Dump instantly complied, and as soon as Jack was removed from the sacred edifice, his person was searched from head to foot—but without success. It must be somewhere hereabouts. If I were Mr. 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. “Oh, you can act!” she cried. He returned to the car, Cokes in hand. Wood started to his feet. "Sit down, and enjoy yourself. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation.
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