``I'm a visitor myself and don't know much about the city,'' I said sympathetically. But the man seemed insistent. ``You have that guide map in your hand. Why don't you let me see if I can identify the place I'm looking for,'' he reasoned.

Fair enough, I told myself, and headed for a bench nearby where I spread the map out for him. He se-emed both apologetic and thankful at the same time. Barely had I squ-inted at the map that two burly men, in expensive business suits, suddenly appeared before us like ghosts. Be-fore I could react, theduo began bo-mbarding the man next to me with questions about his identity.

``Foreign exchange! How much foreign exchange are you carrying? Did you get your money changed from anyone here?'' they demanded in an authoritative tone, adding almost as an afterthought that they were from the police department. The lost man seemed to have forgotten all about directions and nervously began taking out his passport and wads of currency notes from his wallet.

While one man got busy with him, the other policemen asked me for my passport and suggested that I, too, produce any illegal currency I may be carrying. ``Well, I have no currency on me, legal or illegal. And this guy is merely asking for directions from me,'' I explained, while trying to hide my nervousness. ``May I see your identity card,'' I asked in a sudden fit of courageousness. They probably hadn't expected that question from a mere tourist.

Exhibiting displeasure, they demanded why I asked that question. ``Don't you believe us?'' asked one. I repliedthat I merely wanted to be sure of their identity, adding that I was a journalist. The last word seemed to work magic on them. ``Never mind, sir, it is just a routine check. A large number of Saudis are actually involved in the illegal trade of currency and we are investigating,'' they said, while forcing a handshake.

All this happened in a flash. What followed left me dumbfounded. The trio –the lost man and those from the police –sprinted across the street, got into a waiting car and fled as if trying to escape a tornado. If the man asking for directions did not know the police personnel beforehand, why were the three of them leaving together in the same car?

They were conmen, of course, part of the same gang! And I had just saved myself from being robbed of my money and passport, which I was carrying in my waist pouch. Realis-ing their game, I rushed after the car in an attempt to take down the car's registration number, but the car swerved around a sharp bend and disappeared.

The same evening when Irecounted the incident to a friend, a journalist for a leading French television channel, he teased that I should actually feel flattered at the experience. For, the men were definitely from a highly organised gang that robbed rich tourists by enacting such scenes in posh areas, including five-star hotels. Their expensive dress, vehicles and cultivated manners were all a part of the ploy, he said.

The Parisian police, my friend told me, had received several complaints about such operators for some time now. Since the conmen appeared suave in their smart outfits and drove expensive cars, the police could not spot them easily, he said, adding with a wink, ``You must have looked rich.''