Jack Sheppard, after whistling to Blueskin, hurried down a short
thoroughfare leading from Wych Street to the back of Saint Clement's
Church, where he found Thames Darrell, who advanced to meet him.
“I was just going,” said Thames. “When I parted from you at Mr.
Kneebone's door, you begged me to await your return here, assuring
me you would not detain me five minutes. Instead of which, more than
half an hour has elapsed.”
“You won't complain of the delay when I tell you what I've done,”
answered Jack. “I've obtained two packets, containing letters from
Sir Rowland Trenchard, which I've no doubt will establish your title
to the estates. Take them, and may they prove as serviceable to you
as I desire.”
“Jack,” replied Thames, greatly moved, “I wish I could devise any
means of brightening your own dark prospects.”
“That's impossible,” replied Jack. “I am utterly lost.”
“Not utterly,” rejoined the other.
“Utterly,” reiterated Jack, gloomily,--“as regards all I hold dear.
Listen to me, Thames. I'm about to leave this country for ever.
Having ascertained that a vessel sails for France from the river at
daybreak to-morrow morning, I have secured a passage in her, and have
already had the few effects I possess, conveyed on board. Blueskin
goes with me. The faithful fellow will never leave me.”
“Never, while I've breath in my body, Captain,” rejoined Blueskin,
who had joined them. “England or France, London or Paris, it's all
one to me, so I've you to command me.”
“Stand out of earshot,” rejoined his leader. “I'll call you when
you're wanted.”
And Blueskin withdrew.
“I cannot but approve the course you are about to take, Jack,” said
Thames, “though on some accounts I regret it. In after years you can
return to your own country--to your friends.”
“Never,” replied Sheppard bitterly. “My friends need not fear my
return. They shall hear of me no more. Under another name,--not my
own hateful one,--I will strive to distinguish myself in some foreign
service, and win myself a reputation, or perish honourably. But I
will never--never return.”
“I will not attempt to combat your resolution, Jack,” returned
Thames, after a pause. “But I dread the effect your departure may
have upon your poor mother. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this
may snap it.”
“I wish you hadn't mentioned her,” said Jack, in a broken voice,
while his whole frame shook with emotion. “What I do is for the best,
and I can only hope she may have strength to bear the separation. You
must say farewell to her, for I cannot. I don't ask you to supply my
place--for that is, perhaps, impossible. But, be like a son to her.”
“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,” muttered Blueskin. “I've often heard
of a secret door in this room, though I never saw it. It must be
somewhere hereabouts. Ah!” he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon a small
knob in the wall, “there's the spring!”
He touched it, and the door flew open.
The next moment, he was felled to the ground by Jonathan Wild, who
sprang into the room, followed by Abraham bearing the link. A single
glance served to show the thief-taker how matters stood. From the
slight sounds that had reached him in his place of confinement,
he was aware that some persons had found their way to the scene of
slaughter, and in a state of the most intense anxiety awaited the
result of their investigation, prepared for the worst. Hearing the
spring touched, he dashed through on the instant, and struck down
the person who presented himself, with his bludgeon. On beholding the
intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of
satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the
cry of some savage denizen of the plains.
On his appearance, Jack levelled a pistol at his head. But his hand
was withheld by Thames.
“Don't fire,” cried the latter. “It is important not to slay him.
He shall expiate his offences on the gibbet. You are my prisoner,
murderer.”
“_Your_ prisoner!” echoed Jonathan, derisively. “You mistake,--you
are mine. And so is your companion,--the convict Sheppard.”
“Waste not another word with him, Thames,” cried Jack. “Upon him!”
“Yield, villain, or die!” shouted Thames, drawing his sword and
springing towards him.
“There's my answer!” rejoined Wild, hurling the bludgeon at him,
with such fatal effect, that striking him on the head it brought him
instantly to the ground.
“Ah! traitor!” cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol.
Anticipating this, Wild avoided the shot by suddenly, ducking his
head. He had a narrow escape, however; for, passing within an inch of
him, the bullet burried itself deeply in the wall.
Before he could fire a second shot, Jack had to defend himself from
the thief-taker, who, with his drawn hanger, furiously assaulted him.
Eluding the blow, Jack plucked his sword from the scabbard, and a
desperate conflict began.
“Pick up that blade, Nab,” vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly
pressed, “and stab him. I won't give him a chance.”
“Cowardly villain!” cried Jack, as the Jew, obeying the orders of his
principal, snatched up the weapon of the murdered man, and assailed
him. “But I'll yet disappoint you.”
And springing backwards, he darted suddenly through the door.
“After him,” cried Wild; “he mustn't escape. Dead or alive, I'll have
him. Bring the link.”
And, followed by Abraham, he rushed out of the room.
Just as Jack got half way down the stairs, and Wild and the Jew
reached the upper landing, the street-door was opened by Langley and
Ireton, the latter of whom carried a lantern.
“Stop him!” shouted Jonathan from the stair-head, “stop him! It's
Jack Sheppard!”
“Give way!” cried Jack fiercely. “I'll cut down him who opposes me.”
The head turnkey, in all probability, would have obeyed. But, being
pushed forward by his subordinate officer, he was compelled to make a
stand.
