He was used to danger, but this secret massing chilled even his stout heart.

It was like a wood he remembered in Florida where every bush had held an Indian arrow, but without sight or sound of a bowman.

There was hell brewing in this foul cauldron of a city.
He stabled his horse in the yard in the Rue du Coq, behind the glover's house where he had lain the night before.

Then he set out to find supper.

The first tavern served his purpose.