Until the last moment she was afraid. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. 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. It was open. Creeping along quickly on his hands and knees, he found the entrance to a covered drain, into which he crept.
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