"May I ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious affair about which we were speaking just now?" observed Jackson, turning to the carpenter. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. And, now, to find a messenger. It had been easy to steal. 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. I had a hunch.
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