From the desk of Ottoline Farano - a rebuttal.

My Dear Ariana,

I write to you in haste regarding the regrettable incident at the Louvre yesterday. Louis insists I inform you that my whereabouts are entirely accounted for—a detail he feels compelled to stress with tedious repetitiveness, as though I were some common criminal requiring an alibi.

For the record: I was in Edinburgh attending a gallery opening with Louis and no fewer than forty witnesses, including Lord Balcarres and the French Ambassador. Louis has photographic evidence time-stamped at precisely the moment those amateurs were wielding their angle grinders in Paris. How terribly modern of him.

Now, regarding this so-called "heist"—I must express my profound offense at any suggestion of association. Seven minutes? A freight elevator and construction cones? Yamaha scooters? Mon Dieu, Ariana, it reads like a pantomime. In my day, we entered through doors like civilised people. We certainly never left crown jewels scattered about the grounds like breadcrumbs. And smashing display cases with power tools whilst museum staff looked on? Where is the artistry? The elegance? The discretion?

I am frankly insulted that anyone might connect me with such brutish incompetence. The Empress Eugénie's crown—dropped in their flight like common litterbugs! Absolutely mortifying. Though I confess to finding one detail rather amusing: one of the items they made off with happens to be a fake.

Don't ask me how I know.

Your affectionate (and entirely innocent) confidante,

Otto

P.S. The irony of the Louvre's "priceless" collection is becoming rather too literal for comfort.