And not a worthy tome in sight. Lucy heard a stir, but if Dawn Plote were to arise and come into the room, it could only mean two murders tonight. She has already forgotten it. A brisk talk sprang up between Capes and Mr. B. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own. 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. “Sure. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed.
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