It’s gone. When she slipped off of it her head started to bob, filled with air. Before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and Jack with his irons on descended from it. 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.
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