“You'd better surrender quietly, Jack,” he cried; “you've no
chance.”'
Instead of regarding him, Jack glanced over the iron bannisters, and
measured the distance. But the fall was too great, and he abandoned
the attempt.
“We have him!” cried Jonathan, hurrying down the steps. “He can't
escape.”
As this was said, Jack turned with the swiftness of thought, and
shortening his sword, prepared to plunge it into the thief-taker's
heart. Before he could make the thrust, however, he was seized behind
by Ireton, who flung himself upon him.
“Caught!” shouted the head-turnkey. “I give you joy of the capture,
Mr. Wild,” he added, as Jonathan came up, and assisted him to secure
and disarm the prisoner. “I was coming to give you intelligence of a
comical trick played by this rascal, when I find him here--the last
place, I own, where I should have expected to find him.”
“You've arrived in the very nick of time,” rejoined Jonathan; “and
I'll take care your services are not overlooked.”
“Mr. Ireton,” cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty,
“before you take me hence, I implore you--if you would further the
ends of justice--search this house. One of the most barbarous murders
ever committed has just been perpetrated by the monster Wild. You
will find proofs of the bloody deed in his room. But go thither at
once, I beseech you, before he has time to remove them.”
“Mr. Ireton is welcome to search every room in my house if he
pleases,” said Jonathan, in a tone of bravado. “As soon as we've
conveyed you to Newgate, I'll accompany him.”
“Mr. Ireton will do no such thing,” replied the head-turnkey. “Bless
your soul! d'ye think I'm to be gammoned by such nonsense. Not I.
I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may
think.”
“For mercy's sake go up stairs,” implored Sheppard. “I have not told
you half. There's a man dying--Captain Darrell. Take me with you.
Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false.”
“And, what good would that do?” replied Ireton, sarcastically. “To
shoot you would be to lose the reward. You act your part capitally,
but it won't do.”
“Won't you go?” cried Jack passionately. “Mr. Langley, I appeal to
you. Murder, I say, has been done! Another murder will be committed
if you don't prevent it. The blood will rest on your head. Do you
hear me, Sir? Won't you stir!”
“Not a step,” replied Langley, gruffly.
“Off with him to Newgate!” cried Jonathan. “Ireton, as you captured
him, the reward is yours. But I request that a third may be given to
Langley.”
“It shall be, Sir,” replied Ireton, bowing. “Now come along, Jack.”
“Miscreants!” cried Sheppard, almost driven frantic by the violence
of his emotions; “you're all in league with him.”
“Away with him!” cried Jonathan. “I'll see him fettered myself.
Remain at the door, Nab,” he added, loitering for a moment behind the
others, “and let no one in, or out.”
Jack, meanwhile, was carried to Newgate. Austin could scarcely credit
his senses when he beheld him. Shotbolt, who had in some degree
recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown
into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the
prisoner. Mrs. Spurling had retired for the night. Jack appealed to
the new auditors, and again detailed his story, but with no better
success than heretofore. His statement was treated with derision.
Having seen him heavily ironed, and placed in the Condemned Hold,
Jonathan recrossed the street.
He found Abraham on guard as he had left him.
“Has any one been here?” he asked.
“No von,” replied the Jew.
“That's well,” replied Wild, entering the house, and fastening the
door. “And now to dispose of our dead. Why, Nab, you shake as
if you'd got an ague?” he added, turning to the Jew, whose teeth
chattered audibly.
“I haven't quite recovered the fright I got in the Vell-Hole,”
replied Abraham.
On returning to the audience-chamber, Jonathan found the inanimate
body of Thames Darrell lying where he had left it; but, on examining
it, he remarked that the pockets were turned inside out, and had
evidently been rifled. Startled by this circumstance, he looked
around, and perceived that the trap-door,--which has been mentioned
as communicating with a secret staircase,--was open. He, next,
discovered that Blueskin was gone; and, pursuing his scrutiny,
found that he had carried off all the banknotes, gold, and
letters,--including, what Jonathan himself was not aware of,--the two
packets which he had abstracted from the person of Thames. Uttering
a terrible imprecation, Jonathan snatched up the link, and hastily
descended the stairs, leaving the Jew behind him. After a careful
search below, he could detect no trace of Blueskin. But, finding the
cellar-door open, concluded he had got out that way.
Returning to the audience-chamber in a by-no-means enviable state of
mind, he commanded the Jew to throw the body of Thames into the Well
Hole.
“You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild,” rejoined Abraham,
shaking his head. “No prize shall indushe me to enter dat horrid
plashe again.”
“Fool!” cried Wild, taking up the body, “what are you afraid of?
After all,” he added, pausing, “he may be of more use to me alive
than dead.”
Adhering to this change of plan, he ordered Abraham to follow him,
and, descending the secret stairs once more, carried the wounded man
into the lower part of the premises. Unlocking several doors, he
came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in
Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door.
“Go to the pump, Nab,” he said, when this was done, “and fill a pail
with water. We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the
cloth. Blood, they say, won't come out. But I never found any truth
in the saying. When I've had an hour's rest, I'll be after Blueskin.”