“Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. No! That was impossible. Until Leonardo. He smiled. “Broddick is a heavy man,” he was saying, “and the main interest of the play was the embezzlement. 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. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. ” “Why in Heaven’s name should I forget?” he cried. " "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English. He will tell you confidentially that he simply hates the place. He stood still, almost breathless.
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