His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. He had something across his knees. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house. . It was at lunch when McClintock announced that in the mailpouch he had found a letter addressed to Howard Taber, care of Donald McClintock and so-forth. She had followed a bobbing white hat and gray jacket until she reached the Euston Road corner of Tottenham Court Road, and there, by the name on a bus and the cries of a conductor, she made a guess of her way. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green.
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