He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. ’ ‘There is no need for this,’ he ventured mildly, and lifted his finger to show his own pistol was not cocked. He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. The chair was torture. We want to come to the station if this happens, okay? For your own good. But what I want to get at is this. Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. 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. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. .
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