Mrs. Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily
displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. To
the duckling, peas, and other delicacies, intended for Mr. Kneebone's
special consumption, she added a few impromptu dishes, tossed off in
her best style; such as lamb chops, broiled kidneys, fried ham
and eggs, and toasted cheese. Side by side with the cheese (its
never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's
board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast. Besides these there was
a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie--the latter capacious
enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the
whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part
of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of
fennel. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to
the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks
of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as
those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print--the Modern Midnight
Conversation.
Mrs. Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by
Winifred, took her seat at the table. Operations then commenced. Mr.
Wood carved the ducks; Mr. Kneebone helped to the pigeon-pie; while
Thames unwired and uncorked a bottle of stout Carnarvonshire ale. The
woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but
his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with
those of Mr. Smith. The leg and wing of a duck were disposed of by
this gentleman in a twinkling; a brace of pigeons and a pound of
steak followed with equal celerity; and he had just begun to make
a fierce assault upon the eggs and ham. His appetite was perfectly
Gargantuan. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his
teeth, he neglected the flagon. On the contrary, his glass was never
idle, and finding it not filled quite so frequently as he desired,
he applied himself, notwithstanding the expressive looks and muttered
remonstrances of Mr. Jackson, to the swig. The latter gentleman did
full justice to the good things before him; but he drank sparingly,
and was visibly annoyed by his companion's intemperance. As to Mr.
Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. Wood, carving for his friends,
and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. At this juncture,
and just as a cuckoo-clock in the corner struck sis, Jack Sheppard
walked into the room, with the packing-case under his arm.
“I was in the right, you see, father,” observed Thames, smiling;
“Jack _has_ done his task.”
“So I perceive,” replied Wood.
“Where am I to take it to?” asked Sheppard.
“I told you that before,” rejoined Wood, testily. “You must take it
to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. And, mind, it's for
his sister, Lady Trafford.”
“Very well, Sir,” replied Sheppard.
“Wet your whistle before you start, Jack,” said Kneebone, pouring
out a glass of ale. “What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland
Trenchard's?”
“Only a box, Sir,” answered Sheppard, emptying the glass.
“It's an odd-shaped one,” rejoined Kneebone, examining it
attentively. “But I can guess what it's for. Sir Rowland is one
of _us_,” he added, winking at his companions, “and so was his
brother-in-law, Sir Cecil Trafford. Old Lancashire families both.
Strict Catholics, and loyal to the backbone. Fine woman, Lady
Trafford--a little on the wane though.”
“Ah! you're so very particular,” sighed Mrs. Wood.
“Not in the least,” returned Kneebone, slyly, “not in the least.
Another glass, Jack.”
“Thank'ee, Sir,” grinned Sheppard.
“Off with it to the health of King James the Third, and confusion to
his enemies!”
“Hold!” interposed Wood; “that is treason. I'll have no such toast
drunk at my table!”
“It's the king's birthday,” urged the woollen draper.
“Not _my_ king's,” returned Wood. “I quarrel with no man's political
opinions, but I will have my own respected!”
“Eh day!” exclaimed Mrs. Wood; “here's a pretty to-do about nothing.
Marry, come up! I'll see who's to be obeyed. Drink the toast, Jack.”
“At your peril, sirrah!” cried Wood.
“He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master,”
rejoined Sheppard. “Here's King James the Third, and confusion to his
enemies!”
“Very well,” said the carpenter, sitting down amid the laughter of
the company.
“Jack!” cried Thames, in a loud voice, “you deserve to be hanged for
a rebel as you are to your lawful king and your lawful master. But
since we must have toasts,” he added, snatching up a glass, “listen
to mine: Here's King George the First! a long reign to him! and
confusion to the Popish Pretender and his adherents!”
“Bravely done!” said Wood, with tears in his eyes.
“That's the kinchin as was to try the dub for us, ain't it?” muttered
Smith to his companion as he stole a glance at Jack Sheppard.
“Silence!” returned Jackson, in a deep whisper; “and don't muddle
your brains with any more of that Pharaoh. You'll need all your
strength to grab him.”
“What's the matter?” remarked Kneebone, addressing Sheppard, who,
as he caught the single but piercing eye of Jackson fixed upon him,
started and trembled.
“What's the matter?” repeated Mrs. Wood in a sharp tone.
“Ay, what's the matter, boy!” reiterated Jackson sternly. “Did you
never see two gentlemen with only a couple of peepers between them
before!”
