Читать книгу The Collected Novels - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 140

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In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had escaped — for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out in fertile fields in the direction of Islington — and about a quarter of a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary’s Hole. This spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch. Without inquiring into the correctness of the latter part of the story, it may be sufficient to state, that Black Mary was a person in whom Jack Sheppard thought he could confide, and, as Edgeworth Bess was incapable of much further exertion, he determined to leave her in the old woman’s care till the following night, while he shifted for himself and fulfilled his design — for, however rash or hazardous a project might be, if once conceived, Jack always executed it — of visiting Jonathan Wild at his house in the Old Bailey.

It was precisely two o’clock on the morning of Whit-monday, the 25th of May 1724, when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and, though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from being totally dark. Casting a hasty glance, as he was about to turn an angle of the wall, at the great gates and upper windows of the prison, and perceiving no symptoms of pursuit, Jack proceeded towards the hovel at a very deliberate pace, carefully assisting his female companion over every obstacle in the road, and bearing her in his arms when, as was more than once the case, she sank from fright and exhaustion. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green — the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement — passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination.

Descending the hollow, or rather excavation — for it was an old disused clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated — he speedily succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed Edgeworth Bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till his return — to all which Black Mary readily agreed — he departed with a heart lightened of half its load.

Jack’s first object was to seek out Blueskin, whom he had no doubt he should find at the New Mint, at Wapping, for the Old Mint no longer afforded a secure retreat to the robber; and, with this view, he made the best of his way along a bye-lane leading towards Hockley-in-the-Hole. He had not proceeded far when he was alarmed by the tramp of a horse, which seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had scarcely time to leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when a tall man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his brows, rode by at full speed. Another horseman followed quickly at the heels of the first; but just as he passed the spot where Jack stood, his steed missed its footing, and fell. Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head.

Conceiving the opportunity too favourable to be lost, Jack sprang suddenly over the hedge, and before the man, who was floundering on the ground with one foot in the stirrup, could extricate himself from his embarrassing position, secured his pistols, which he drew from the holsters, and held them to his head. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword.

“Dog!” thundered Sheppard, putting the muzzle of the pistol so close to the janizary’s ear, that the touch of the cold iron made him start, “don’t you know me?”

“Blood and thunder!” exclaimed Quilt, opening his eyes with astonishment. “It can’t be Captain Sheppard!”

“It is,” replied Jack; “and you had better have met the devil on your road than me. Do you remember what I said when you took me at the Mint four days ago? I told you my turn would come. It has come — and sooner than you expected.”

“So I find, Captain,” rejoined Quilt, submissively; “but you’re too noble-hearted to take advantage of my situation. Besides, I acted for others, and not for myself.”

“I know it,” replied Sheppard, “and therefore I spare your life.”

“I was sure you wouldn’t injure me, Captain,” remarked Quilt, in a wheedling tone, while he felt about for his sword; “you’re far too brave to strike a fallen man.”

“Ah! traitor!” cried Jack, who had noticed the movement; “make such another attempt, and it shall cost you your life.” So saying, he unbuckled the belt to which the janizary’s hanger was attached, and fastened it to his own girdle.

“And now,” he continued, sternly, “was it your master who has just ridden by?”

“No,” answered Quilt, sullenly.

“Who, then?” demanded Jack. “Speak, or I fire!”

“Well, if you will have it, it’s Sir Rowland Trenchard.”

“Sir Rowland Trenchard!” echoed Jack, in amazement. “What are you doing with him?”

“It’s a long story, Captain, and I’ve no breath to tell it — unless you choose to release me,” rejoined Quilt.

“Get up, then,” said Jack, freeing his foot from the stirrup. “Now — begin.”

Quilt, however, seemed unwilling to speak.

“I should be sorry to proceed to extremities,” continued Sheppard, again raising the pistol.

“Well, since you force me to betray my master’s secrets,” replied Quilt, sullenly, “I’ve ridden express to Manchester to deliver a message to Sir Rowland.”

“Respecting Thames Darrell?” observed Jack.

“Why, how the devil did you happen to guess that?” cried the janizary.

“No matter,” replied Sheppard. “I’m glad to find I’m right. You informed Sir Rowland that Thames Darrell was returned?”

