The Frenchman was already being followed. Instead, her husband was probably wise. Stimulated by the promise of something handsome to drink, the man acquitted himself to admiration in the management of his lazy cattle. 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. ‘Why, that’s it. A father is in debt, we'll say. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit. He was tall, nearly six feet, and from his stature it was clear that he spent some spare time working on his physique. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead.
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