“Never, I'll be sworn!” said Smith, taking the opportunity of filling
his glass while his comrade's back was turned; “we're a nat'ral
cur'osity.”
“Can I have a word with you, master?” said Sheppard, approaching
Wood.
“Not a syllable!” answered the carpenter, angrily. “Get about your
business!”
“Thames!” cried Jack, beckoning to his friend.
But Darrell averted his head.
“Mistress!” said the apprentice, making a final appeal to Mrs. Wood.
“Leave the room instantly, sirrah!” rejoined the lady, bouncing up,
and giving him a slap on the cheek that made his eyes flash fire.
“May I be cursed,” muttered Sheppard, as he slunk away with (as the
woollen-draper pleasantly observed) 'a couple of boxes in charge,'
“if ever I try to be honest again!”
[Illustration: 238]
“Take a little toasted cheese with the swig, Mr. Smith,” observed
Wood. “That's an incorrigible rascal,” he added, as Sheppard closed
the door; “it's only to-day that I discovered--”
“What?” asked Jackson, pricking up his ears.
“Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father,” interposed Thames.
“If _I_ were your father, young gentleman,” returned Jackson, enraged
at the interruption, “I'd teach _you_ not to speak till you were
spoken to.”
Thames was about to reply, but a glance from Wood checked him.
“The rebuke is just,” said the carpenter; “at the same time, I'm not
sorry to find you're a friend to fair play, which, as you seem
to know, is a jewel. Open that bottle with a blue seal, my dear.
Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal.”
This proposal giving general satisfaction, the bottle circulated
swiftly; and Smith found the liquor so much to his taste, that he
made it pay double toll on its passage.
“Your son is a lad of spirit, Mr. Wood,” observed Jackson, in a
slightly-sarcastic tone.
“He's not my son,” rejoined the carpenter.
“How, Sir?”
“Except by adoption. Thames Darrell is--”
“My husband nicknames him Thames,” interrupted Mrs. Wood, “because he
found him in the river!--ha! ha!”
“Ha! ha!” echoed Smith, taking another bumper of brandy; “he'll set
the Thames on fire one of these days, I'll warrant him!”
“That's more than you'll ever do, you drunken fool!” growled Jackson,
in an under tone: “be cautious, or you'll spoil all!”
“Suppose we send for a bowl of punch,” said Kneebone.
“With all my heart!” replied Wood. And, turning to his daughter, he
gave the necessary directions in a low tone.
Winifred, accordingly, left the room, and a servant being despatched
to the nearest tavern, soon afterwards returned with a crown bowl
of the ambrosian fluid. The tables were then cleared. Bottles and
glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. Pipes were lighted;
and Mr. Kneebone began to dispense the fragrant fluid; begging Mrs.
Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget
the health of the Chevalier de Saint George--a proposition to which
the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud.
“The Chevalier shall hear of this,” whispered the woollen-draper.
“You don't say so!” replied Mrs. Wood, delighted at the idea.
Mr. Kneebone assured her that he _did_ say so; and, as a further
proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the
table.
Mr. Smith, now, being more than half-seas over, became very
uproarious, and, claiming the attention of the table, volunteered the
following
DRINKING SONG.
I. Jolly nose! the bright rubies that garnish thy tip
Are dug from the mines of canary;
And to keep up their lustre I moisten my lip
With hogsheads of claret and sherry.
II. Jolly nose! he who sees thee across a broad glass
Beholds thee in all thy perfection;
And to the pale snout of a temperate ass
Entertains the profoundest objection.
III. For a big-bellied glass is the palette I use,
And the choicest of wine is my colour;
And I find that my nose takes the mellowest hues
The fuller I fill it--the fuller!
IV. Jolly nose! there are fools who say drink hurts the sight;
Such dullards know nothing about it.
'T is better, with wine, to extinguish the light,
Than live always, in darkness, without it!
“How long may it be since that boy was found in the way Mrs. Wood
mentions?” inquired Jackson, as soon as the clatter that succeeded
Mr. Smith's melody had subsided.
“Let me see,” replied Wood; “exactly twelve years ago last November.”
“Why, that must be about the time of the Great Storm,” rejoined
Jackson.
“Egad!” exclaimed Wood, “you've hit the right nail on the head,
anyhow. It _was_ on the night of the Great Storm that I found him.”
“I should like to hear all particulars of the affair,” said Jackson,
“if it wouldn't be troubling you too much.”
