But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. Very likely by this time the whole truth is known. The thought had not even occurred to him. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. Now, no more questions, or I shall be forced to leave the room. She was practicing with them on that very day, and displaced a rather mediocre boy violinist who claimed “to be better at the viola anyway” as first chair. ‘The more I hear about this Leonardo,’ Lucy said severely, ‘the more I want to meet your Melusine. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe.
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