“Concern me!” she repeated fiercely. There was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing. Easy enough. 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. She wanted to turn him. Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country.
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