Mr. Wood required little pressing. He took a sip of punch and
commenced his relation. Though meant to produce a totally different
effect, the narrative seemed to excite the risible propensities
rather than the commiseration of his auditor; and when Mr. Wood wound
it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint
pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his
chair, gave free scope to his merriment.
“I beg your pardon,” he cried; “but really--ha! ha!--you must excuse
me!--that is so uncommonly diverting--ha! ha! Do let me hear it
again?--ha! ha! ha!”
“Upon my word,” rejoined Wood, “you seem vastly entertained by my
misfortunes.”
“To be sure! Nothing entertains me so much. People always rejoice at
the misfortunes of others--never at their own! The droll dogs! how
_they_ must have enjoyed it!--ha! ha!”
“I dare say they did. But _I_ found it no laughing matter, I can
assure you. And, though it's a long time ago, I feel as sore on the
subject as ever.”
“Quite natural! Never forgive an injury!--_I_ never do!--ha! ha!”
“Really, Mr. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. Your
laugh reminds me of--of----”
“Whose, Sir?” demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave.
“You'll not be offended, I hope,” returned Wood, drily, “if I say
that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary
way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,'
(as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I've just
described.”
“Whom do you mean?” demanded Jackson.
“I allude to an individual, who has since acquired an infamous
notoriety as a thief-taker; but who, in those days, was himself the
associate of thieves.”
“Well, Sir, his name?”
“Jonathan Wild.”
“'Sblood!” cried Jackson, rising, “I can't sit still and hear Mr.
Wild, whom I believe to be as honest a gentleman as any in the
kingdom, calumniated!”
“Fire and fury!” exclaimed Smith, getting up with the brandy-bottle
in his grasp; “no man shall abuse Mr. Wild in my presence! He's the
right-hand of the community! We could do nothing without him!”
“_We!_” repeated Wood, significantly.
“Every honest man, Sir! He helps us to our own again.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the carpenter.
“Surely,” observed Thames, laughing, “to one who entertains so high
an opinion of Jonathan Wild, as Mr. Jackson appears to do, it can't
be very offensive to be told, that he's like him.”
“I don't object to the likeness, if any such exists, young Sir,”
returned Jackson, darting an angry glance at Thames; “indeed I'm
rather flattered by being thought to resemble a gentleman of Mr.
Wild's figure. But I can't submit to hear the well-earned reputation
of my friend termed an 'infamous notoriety.'”
“No, we can't stand that,” hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his
legs.
“Well, gentlemen,” rejoined Wood, mildly; “since Mr. Wild is a friend
of yours, I'm sorry for what I said. I've no doubt he's as honest as
either of you.”
“Enough,” returned Jackson, extending his hand; “and if I've
expressed myself warmly, I'm sorry for it likewise. But you must
allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong
respecting my friend. Mr. Wild never was the associate of thieves.”
“Never,” echoed Smith, emphatically, “upon my honour.”
“I'm satisfied with your assurance,” replied the carpenter, drily.
“It's more than I am,” muttered Thames.
“I was not aware that Jonathan Wild was an acquaintance of yours, Mr.
Jackson,” said Kneebone, whose assiduity to Mrs. Wood had prevented
him from paying much attention to the previous scene.
“I've known him all my life,” replied the other.
“The devil you have! Then, perhaps, you can tell me when he intends
to put his threat into execution?”
“What threat?” asked Jackson.
“Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or
Blueskin, I think he's called.”
“You've been misinformed, Sir,” interposed Smith. “Mr. Wild is
incapable of such baseness.”
“Bah!” returned the woollen-draper. “I see you don't know him as well
as you pretend. Jonathan is capable of anything. He has hanged twelve
of his associates already. The moment they cease to be serviceable,
or become dangerous he lodges an information, and the matter's
settled. He has always plenty of evidence in reserve. Blueskin is
booked. As sure as you're sitting there, Mr. Smith, he'll swing after
next Old Bailey sessions. I wouldn't be in his skin for a trifle!”
“But he may peach,” said Smith casting an oblique glance at Jackson.
“It would avail him little if he did,” replied Kneebone. “Jonathan
does what he pleases in the courts.”
“Very true,” chuckled Jackson; “very true.”
“Blueskin's only chance would be to carry _his_ threat into effect,”
pursued the woollen-draper.
“Aha!” exclaimed Jackson. “_He_ threatens, does he?”
