I’m not ashamed—of the things I’m doing. Lucy sat in the back seat as the trio sped through intersections in the old sedan. 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. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded.
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