The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. "While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. ’ ‘No, no, go and fetch the men to the house. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. The militiaman at once thrust the old man between the shoulder blades, pushing him into the kitchen. 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. He was ill at ease, though he would not have confessed his disquietude even to himself. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy.
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