‘Precisely. "Lead on!" Followed by Darrell, Jonathan retraced his dangerous path. "No. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. Good riddance. I might as well try to build a ladder to heaven. 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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