Jack Sheppard. Vol. 3

“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.”