’ 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. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. But then he began to take steps, and, at last, strides to something more and more like predominance. Hill closed his eyes. This door was crested with spikes, and guarded on the right by a bristling semicircle of spikes. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. ” He looked at her, his eyes illuminated by the glow of the dashboard.
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