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. After all, that was life. Why don’t you make sure before you rush out like that upon a stranger?” “You were with my wife,” Hill repeated sullenly. He did not notice that Ann Veronica was preoccupied and heavy-eyed. Her fingers rested upon his. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. F.
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