Ian froze. If the British checked his pouch, they would find the minister’s clothes. He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, even though his heart was racing. “Dirty clothes,” he said. “A few receipts.”
Duncan trained his gaze on Ian. “Search the satchel,” he ordered the soldier next to him.
“I beg your pardon,” Ian said, outraged. “They’re my personal effects.”
Duncan turned to the soldier. “Do it.”
The soldier stepped forward and wrestled the satchel from Ian’s shoulder.
Ian didn’t resist. “This is uncalled for,” he declared, trying to hide his fright.
The soldier opened the satchel. He reached his hand in, felt the garments, and peeked inside. But he didn’t remove anything. “A coat and hat,” he said, handing the satchel back to Ian.
Ian acted indignant, staring at Duncan as if he
