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. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. She could neither speak nor move nor cry out. ” The detective nodded. "Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. "Why? Because I love her! Because I loved her at the start, but was too big a fool to know it!" His own astonishment was quite equal to McClintock's. I have suspected him of possessing a skeleton key to my apartments.
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