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. “Too greasy for me. I am going to make a fresh start. “If you really are going to wait, make yourself as comfortable as you can. ‘Poor Hilary. She thought of Capes. When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left. " The detective ruefully inspected the scarlet band on his perfecto.
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