“Exactly so,” replied Quilt, “and he instantly decided upon returning to London with me. We’ve ridden post all the way, and I’m horribly tired, or you wouldn’t have mastered me so easily.”

“Perhaps not,” replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred. “Now, Sir, I’ll trouble you for your coat. I’ve left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours.”

“Why, surely you can’t be in earnest, Captain. You wouldn’t rob Mr. Wild’s chief janizary?”

“I’d rob Mr. Wild himself if I met him,” retorted Jack. “Come, off with it, sirrah, or I’ll blow out your brains, in the first place, and strip you afterwards.”

“Well, rather than you should commit so great a crime, Captain, here it is,” replied Quilt, handing him the garment in question. “Anything else?”

“Your waistcoat.”

“‘Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold. I was in hopes you’d be content with my hat and wig.”

“I shall require them as well,” rejoined Sheppard; “and your boots.”

“My boots! Fire and fury! They won’t fit you; they are too large. Besides, how am I to ride home without them?”

“Don’t distress yourself,” returned Jack, “you shall walk. Now,” he added, as his commands were reluctantly obeyed, “help me on with them.”

Quilt knelt down, as if he meant to comply; but, watching his opportunity, he made a sudden grasp at Sheppard’s leg, with the intention of overthrowing him.

But Jack was too nimble for him. Striking out his foot, he knocked half a dozen teeth down the janizary’s throat; and, seconding the kick with a blow on the head from the butt-end of the pistol, stretched him, senseless and bleeding on the ground.

“Like master like man,” observed Jack as he rolled the inanimate body to the side of the road. “From Jonathan Wild’s confidential servant what could be expected but treachery?”

With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold’s clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. On searching the coat, he found, amongst other matters, a mask, a key, and a pocket-book. The latter appeared to contain several papers, which Jack carefully put by, in the hope that they might turn out of importance in a scheme of vengeance which he meditated against the thief-taker. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. He had not proceeded far when he encountered Sir Rowland, who, having missed his attendant, had returned to look after him.

“What has delayed you?” demanded the knight impatiently.

“My horse has had a fall,” replied Jack, assuming to perfection — for he was a capital mimic — the tones of Quilt Arnold. “It was some time before I could get him to move.”

“I fancied I heard voices,” rejoined Sir Rowland.

“So did I,” answered Jack; “we had better move on. This is a noted place for highwaymen.”

“I thought you told me that the rascal who has so long been the terror of the town — Jack Sheppard — was in custody.”

“So he is,” returned Jack; “but there’s no saying how long he may remain so. Besides, there are greater rascals than Jack Sheppard at liberty, Sir Rowland.”

Sir Rowland made no reply, but angrily quickened his pace. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild’s door. Aware of Quilt Arnold’s mode of proceeding, Jack instantly dismounted, and, instead of knocking, opened the door with the pass-key. The porter instantly made his appearance, and Sheppard ordered him to take care of the horses.

“Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?” asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount.

“Oh! we’ve lost no time, as you perceive,” replied Jack. “Is the governor within?”

“Yes; you’ll find him in the audience-chamber. He has got Blueskin with him.”

“Ah! indeed! what’s he doing here?” inquired Jack.

“Come to buy off Jack Sheppard, I suppose,” replied the fellow. “But it won’t do. Mr. Wild has made up his mind, and, when that’s the case, all the persuasion on earth won’t turn him. Jack will be tried to-morrow; and, as sure as my name’s Obadiah Lemon he’ll take up his quarters at the King’s-Head,” pointing to Newgate, “over the way.”

“Well, we shall see,” replied Jack. “Look to the horses, Obadiah. This way, Sir Rowland.”

As familiar as Quilt Arnold himself with every part of Wild’s mysterious abode, as well as with the ways of its inmates, Jack, without a moment’s hesitation, took up a lamp which was burning in the hall, and led his companion up the great stone stairs. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented — “Sir Rowland Trenchard.”

Jonathan, who was engaged in conversation with Blueskin, instantly arose, and bowed with cringing ceremoniousness to the knight. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair.

“You’ve arrived sooner than I expected, Sir Rowland,” observed the thief-taker. “Lost no time on the road — eh! — I didn’t expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. Excuse me an instant while I dismiss this person. — You’ve your answer, Blueskin,” he added, pushing that individual, who seemed unwilling to depart, towards the door; “it’s useless to urge the matter further. Jack is registered in the Black Book.”

