‘She hasn’t said so, but I presume Valade had got hold of all the useful papers,’ Gerald went on. They had changed identities absolutely. 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. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. You are in danger.
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