” “But how can I help it? How can I keep silence?” “Please!” she insisted. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. The door leading to the front of the house was stealthily opening. That is an evil place!” She cried. 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. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man.
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