It must be somewhere hereabouts. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. "When I heard of your escape, I felt sure I should see you. “Perhaps. “I knew you wouldn’t mind. A quick flush stained her cheeks. He remembered it suddenly. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction.
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