Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. I am sure that he can be got rid of. All this was the work of a minute. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. 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. Kimble had bedded the animal down at the local inn. They stood for a moment in the passage and listened. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. The street was deserted, no pedestrian school-goers walked immediately in front or behind them.
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