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. “You decline to help us in any way, then,” he said. ” He retorted smartly, looking at her with mischief. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. ” “But why?” “He’s married—and, I believe, living separated from his wife.
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