To our right were three Poles, to our left a Jew and a German, and we carried on a whispered conversation without much risk.
She and her maid arrived last, as it was growing dusk.

We had already seen what there was to see of the town.

We had been to the post-office on the white man's habitual hunt, for mail that we knew was non-existent.

And I had had the first adventure.
I walked away from the post-office alone, trying to puzzle out by myself the meaning of Lady Saffren Waldon's pursuit of us, and of her friendship with the Germans, and her probable connection with Georges Coutlass and his riff-raff.

I had not gone far either on my stroll or with the problem--perhaps two hundred yards down a grassy track that they had told me led toward a settlement--when something, not a sound, not a smell, and certainly not sight, for I was staring at the ground, caused me to look up.