Our hero, needing somebody to trust, does the same dumb thing that every fleeing innocent has done since Robert Donat in “The Thirty-nine Steps.” He and Sophie visit a cheery old duffer in the countryside and spill every possible bean. This is useful, since she and Langdon are soon on the run, convinced that Fache is about to nail the professor on a murder charge-the blaming of Americans, on any pretext, being a much loved Gallic sport. She turns out to be the granddaughter of the deceased, and a dab hand at reversing down Paris streets in a car the size of a pissoir. Help arrives in the shape of Sophie Neveu (Audrey Tautou), a police cryptographer. But what does God know, exactly? And can He keep His mouth shut? Questioned by Bezu Fache (Jean Reno), the investigating policeman at the scene, Langdon starts rabbiting about pentacles and pagans and God knows what. This, however, is not the conclusion reached by Robert Langdon (Tom Hanks), a professor of symbology at Harvard, who happens to be in Paris.
His final act was to carve a number of bloody markings into his own flesh, indicating, to the expert eye, that he was preparing to roll in fresh herbs and sear himself in olive oil for three minutes on each side. A dead Frenchman is found laid out on the floor of the Louvre. The story of “The Da Vinci Code” goes like this.
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