“One word before I go,” urged Blueskin.

“Not a syllable,” replied Wild. “If you talk as long as an Old Bailey counsel, you’ll not alter my determination.”

“Won’t my life do as well as his?” supplicated the other.

“Humph!” exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. “And you would surrender yourself — eh?”

“I’ll surrender myself at once, if you’ll engage to bring him off; and you’ll get the reward from old Wood. It’s two hundred pounds. Recollect that.”

“Faithful fellow!” murmured Jack. “I forgive him his disobedience.”

“Will you do it?” persisted Blueskin.

“No,” replied Wild; “and I’ve only listened to your absurd proposal to see how far your insane attachment to this lad would carry you.”

“I do love him,” cried Blueskin, “and that’s the long and short of it. I’ve taught him all he can do; and there isn’t his fellow, and never will be again. I’ve seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him. If you hang Jack Sheppard, you’ll cut off the flower o’ the purfession. But I’ll not believe it of you. It’s all very well to read him a lesson, and teach him obedience; but you’ve gone far enough for that.”

“Not quite,” rejoined the thief-taker, significantly.

“Well,” growled Blueskin, “you’ve had my offer.”

“And you my warning,” retorted Wild. “Good night!”

“Blueskin,” whispered Jack, in his natural tones, as the other passed him, “wait without.”

“Power o’ mercy!” cried Blueskin starting.

“What’s the matter?” demanded Jonathan, harshly.

“Nothin’— nothin’,” returned Blueskin; “only I thought —”

“You saw the hangman, no doubt,” said Jack. “Take courage, man; it is only Quilt Arnold. Come, make yourself scarce. Don’t you see Mr. Wild’s busy.” And then he added, in an under tone, “Conceal yourself outside, and be within call.”

Blueskin nodded, and left the room. Jack affected to close the door, but left it slightly ajar.

“What did you say to him?” inquired Jonathan, suspiciously.

“I advised him not to trouble you farther about Jack Sheppard,” answered the supposed janizary.

“He seems infatuated about the lad,” observed Wild. “I shall be obliged to hang him to keep him company. And now, Sir Rowland,” he continued, turning to the knight, “to our own concerns. It’s a long time since we met, eight years and more. I hope you’ve enjoyed your health. ‘Slife! you are wonderfully altered. I should scarcely have known you.”

The knight was indeed greatly changed. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever, and his glances retained their accustomed fire.

“I did not come hither to consult you as to the state of my health, Sir,” he observed, displeased by Jonathan’s allusion to the alteration in his appearance.

“True,” replied Wild. “You were no doubt surprised by the unlooked-for intelligence I sent you of your nephew’s return?”

“Was it unlooked-for on your part?” demanded the knight, distrustfully.

“On my soul, yes,” rejoined Jonathan. “I should as soon have expected the bones of Tom Sheppard to reunite themselves and walk out of that case, as Thames Darrell to return. The skipper, Van Galgebrok, affirmed to me — nay, gave me the additional testimony of two of his crew — that he was thrown overboard. But it appears he was picked up by fishermen, and carried to France, where he has remained ever since, and where it would have been well for him if he had remained altogether.”

“Have you seen him?” asked Trenchard.

“I have,” replied Wild; “and nothing but the evidence of my senses would have made me believe he was living, after the positive assurance I received to the contrary. He is at present with Mr. Wood — the person whom you may remember adopted him — at Dollis Hill, near Willesden; and it’s a singular but fortunate circumstance, so far as we are concerned, that Mrs. Wood chanced to be murdered by Blueskin, the fellow who just left the room, on the very night of his return, as it has thrown the house into such confusion, and so distracted them, that he has had no time as yet for hostile movements.”

“And what course do you propose to pursue in reference to him?” asked Sir Rowland.

“My plan is a very simple one,” rejoined the thief-taker smiling bitterly. “I would treat him as you treated his father, Sir Rowland.”

“Murder him!” cried Trenchard shuddering.

“Ay, murder him, if you like the term,” returned Wild. “I should call it putting him out of the way. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same.”

“I cannot consent to it,” replied Sir Rowland firmly. “Since the sea has spared him, I will spare him. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. I will shed no more blood.”

