"Hist!" cried Rowland, arresting his comrade. Better get a dress. ’ 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. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. This is your moment. This is not the conduct of a jeune demoiselle.
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