There was no point in rushing into the long walk home. Dear me! if there isn't his knock. Giles's round-house, and if, through the agency of that treacherous scoundrel, Terry O'Flaherty, whom I've put in my Black List, old Wood should have found his way there, and have been detained by Sharpies as I directed, you may release him. ‘Go on, Gerald. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. When I'm alone I don't mind. 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. Here was an instrument which might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. ‘No need to upset yourself.
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