Drat!  Four guards stood barring the entrance to the guesthouse.  Usually there were only two.  And Pippin would not dishonor them by playing the “distract the guard” game and throwing a stone or two into a nearby alley.  Casually he tried walking nearby and peeping in at a window.  Inside he could see Frodo bent over some papers; it looked as if Sam was talking to him.  A pang of jealousy smote his heart, but Pippin tamped it down.  Frodo was getting his work done, and he was a good deal happier than he had been the past few days, and that was what mattered.

Slowly he turned his head to look at the guards.  One of them was glaring at him.  No, he thought, definitely not welcome here.

From behind him he heard the plod of heavy boots.  More guards.  And at their head, likely, Strider, who would be striding most purposefully in his golden dress.  Panic gripped his heart, and he dove behind a shrub beneath the window.  If only these Gondorians had thought of windows that opened, instead of just glass that permits light but not air!  With the faintest of rustles he turned to survey the street.

The booted feet stopped.  Among their number he could see a pair of rather oversized ladies’ shoes, mostly covered by the hem of a golden dress.  The skirt swished, and Pippin felt the King’s gaze on him.  With a cry he broke free, turned a corner, and dashed down one of the alleyways.  The booted feet tramped behind him in pursuit.