Then, absently, he put his hand into his pocket.
Something there caused his heart to halt momentarily,--a piece of paper.

He crumpled it in his hand, he rubbed his fingers over it wonderingly; it had not been in his pocket before she had passed him.
Hurriedly he walked to the far side of the chamber and there, pretending to examine a bit of ore, brought the missive from its place of secretion, to unfold it with trembling fingers, then to stare at the words which showed before him: "Squint Rodaine is terribly worried about something.

Has been on an awful rampage all morning.

Something critical is brewing, but I don't know what.

Suggest you keep watch on him.