulevard with Théo and the still somewhat crumpled piece of paper in hand. “This is not a walk in the park!”
Marceau just grinned broadly. “Oh, a little glamour can’t hurt us! Besides, I heard they have the best crêpes in the city here. You just can’t miss that.”
Théo cast a skeptical glance at the map. “And the address? Does it really say we’re supposed to find something here?”
“Yes, right here!”, said Marceau, pointing to a small side alley between the elegant boutiques. “There’s supposed to be something hidden. Maybe a clue to the next adventure.”
Just as they approached the entrance to the alley, Éloïse suddenly felt someone yank sharply at her backpack. “Hey!”, she called out surprised, but before she could react, the thief was already gone – a slim man in a dark jacket, sprinting down the street in a flash.
“Damn!”, cursed Théo and immediately took off in pursuit. “Éloïse, stay here! I’ll get the guy!”
“Wait!”, called Marceau, suddenly feeling quite heroic. “I’m coming too!”
Éloïse stayed behind, unsure if that was a good idea. But as soon as Théo and Marceau caught up with the thief, wild chaos broke out on the Champs-Élysées. The thief turned into a crowd that seemed to be watching a fashion show – models in dazzling dresses, flashes from cameras, and music blaring loudly from the speakers.
“Damn, this won’t be easy,” panted Théo as he chased after the thief. Marceau nearly tripped over a fallen barrier but caught himself just in time.
“Watch out for the people!”, shouted Marceau, trying to weave through the crowd, which now seemed completely confused by the chase.
Éloïse, missing her backpack, ran after them but could barely see anything – flashing cameras and excited spectators everywhere. Suddenly, the thief appeared in front of her, holding the backpack triumphantly high, but then he tripped over a loose cable and fell spectacularly to the ground.
“Now!”, shouted Éloïse and grabbed the backpack. But barely had she got it in her hand when she heard a loud crash behind her: Marceau had run into one of the models, and both were now on the ground, surrounded by scattered props and a pile of broken glasses.
“Oh no, Marceau!”, called Éloïse as she helped the model back up. The man in the dark jacket took the moment and ran off, this time heading toward the Arc de Triomphe.
“Damn, he got away from us!”, panted Théo, who had just arrived. “And our backpack is gone again!”
Marceau got up, his face red from effort and shame. “I just wanted to help! But somehow I only made the chaos worse.”
Éloïse sighed, holding the half-open backpack tightly and opened it carefully – luckily nothing important was lost, just a few scattered notes and her phone, which still worked.
“Okay, we need a plan,” said Théo determinedly. “The guy was probably looking for something valuable in our backpack. Maybe something related to this address.”
“And we ended up in the middle of a chase on the Champs-Élysées,” added Éloïse, unable to suppress a small laugh. “How typical for us.”
“Wait a minute,” said Marceau suddenly, pulling out the crumpled map. “There’s something else here – a phone number. Maybe we can call someone who knows more.”
Théo took the paper and read aloud: “‘Rendezvous at midnight on the Pont Alexandre III. Only for the brave.’”
“Midnight?”, repeated Éloïse, feeling her heart beat faster. “That sounds like a secret meeting – and probably even more chaos.”
“Well, then we know our next destination,” grinned Marceau, although he still looked a little embarrassed.
But before they could discuss it further, they heard sirens wailing in the distance and the murmur of a crowd growing ever closer.
“I think this was just the beginning,” murmured Théo, looking at Éloïse and Marceau. “And we’re right in the middle of it.”