He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked. 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. He looked half at her and half at the sky. It was you, of course, whom he wanted.
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