No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him.
Apparently, Jonathan perceived he was an object of scrutiny; for, hastily dismissing his attendant, he walked towards the knight.
“So, you’re admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland,” he remarked, with a sinister smile; “it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves — ha! ha! This skull,” he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, “once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now. In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered. When I’ve placed another skull and another halter beside them, I shall be contented.”
“To business, Sir!” said the knight, with a look of abhorrence.
“Ay, to business,” returned Jonathan, grinning, “the sooner the better.”
“Here is the sum you bargained for,” rejoined Trenchard, flinging a pocket-book on the table; “count it.”
Jonathan’s eyes glistened as he told over the notes.
“You’ve given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland,” he said, after he had twice counted them, “or I’ve missed my reckoning. There’s a hundred pounds too much.”
“Keep it,” said Trenchard, haughtily.
“I’ll place it to your account, Sir Rowland,” answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly. “And now, shall we proceed to Queenhithe?”
“Stay!” cried the other, taking a chair, “a word with you, Mr. Wild.”
“As many as you please, Sir Rowland,” replied Jonathan, resuming his seat. “I’m quite at your disposal.”
“I have a question to propose to you,” said Trenchard, “relating to —” and he hesitated.
“Relating to the father of the boy — Thames Darrell,” supplied Jonathan. “I guessed what was coming. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland. Well, you shall know.”
“Without further fee?” inquired the knight.
“Not exactly,” answered Jonathan, drily. “A secret is too valuable a commodity to be thrown away. But I said I wouldn’t drive a hard bargain with you, and I won’t. We are alone, Sir Rowland,” he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, “and what you confide to me shall never transpire — at least to your disadvantage.”
“I am at a loss to understand you Sir,”, said Trenchard.
“I’ll make myself intelligible before I’ve done,” rejoined Wild. “I need not remind you, Sir Rowland, that I am aware you are deeply implicated in the Jacobite plot which is now known to be hatching.”
“Ha!” ejaculated the other.
“Of course, therefore,” pursued Jonathan, “you are acquainted with all the leaders of the proposed insurrection — nay, must be in correspondence with them.”
“What right have you to suppose this, Sir?” demanded Trenchard, sternly.
“Have a moment’s patience, Sir Rowland,” returned Wild; “and you shall hear. If you will furnish me with a list of these rebels, and with proofs of their treason, I will not only insure your safety, but will acquaint you with the real name and rank of your sister Aliva’s husband, as well as with some particulars which will never otherwise reach your ears, concerning your lost sister, Constance.”
“My sister Constance!” echoed the knight; “what of her?”
“You agree to my proposal, then?” said Jonathan.
“Do you take me for as great a villain as yourself, Sir?” said the knight, rising.
“I took you for one who wouldn’t hesitate to avail himself of any advantage chance might throw in his way,” returned the thief-taker, coldly. “I find I was in error. No matter. A time may come — and that ere long — when you will be glad to purchase my secrets, and your own safety, at a dearer price than the heads of your companions.”
“Are you ready?” said Trenchard, striding towards the door.
“I am,” replied Jonathan, following him, “and so,” he added in an undertone, “are your captors.”
A moment afterwards, they quitted the house.
CHAPTER 17.
THE NIGHT-CELLAR.
After a few minutes’ rapid walking, during which neither party uttered a word, Jonathan Wild and his companion had passed Saint Paul’s, dived down a thoroughfare on the right, and reached Thames Street.
At the period of this history, the main streets of the metropolis were but imperfectly lighted, while the less-frequented avenues were left in total obscurity; but, even at the present time, the maze of courts and alleys into which Wild now plunged, would have perplexed any one, not familiar with their intricacies, to thread them on a dark night. Jonathan, however, was well acquainted with the road. Indeed, it was his boast that he could find his way through any part of London blindfolded; and by this time, it would seem, he had nearly arrived at his destination; for, grasping his companion’s arm, he led him along a narrow entry which did not appear to have an outlet, and came to a halt. Cautioning the knight, if he valued his neck, to tread carefully, Jonathan then descended a steep flight of steps; and, having reached the bottom in safety, he pushed open a door, that swung back on its hinges as soon as it had admitted him; and, followed by Trenchard, entered the night-cellar.
The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. Notwithstanding the heat of the season — which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this subterranean region — a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever flame shone upon.
The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. They had as many designations as grades. There were game watermen and game lightermen, heavy horsemen and light horsemen, scuffle-hunters, and long-apron men, lumpers, journeymen coopers, mud-larks, badgers, and ratcatchers — a race of dangerous vermin recently, in a great measure, extirpated by the vigilance of the Thames Police, but at this period flourishing in vast numbers. Besides these plunderers, there were others with whom the disposal of their pillage necessarily brought them into contact, and who seldom failed to attend them during their hours of relaxation and festivity; — to wit, dealers in junk, old rags, and marine stores, purchasers of prize-money, crimps, and Jew receivers. The latter formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing