There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. The latter began to heave himself up from the sand. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. Yet an indiscriminating, wrong-headed world gave such fellows all sorts of distinctions. 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.
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