“Do not doubt me,” replied Thames, warmly pressing his hand.
“And now, I’ve one further request,” faltered Jack; “though I scarcely know how to make it. It is to set me right with Winifred. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve — or even so ill. Tell her, that more than once, when about to commit some desperate offence, I have been restrained by her gentle image. If hopeless love for her made me a robber, it has also saved me many a crime. Will you tell her that?”
“I will,” replied Thames, earnestly.
“Enough,” said Jack, recovering his composure. “And now, to your own concerns. Blueskin, who has been on the watch all night, has dogged Sir Rowland Trenchard to Jonathan Wild’s house; and, from the mysterious manner in which he was admitted by the thief-taker’s confidential servant, Abraham Mendez, and not by the regular porter, there is little doubt but they are alone, and probably making some arrangements prior to our uncle’s departure from England.”
“Is he leaving England?” demanded Thames, in astonishment.
“He sails to-morrow morning in the very vessel by which I start,” replied Jack. “Now, if as I suspect — from the documents just placed in your possession — Sir Rowland meditates doing you justice after his departure, it is possible his intentions may be frustrated by the machinations of Wild, whose interest is obviously to prevent such an occurrence, unless we can surprise them together, and, by proving to Sir Rowland that we possess the power of compelling a restitution of your rights, force the other treacherous villain into compliance. Jonathan, in all probability, knows nothing of these packets; and their production may serve to intimidate him. Will you venture?”
“It is a hazardous experiment,” said Thames, after a moment’s reflection; “but I will make it. You must not, however, accompany me, Jack. The risk I run is nothing to yours.”
“I care for no risk, provided I can serve you,” rejoined Sheppard. “Besides, you’ll not be able to get in without me. It won’t do to knock at the door, and Jonathan Wild’s house is not quite so easy of entrance as Mr. Wood’s.”
“I understand,” replied Thames; “be it as you will.”
“Then, we’ll lose no more time,” returned Jack. “Come along, Blueskin.”
Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, “for oyster tubs renowned,” the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. A door in this house opened upon the yard. Jack tried it, and found it locked.
“If I had my old tools with me, we’d soon master this obstacle,” he muttered. “We shall be obliged to force it.”
“Try the cellar, Captain,” said Blueskin, stamping upon a large board in the ground. “Here’s the door. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling. I’ve seen him often do it.”
While making these remarks, Blueskin contrived, by means of a chisel which he chanced to have about him, to lift up the board, and, introducing his fingers beneath it, with Jack’s assistance speedily opened it altogether, disclosing a dark hole, into which he leapt.
“Follow me, Thames,” cried Jack, dropping into the chasm.
They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. It was fastened inside. But, taking the chisel from Blueskin, Jack quickly forced back the bolt.
As they entered the room beyond, a fierce growl was heard.
“Let me go first,” said Blueskin; “the dogs know me. Soho! boys.” And, walking up to the animals, which were chained to the wall, they instantly recognised him, and suffered the others to pass without barking.
Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. They then swiftly mounted the stairs, and stopped before the audience-chamber. Applying his ear to the keyhole, Jack listened, but could detect no sound. He, next cautiously tried the door, but found it fastened inside.
“I fear we’re too late,” he whispered to Thames. “But, we’ll soon see. Give me the chisel, Blueskin.” And, dexterously applying the implement, he forced open the lock.
They then entered the room, which was perfectly dark.
“This is strange,” said Jack, under his breath. “Sir Rowland must be gone. And, yet, I don’t know. The key’s in the lock, on the inner side. Be on your guard.”
“I am so,” replied Thames, who had followed him closely.
“Shall I fetch the light, Captain?” whispered Blueskin.
“Yes,” replied Jack. “I don’t know how it is,” he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, “but I’ve a strange foreboding of ill. My heart fails me. I almost wish we hadn’t come.”
As he said this, he moved forward a few paces, when, finding his feet glued to the ground by some adhesive substance, he stooped to feel what it was, but instantly withdrew his hand, with an exclamation of horror.
“God in Heaven!” he cried, “the floor is covered with blood. Some foul murder has been committed. The light! — the light!”
Astounded at his cries, Thames sprang towards him. At this moment, Blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle — the floor deluged with blood — various articles of furniture upset — papers scattered about — the murdered man’s cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore — his hat, crushed and similarly stained — his sword — the ensanguined cloth — with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed. Further on, there were impressions of bloody footsteps along the floor.
“Sir Rowland is murdered!” cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue.
“It is plain he has been destroyed by his perfidious accomplice,” rejoined Thames. “Oh God! how fearfully my father is avenged!”
“True,” replied Jack, sternly; “but we have our uncle to avenge. What’s this?” he added, stooping to pick up a piece of paper lying at his feet — it was Jonathan’s memorandum. “This is the explanation of the bloody deed.”
“Here’s a pocket-book full of notes, and a heavy bag of gold,” said Blueskin, examining the articles on the floor.
“The sum which incited the villain to the murder,” replied Jack. “But he can’t be far off. He must be gone to dispose of the body. We shall have him on his return.”
“I’ll see where these footsteps lead to,” said Blueskin, holding the light to the floor. “Here are some more papers, Captain.”
“Give them to me,” replied Jack. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “a letter, beginning ‘dearest Aliva,’— that’s your mother’s name, Thames.”
“Let me see it,” cried Thames, snatching it from him. “It is addressed to my mother,” he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, “and by my father. At length, I shall ascertain my name. Bring the light this way — quick! I cannot decipher the signature.”
Jack was about to comply with the request, when an unlooked-for interruption occurred. Having traced the footsteps to the wall, and perceiving no outlet, Blueskin elevated the lamp, and discovered marks of bloody fingers on the boards.
“He must have gone this way,”