“And perish upon the gibbet,” rejoined Jonathan contemptuously.

“Flight is still left me,” replied Trenchard. “I can escape to France.”

“And do you think I’ll allow you to depart,” cried Jonathan in a menacing tone, “and compromise my safety? No, no. We are linked together in this matter, and must go through with it. You cannot — shall not retreat.”

“Death and hell!” cried Sir Rowland, rising and drawing his sword; “do you think you can shackle my free will, villain?”

“In this particular instance I do, Sir Rowland,” replied Jonathan, calmly, “because you are wholly in my power. But be patient, I am your fast friend. Thames Darrell must die. Our mutual safety requires it. Leave the means to me.”

“More blood! more blood!” cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. “Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch — the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair! — the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach! — And must another be added to their number — their son! Horror! — let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet — my name tarnished — my escutcheon blotted by the hangman! — No, I cannot submit to that.”

“I should think not,” observed Jonathan, who had some practice in the knight’s moods, and knew how to humour him. “It’s a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed. — The general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did. And life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side. Besides those whom I’ve slain with my own hands, I’ve brought upwards of thirty persons to the gallows. Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don’t remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. The mode of destruction makes no difference. It’s precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell’s throat, as to order Jack Sheppard’s execution.”

As Jonathan said this, Jack’s hand involuntarily sought a pistol.

“But to the point,” continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him — “to the point. On the terms that procured your liberation from Newgate, I will free you from this new danger.”

“Those terms were a third of my estate,” observed Trenchard bitterly.

“What of that,” rejoined Jonathan. “Any price was better than your head. If Thames Darrell escapes, you will lose both life and property.”

“True, true,” replied the knight, with an agonized look; “there is no alternative.”

“None whatever,” rejoined Wild. “Is it a bargain?”

“Take half of my estate — take all — my life, if you will — I am weary of it!” cried Trenchard passionately.

“No,” replied Jonathan, “I’ll not take you at your word, as regards the latter proposition. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares — long after Thames Darrell is forgotten — ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. And as these things should always be treated as matters of business, I’ll just draw up a memorandum of our arrangement.”

And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it.

“Sign this,” he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland.

The knight mechanically complied with his request.

“Enough!” cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum. “And now, in return for your liberality, I’ll inform you of a secret with which it is important you should be acquainted.”

“A secret!” exclaimed Trenchard. “Concerning whom?”

“Mrs. Sheppard,” replied Jonathan, mysteriously.

“Mrs. Sheppard!” echoed Jack, surprised out of his caution.

“Ah!” exclaimed Wild, looking angrily towards his supposed attendant.

“I beg pardon, Sir,” replied Jack, with the accent and manner of the janizary; “I was betrayed into the exclamation by my surprise that anything in which Sir Rowland Trenchard was interested could have reference to so humble a person as Mrs. Sheppard.”

“Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words,” rejoined Jonathan, sternly. “My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears — and hands, if need be — but no tongues. You understand me, sirrah?”

“Perfectly,” replied Jack. “I’m dumb.”

“Your secret?” demanded Trenchard, impatiently.

“I need not remind you, Sir Rowland,” replied Wild, “that you had two sisters — Aliva and Constance.”

“Both are dead,” observed the knight, gloomily.

“Not so;” answered Wild. “Constance is yet living.”

“Constance alive? Impossible!” ejaculated Trenchard.

“I’ve proofs to the contrary,” replied Jonathan.

“If this is the case, where is she?”

“In Bedlam,” replied the thief-taker, with a Satanic grin.

“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed the knight, upon whom a light seemed suddenly to break. “You mentioned Mrs. Sheppard. What has she to with Constance Trenchard?”

“Mrs. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard,” replied Jonathan, maliciously.

Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment.

“Again,” cried Jonathan, sternly: “beware!”

“What!” vociferated Trenchard. “My sister the wife of one condemned felon! the parent of another! It cannot be.”

“It is so, nevertheless,” replied Wild. “Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. It is useless to trace out her miserable career; though I can easily do so if you require it. To preserve herself, however, from destitution, or what she considered worse, she wedded a journeyman carpenter, named Sheppard.”

“Alas! that one so highly born should submit to such a degradation?” groaned the knight.

