She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. . ” He came and stood on the hearthrug close to 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. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity.
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