His face was white. 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. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. " "Bah!" ejaculated Marvel, gruffly. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. “Thanks, so do you. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00.
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