“I see nothing surprising in it,” rejoined Jonathan. “In the first place, she had no knowledge of her birth; and, consequently, no false pride to get rid of. In the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. With the same inducements we should all do the same thing. Poor girl! she was beautiful once; so beautiful as to make me, who care little for the allurements of women, fancy myself enamoured of her.”

Jack Sheppard again sought his pistol, and was only withheld from levelling it at the thief-taker’s head, by the hope that he might gather some further information respecting his mother. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance.

“What proof have you of the truth of this story?” inquired Trenchard.

“This,” replied Jonathan, taking a paper from a portfolio, and handing it to the knight, “this written evidence, signed by Martha Cooper, the gipsy, by whom the girl was stolen, and who was afterwards executed for a similar crime. It is attested, you will observe, by the Reverend Mr. Purney, the present ordinary of Newgate.”

“I am acquainted with Mr. Purney’s hand-writing,” said Jack, advancing, “and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not.”

“Look at it, then,” said Wild, giving him the portfolio.

“It’s the ordinary’s signature, undoubtedly,” replied Jack.

And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket.

“And, does any of our bright blood flow in the veins of a ruffianly housebreaker?” cried Trenchard, with a look of bewilderment. “I’ll not believe it.”

“Others may, if you won’t,” muttered Jack, retiring. “Thank Heaven! I’m not basely born.”

“Now, mark me,” said Jonathan, “and you’ll find I don’t do things by halves. By your father, Sir Montacute Trenchard’s will, you are aware — and, therefore, I need not repeat it, except for the special purpose I have in view — you are aware, I say, that, by this will, in case your sister Aliva, died without issue, or, on the death of such issue, the property reverts to Constance and her issue.”

“I hear,” said Sir Rowland, moodily.

“And I,” muttered Jack.

“Thames Darrell once destroyed,” pursued Jonathan. “Constance — or, rather, Mrs. Sheppard — becomes entitled to the estates; which eventually — provided he escaped the gallows — would descend to her son.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Jack, drawing in his breath, and leaning forward with intense curiosity.

“Well, Sir?” gasped Sir Rowland.

“But this need give you no uneasiness,” pursued Jonathan; “Mrs. Sheppard, as I told you, is in Bedlam, an incurable maniac; while her son is in the New Prison, whence he will only be removed to Newgate and Tyburn.”

“So you think,” muttered Jack, between his ground teeth.

“To make your mind perfectly easy on the score of Mrs. Sheppard,” continued Jonathan; “after we’ve disposed of Thames Darrell, I’ll visit her in Bedlam; and, as I understand I form one of her chief terrors, I’ll give her such a fright that I’ll engage she shan’t long survive it.”

“Devil!” muttered Jack, again grasping his pistol. But, feeling secure of vengeance, he determined to abide his time.

“And now, having got rid of the minor obstacles,” said Jonathan, “I’ll submit a plan for the removal of the main difficulty. Thames Darrell, I’ve said, is at Mr. Wood’s at Dollis Hill, wholly unsuspicious of any designs against him, and, in fact, entirely ignorant of your being acquainted with his return, or even of his existence. In this state, it will be easy to draw him into a snare. To-morrow night — or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day — I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. To make sure work of it, I’ll superintend the job myself. Before midnight, I’ll answer for it, it shall be done. My janizaries shall go with me. You hear what I say, Quilt?” he added, looking at Jack.

“I do,” replied Sheppard.

“Abraham Mendez will like the task — for he has entertained a hatred to the memory of Thames Darrell ever since he received the wound in the head, when the two lads attempted to break out of St. Giles’s round-house. I’ve despatched him to the New Prison. But I expect him back every minute.”

“The New Prison!” exclaimed Sheppard. “What is he gone there for?”

“With a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner,” replied Wild, with a cunning smile. “Jack Sheppard had a visitor, I understand, yesterday, and may make an attempt to escape. It’s as well to be on the safe side.”

“It is,” replied Jack.

At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He drew both his pistols, and prepared for a desperate encounter.

“There is another mystery I would have solved,” said Trenchard, addressing Wild; “you have told me much, but not enough.”

“What do you require further?” asked Jonathan.

“The name and rank of Thames Darrell’s father,” said the knight.

“Another time,” replied the thief-taker, evasively.

“I will have it now,” rejoined Trenchard, “or our agreement is void.”

