Suddenly he understood what had happened. “It’s settled. By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. Capes spoke casually of their plans for work. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. The cage has a strong door, with an iron grating at the top, and further secured by a stout bolt and padlock. 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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