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“That’s. I'm his lieutenant,—Lieutenant Blueskin. My father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence of Jonathan Wild. 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. ” She looked at him quizzically. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify.
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