“You cannot help yourself, Sir Rowland,” replied Jonathan, contemptuously.

“Indeed!” replied the knight, drawing his sword, “the secret, villain, or I will force it from you.”

Before Wild could make any reply, the door was thrown violently open, and Abraham Mendez rushed into the room, with a face of the utmost consternation.

“He hash eshcaped!” cried the Jew.

“Who? Jack!” exclaimed Jonathan.

“Yesh,” replied Abraham. “I vent to de New Prish’n, and on wishitin’ his shel vid de turnkey, vot should ve find but de shains on de ground, de vinder broken, and Jack and Agevorth Besh gone.”

“Damnation!” cried Jonathan, stamping his foot with uncontrollable rage. “I’d rather have given a thousand pounds than this had happened. But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell. Did you search the yard, fool?”

“Ve did,” replied Abraham; “and found his fine goat and ruffles torn to shtrips on de shpikes near de creat cate. It vosh plain he vent dat vay.”

Jonathan gave utterance to a torrent of imprecations.

While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed.

“‘Sblood! what’s this!” cried Jonathan, in the utmost surprise. “Quilt Arnold, is that you?”

“It is, Sir,” sputtered the janizary. “I’ve been robbed, maltreated, and nearly murdered by Jack Sheppard.”

“By Jack Sheppard!” exclaimed the thief-taker.

“Yes; and I hope you’ll take ample vengeance upon him,” said Quilt.

“I will, when I catch him, rely on it,” rejoined Wild.

“You needn’t go far to do that,” returned Quilt; “there he stands.”

“Ay, here I am,” said Jack, throwing off his hat and wig, and marching towards the group, amongst whom there was a general movement of surprise at his audacity. “Sir Rowland, I salute you as your nephew.”

“Back, villain!” said the knight, haughtily. “I disown you. The whole story of your relationship is a fabrication.”

“Time will show,” replied Jack with equal haughtiness. “But, however, it may turn out, I disown you.”

“Well, Jack,” said Jonathan, who had looked at him with surprise not unmixed with admiration, “you are a bold and clever fellow, I must allow. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I’d be Jack Sheppard. I’m almost sorry I’ve sworn to hang you. But, it can’t be helped. I’m a slave to my word. Were I to let you go, you’d say I feared you. Besides, you’ve secrets which must not be disclosed. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner.”

“And you flatter yourself you can detain me?” laughed Jack.

“At least I’ll try,” replied Jonathan, sarcastically. “You must be a cleverer lad than even I take you for, if you get out of this place.”

“What ho! Blueskin!” shouted Jack.

“Here I am, Captain,” cried a voice from without. And the door was suddenly thrown open, and the two janizaries felled to the ground by the strong arm of the stalwart robber.

“Your boast, you see, was a little premature, Mr. Wild,” said Sheppard. “Adieu, my worthy uncle. Fortunately, I’ve secured the proof of my birth.”

“Confusion!” thundered Wild. “Close the doors below! Loose the dogs! Curses! they don’t hear me! I’ll ring the alarm-bell.” And he raised his arm with the intention of executing his purpose, when a ball from Jack’s pistol passed through the back of his hand, shattering the limb. “Aha! my lad!” he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; “now I’ll show you no quarter.” And, with the uninjured hand he drew a pistol, which he fired, but without effect, at Jack.

“Fly, Captain, fly!” vociferated Blueskin; “I shan’t be able to keep these devils down. Fly! they shall knock me on the head — curse ’em! — before they shall touch you.”

“Come along!” cried Jack, darting through the door. “The key’s on the outside — quick! quick!”

Instantly alive to this chance, Blueskin broke away. Two shots were fired at him by Jonathan; one of which passed through his hat, and the other through the fleshy part of his arm; but he made good his retreat. The door was closed — locked — and the pair were heard descending the stairs.

“Hell’s curses!” roared Jonathan. “They’ll escape. Not a moment is to be lost.”

So saying, he took hold of a ring in the floor, and disclosed a flight of steps, down which he hurried, followed by the janizaries. This means of communication instantly brought them to the lobby. But Jack and his companion were already gone.

Jonathan threw open the street-door. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. The man, who was just able to move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. Jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph.

“To-night it is their turn,” said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. “To-morrow it will be mine.”