Jack Sheppard. Vol. 3

“That’s for Winifred,” vociferated the Amazon, bringing the cudgel heavily upon his shoulder.

“Damnation!” cried Kneebone.

“That’s for myself,” rejoined Mrs. Maggot, dealing him a blow, which stretched him senseless on the floor.

“Bravo, Poll!” cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. “You’ve given him a broken head, I perceive.”

“He’ll scarcely need a plaister,” replied Mrs. Maggot, laughing. “Here, Bess, give me the cord, and I’ll tie him to this chest of drawers. I don’t think he’ll come to himself too soon. But it’s best to be on the safe side.”

“Decidedly so,” replied Edgeworth Bess; “and I’ll take this opportunity, while Jack’s back is turned,—for he’s grown so strangely particular,—of easing him of his snuff-box. Perhaps,” she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the before-named article, “he has a pocket-book.”

“Hush!” replied Mrs. Maggot; “Jack will hear you. We’ll come back for that by and by, and the dressing-gown.”

At this moment, Rachel and Blueskin returned. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them.

“Have you sent off the note?” inquired Jack.

“We have, Captain,” replied Blueskin. “I say we, because Miss Rachel and I have struck up a match. Shall I bring off anything?” he added, looking eagerly round.

“No,” replied Jack, peremptorily.

Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt’s face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. He, next, seized the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while Blueskin expedited his movements by administering a few kicks behind.

When they got to the door, Jack opened it, and, mimicking the voice of the jailer, shouted, “Now, my lads, all’s ready?”

“Here we are,” cried the chairmen, hurrying out of the court with their swinging vehicle, “where is he?”

“Here,” replied Sheppard, dragging out Shotbolt by the collar, while Blueskin pushed him behind, and Mrs. Maggot held up a lantern, which she found in the shop. “In with him!”

“Ay—ay, yer hon’r,” cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. “Get in wid ye, ye villin!”

And, despite his resistance, Shotbolt was thrust into the chair, which was instantly fastened upon him.

“There, he’s as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould,” laughed the man.

“Off with you to Newgate!” cried Jack, “and don’t let him out till you get inside the Lodge. There’s a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. Irreton. D’ye hear.”

“Yes, yer hon’r,” replied the chairman, taking the note.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Jack, impatiently.

“The gen’l’man as hired us,” replied the chairman.

“Oh! he’ll be after you directly. He’s settling an account in the house. Lose no time. The letter will explain all.”

The chair was then rapidly put in motion, and speedily disappeared.

“What’s to be done next?” cried Blueskin, returning to Rachel, who was standing with Edgeworth Bess near the door.

“I shall go back and finish my supper,” said Mrs. Maggot.

“And so shall I,” replied Edgeworth Bess.

“Stop a minute,” cried Jack, detaining his mistresses. “Here we part,—perhaps for ever. I’ve already told you I’m about to take a long journey, and it’s more than probable I shall never return.”

“Don’t say so,” cried Mrs. Maggot. “I should be perfectly miserable if I thought you in earnest.”

“The very idea is dreadful,” whimpered Edgeworth Bess.

“Farewell!” cried Jack, embracing them. “Take this key to Baptist Kettleby. On seeing it, he’ll deliver you a box, which it will unlock, and in which you’ll find a matter of fifty guineas and a few trinkets. Divide the money between you, and wear the ornaments for my sake. But, if you’ve a spark of love for me, don’t meddle with anything in that house.”

“Not for worlds!” exclaimed both ladies together.

“Farewell!” cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street.

“What shall we do, Poll?” hesitated Edgeworth Bess.

“Go in, to be sure, simpleton,” replied Mrs. Maggot, “and bring off all we can. I know where everything valuable is kept. Since Jack has left us, what does it matter whether he’s pleased or not?”

At this moment, a whistle was heard.

“Coming!” cried Blueskin, who was still lingering with Rachel. “The Captain’s in such a desperate hurry, that there’s no time for love-making. Adieu! my charmer. You’ll find those young ladies extremely agreeable acquaintances. Adieu!”

And, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after Jack.

The chair, meanwhile, with its unhappy load, was transported at a brisk pace to Newgate. Arrived there, the porter thundered at the massive door of the Lodge, which was instantly opened—Shotbolt’s note having been received just before. All the turnkeys were assembled. Ireton and Langley had returned from a second unsuccessful search; Marvel had come thither to bid good-night to Mrs. Spurling; Austin had never quitted his post. The tapstress was full of curiosity; but she appeared more easy than the others. Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear.

“Well, who’d have thought of Shotbolt beating us all in this way!” said Ireton. “I’m sorry for old Newgate that another jail should have it. It’s infernally provoking.”

“Infernally provoking!” echoed Langley.

“Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me,” growled Austin. “I’ve lost my wager.”

“Twenty pounds,” rejoined Mrs. Spurling. “I witnessed the bet.”

“Here he is!” cried Ireton, as the knocking was heard without. “Get ready the irons, Caliban.”

“Wait a bit, massa,” replied the grinning negro,—“lilly bit—see all right fust.”

By this time, the chair had been brought into the Lodge.

“You’ve got him?” demanded Ireton.

“Safe inside,” replied the chairman, wiping the heat from his brow; “we’ve run all the way.”

“Where’s Mr. Shotbolt?” asked Austin.

“The gen’l’man’ll be here directly. He was detained. T’ other gen’l’man said the letter ‘ud explain all.”