“More than that,” replied Kneebone; “I understand he drew a knife
upon Jonathan, in a quarrel between them lately. And since then, he
has openly avowed his determination of cutting his master's throat on
the slightest inkling of treachery. But, perhaps Mr. Smith will tell
you I'm misinformed, also, on that point.”
“On the contrary,” rejoined Smith, looking askance at his companion,
“I happen to _know_ you're in the right.”
“Well, Sir, I'm obliged to you,” said Jackson; “I shall take care to
put Mr. Wild on his guard against an assassin.”
“And I shall put Blueskin on the alert against the designs of a
traitor,” rejoined Smith, in a tone that sounded like a menace.
“In my opinion,” remarked Kneebone, “it doesn't matter how soon
society is rid of two such scoundrels; and if Blueskin dies by the
rope, and Jonathan by the hand of violence, they'll meet the fate
they merit. Wild was formerly an agent to the Jacobite party, but,
on the offer of a bribe from the opposite faction, he unhesitatingly
deserted and betrayed his old employers. Of late, he has become the
instrument of Walpole, and does all the dirty work for the Secret
Committee. Several arrests of importance have been intrusted to
him; but, forewarned, forearmed, we have constantly baffled his
schemes;--ha! ha! Jonathan's a devilish clever fellow. But he can't
have his eyes always about him, or he'd have been with us this
morning at the Mint, eh, Mr. Jackson!”
“So he would,” replied the latter: “so he would.”
“With all his cunning, he may meet with his match,” continued
Kneebone, laughing. “I've set a trap for him.”
“Take care you don't fall into it yourself,” returned Jackson, with a
slight sneer.
“Were I in your place,” said Smith, “I should be apprehensive of
Wild, because he's a declared enemy.”
“And were I in _yours_,” rejoined the woollen-draper, “I should
be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. But we're
neglecting the punch all this time. A bumper round, gentlemen.
Success to our enterprise!”
“Success to our enterprise!” echoed the others, significantly.
“May I ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious
affair about which we were speaking just now?” observed Jackson,
turning to the carpenter.
“I can't say I did,” replied Wood, somewhat reluctantly; “what with
the confusion incident to the storm, and the subsequent press of
business, I put it off till it was too late. I've often regretted
that I didn't investigate the matter. However, it doesn't much
signify. All concerned in the dark transaction must have perished.”
“Are you sure of that,” inquired Jackson.
“As sure as one reasonably can be. I saw their boat swept away, and
heard the roar of the fall beneath the bridge; and no one, who was
present, could doubt the result. If the principal instigator of the
crime, whom I afterwards encountered on the platform, and who was
dashed into the raging flood by the shower of bricks, escaped, his
preservation must have been indeed miraculous.”
“Your own was equally so,” said Jackson ironically. “What if he _did_
escape?”
“My utmost efforts should be used to bring him to justice.”
“Hum!”
“Have you any reason to suppose he survived the accident?” inquired
Thames eagerly.
Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he
cares to tell.
“I merely asked the question,” he said, after he had enjoyed the
boy's suspense for a moment.
The hope that had been suddenly kindled in the youth's bosom was as
suddenly extinguished.
“If I thought he lived----” observed Wood.
“_If_,” interrupted Jackson, changing his tone: “he _does_ live. And
it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned.”
“Who is he?” asked Thames impatiently.
“You're inquisitive, young gentleman,” replied Jackson, coldly.
“When you're older, you'll know that secrets of importance are not
disclosed gratuitously. Your adoptive father understands mankind
better.”
“I'd give half I'm worth to hang the villain, and restore this boy to
his rights,” said Mr. Wood.
“How do you know he _has_ any rights to be restored to?” returned
Jackson, with a grin. “Judging from what you tell me, I've no
doubt he's the illegitimate offspring of some handsome, but lowborn
profligate; in which case, he'll neither have name, nor wealth for
his inheritance. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously,
the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was
of good family, upon her seducer. The less said, therefore, on this
point the better; because, as nothing is to be gained by it, it would
only be trouble thrown away. But, if you have any particular fancy
for hanging the gentleman, who chose to take the law into his
own hands--and I think your motive extremely disinterested and
praiseworthy--why, it's just possible, if you make it worth my while,
that your desires may be gratified.”
“I don't see how this is to be effected, unless you yourself were
present at the time,” said Wood, glancing suspiciously at the
speaker.
“I had no hand in the affair,” replied Jackson, bluntly; “but I know
those who had; and could bring forward evidence, if you require it.”
