Withdrawing another bolt, and unhooking a chain suspended from the top of the casement, Jonathan pushed the iron framework outwards. ‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. 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. She kicked him in the shin, trying to knock him off his feet.
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