“This is Mr. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. “I know. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. What better way to be rid of him? ‘Jacques,’ she uttered urgently. ” Mr. 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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