’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance. “For my part I can see no difference in any of these French girls who come over here with their demure manner and atrocious songs. I found him once in my rooms, and I believe that he had a key to my front door.
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