The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. And the woollen-draper departed. Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. Come close to me, and let me hold your hand, dear. Want to walk home today? Lucy slipped the paper into her English textbook. Scarcely had it come to a halt, when a stalwart man shouldered his way, in spite of their opposition, through the lines of soldiery to the cart, and offered his large horny hand to the prisoner.
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