“The best evidence would be afforded by an accomplice of the
assassin,” rejoined Thames, who was greatly offended by the
insinuation as to his parentage.
“Perhaps you could point out such a party, Mr. Jackson?” said Wood,
significantly.
“I could,” replied Thames.
“Then you need no further information from me,” rejoined Jackson,
sternly.
“Stay!” cried Wood, “this is a most perplexing business--if you
really are privy to the affair----”
“We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir,” returned Jackson, cutting him
short. “In the mean time, with your permission, I'll just make a few
minutes of our conversation.”
“As many as you please,” replied Wood, walking towards the
chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon
a nail.
Jackson, mean time, produced a pocket-book; and, after deliberately
sharpening the point of a pencil, began to write on a blank leaf.
While he was thus occupied, Thames, prompted by an unaccountable
feeling of curiosity, took up the penknife which the other had just
used, and examined the haft. What he there noticed occasioned a
marked change in his demeanour. He laid down the knife, and fixed
a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his
task, unconscious of anything having happened.
“There,” cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, “that'll do.
To-morrow at twelve I'll be with you, Mr. Wood. Make up your mind as
to the terms, and I'll engage to find the man.”
“Hold!” exclaimed the carpenter, in an authoritative voice: “we
can't part thus. Thames, look the door.” (An order which was promptly
obeyed.) “Now, Sir, I must insist upon a full explanation of your
mysterious hints, or, as I am headborough of the district, I shall at
once take you into custody.”
Jackson treated this menace with a loud laugh of derision.
“What ho!” he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the
brandy-bottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. “It is time!”
“For what?” grumbled the latter, rubbing his eyes.
“For the caption!” replied Jackson, coolly drawing a brace of pistols
from his pockets.
“Ready!” answered Smith, shaking himself, and producing a similar
pair of weapons.
“In Heaven's name! what's all this?” cried Wood.
“Be still, and you'll receive no injury,” returned Jackson. “We're
merely about to discharge our duty by apprehending a rebel. Captain
Kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us.”
“I've no intention of stirring,” replied the woollen-draper, who
was thus unceremoniously disturbed: “and I beg you'll sit down, Mr.
Jackson.”
“Come, Sir!” thundered the latter, “no trifling! Perhaps,” he added,
opening a warrant, “you'll obey this mandate?”
“A warrant!” ejaculated Kneebone, starting to his feet.
“Ay, Sir, from the Secretary of State, for _your_ arrest! You're
charged with high-treason.”
“By those who've conspired with me?”
“No! by those who've entrapped you! You've long eluded our vigilance;
but we've caught you at last!”
“Damnation!” exclaimed the woollen-draper; “that I should be the dupe
of such a miserable artifice!”
“It's no use lamenting now, Captain! You ought rather to be obliged
to us for allowing you to pay this visit. We could have secured
you when you left the Mint. But we wished to ascertain whether Mrs.
Wood's charms equalled your description.”
“Wretches!” screamed the lady; “don't dare to breathe your vile
insinuations against me! Oh! Mr. Kneebone, are these your French
noblemen?”
“Don't upbraid me!” rejoined the woollen-draper.
“Bring him along, Joe!” said Jackson, in a whisper to his comrade.
Smith obeyed. But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled
to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who,
instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's
head.
“Begone! or I fire!” he cried.
“Mr. Wood,” returned Jackson, with the utmost composure; “you're a
headborough, and a loyal subject of King George. I call upon you to
assist me in the apprehension of this person. You'll be answerable
for his escape.”
“Mr. Wood, I command you not to stir,” vociferated the carpenter's
better-half; “recollect you'll be answerable to me.”
“I declare I don't know what to do,” said Wood, burned by conflicting
emotions. “Mr. Kneebone! you would greatly oblige me by surrendering
yourself.”
“Never!” replied the woollen-draper; “and if that treacherous rascal,
by your side, doesn't make himself scarce quickly, I'll send a bullet
through his brain.”
“My death will lie at your door,” remarked Jackson to the carpenter.
“Show me your warrant!” said Wood, almost driven to his wit's-end;
“perhaps it isn't regular?”
“Ask him who he is?” suggested Thames.
“A good idea!” exclaimed the carpenter. “May I beg to know whom I've
the pleasure of addressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed
name.”
“What does it signify?” returned the latter, angrily.
“A great deal!” replied Thames. “If you won't disclose your name, I
will for you! You are Jonathan Wild!”
