“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