Jack Sheppard. Ainsworth William Harrison
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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 adressing? 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.
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