“Further concealment is needless,” answered the other, pulling off
his wig and black patch, and resuming his natural tone of voice; “I
_am_ Jonathan Wild!”
“Say you so!” rejoined Kneebone; “then be this your passport to
eternity.”
Upon which he drew the trigger of the pistol, which, luckily for the
individual against whom it was aimed, flashed in the pan.
“I might now send you on a similar journey!” replied Jonathan, with a
bitter smile, and preserving the unmoved demeanour he had maintained
throughout; “but I prefer conveying you, in the first instance, to
Newgate. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow.”
So saying, he sprang, with a bound like that of a tiger-cat, against
the throat of the woollen-draper. And so sudden and well-directed was
the assault, that he completely overthrew his gigantic antagonist.
“Lend a hand with the ruffles, Blueskin!” he shouted, as that
personage, who had just recovered from the stunning effects of the
blow, contrived to pick himself up. “Look quick, d--n you, or we
shall never master him!”
“Murder!” shrieked Mrs. Wood, at the top of her voice.
“Here's a pistol!” cried Thames, darting towards the undischarged
weapon dropped by Blueskin in the scuffle, and pointing it at
Jonathan. “Shall I shoot him?”
“Yes! yes! put it to his ear!” cried Mrs. Wood; “that's the surest
way!”
“No! no! give it me!” vociferated Wood, snatching the pistol, and
rushing to the door, against which he placed his back.
“I'll soon settle this business. Jonathan Wild!” he added, in a loud
voice, “I command you to release your prisoner.”
“So I will,” replied Jonathan, who, with Blueskin's aid, had
succeeded in slipping a pair of handcuffs over the woollen-draper's
wrists, “when I've Mr. Walpole's order to that effect--but not
before.”
“You'll take the consequences, then?”
“Willingly.”
“In that case I arrest you, and your confederate, Joseph Blake, alias
Blueskin, on a charge of felony,” returned Wood, brandishing his
staff; “resist my authority, if you dare.”
“A clever device,” replied Jonathan; “but it won't serve your turn.
Let us pass, Sir. Strike the gag, Blueskin.”
“You shall not stir a footstep. Open the window, Thames, and call for
assistance.”
“Stop!” cried Jonathan, who did not care to push matters too far,
“let me have a word with you, Mr. Wood.”
“I'll have no explanations whatever,” replied the carpenter,
disdainfully, “except before a magistrate.”
“At least state your charge. It is a serious accusation.”
“It _is_,” answered Wood. “Do you recollect this key? Do you
recollect to whom you gave it, and for what purpose? or shall I
refresh your memory?”
Wild appeared confounded.
“Release your prisoner,” continued Wood, “or the window is opened.”
“Mr. Wood,” said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a
low tone, “the secret of your adopted son's birth is known to me. The
name of his father's murderer is also known to me. I can help you to
both,--nay, I _will_ help you to both, if you do not interfere with
my plans. The arrest of this person is of consequence to me. Do not
oppose it, and I will serve you. Thwart me, and I become your mortal
enemy. I have but to give a hint of that boy's existence in the
proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day's purchase.”
“Don't listen to him, father,” cried Thames, unconscious of what was
passing; “there are plenty of people outside.”
“Make your choice,” said Jonathan.
“If you don't decide quickly, I'll scream,” cried Mrs. Wood, popping
her head through the window.
“Set your prisoner free!” returned Wood.
“Take off the ruffles, Blueskin,” rejoined Wild. “You know my fixed
determination,” he added in a low tone, as he passed the carpenter.
“Before to-morrow night that boy shall join his father.”
So saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room.
“Here are some letters, which will let you see what a snake you've
cherished in your bosom, you uxorious old dotard,” said Blueskin,
tossing a packet of papers to Wood, as he followed his leader.
“'Odd's-my-life! what's this?” exclaimed the carpenter, looking at
the superscription of one of them. “Why, this is your writing Dolly,
and addressed to Mr. Kneebone.”
“My writing! no such thing!” ejaculated the lady, casting a look of
alarm at the woollen-draper.
“Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters,”
whispered Kneebone, “What's to be done?”
“What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to
burn them. But men _are_ so careless, there's no trusting anything to
them! However, I must try to brazen it out.--Give me the letters,
my love,” she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; “they're
some wicked forgeries.”
“Excuse me, Madam,” replied the carpenter, turning his back upon her,
and sinking into a chair: “Thames, my love, bring me my spectacles.
My heart misgives me. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to
have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some
nail in the way.”