reason for supposing he’ll pay me a visit. I refused to sign a petition in his behalf to the Recorder; not from any ill-will to him, but because it was prepared by a person whom I particularly dislike — Captain Darrell.”
“A very sufficient reason,” answered the jailer.
“Tom,” continued Kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, “don’t go home. I may want you. Light the lantern. And, if you hear any odd noise in the parlour, don’t mind it.”
“Not in the least, Sir,” replied Tom, in a drowsy tone, and with a look seeming to imply that he was too much accustomed to odd noises at night to heed them.
“Now, step this way, Mr. What’s-your-name?”
“Shotbolt, Sir,” replied the jailer.
“Very well, Mr. Slipshod; follow me.” And he led the way to an inner room, in the middle of which stood a table, covered with a large white cloth.
“Jack Sheppard knows this house, I believe, Sir,” observed Shotbolt.
“Every inch of it,” replied the woollen-draper. “He ought to do, seeing that he served his apprenticeship in it to Mr. Wood, by whom it was formerly occupied. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs.”
“Indeed!” said Shotbolt. “Where can I hide myself?” he added, glancing round the room in search of a closet.
“Under the table. The cloth nearly touches the floor. Give me your staff. It’ll be in your way.”
“Suppose he brings Blueskin, or some other ruffian with him,” hesitated the jailer.
“Suppose he does. In that case I’ll help you. We shall be equally matched. You’re not afraid, Mr. Shoplatch.”
“Not in the least,” replied Shotbolt, creeping beneath the table; “there’s my staff. Am I quite hidden?”
“Not quite; — keep your feet in. Mind you don’t stir till supper’s over. I’ll stamp twice when we’ve done.”
“I forgot to mention there’s a trifling reward for his capture,” cried Shotbolt, popping his head from under the cloth. “If we take him, I don’t mind giving you a share — say a fourth — provided you lend a helping hand.”
“Curse your reward!” exclaimed Kneebone, angrily. “Do you take me for a thief-catcher, like Jonathan Wild, that you dare to affront me by such a proposal?”
“No offence, Sir,” rejoined the jailer, humbly. “I didn’t imagine for a moment that you’d accept it, but I thought it right to make you the offer.”
“Be silent, and conceal yourself. I’m about to ring for supper.”
The woollen-draper’s application to the bell was answered by a very pretty young woman, with dark Jewish features, roguish black eyes, sleek glossy hair, a trim waist, and a remarkably neat figure: the very model, in short, of a bachelor’s housekeeper.
“Rachel,” said Mr. Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; “put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder. I expect company.”
“Company!” echoed Rachel; “at this time of night?”
“Company, child,” repeated Kneebone. “I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh.”
“Anything else, Sir?”
“No:— stay! you’d better not bring up any silver forks or spoons.”
“Why, surely you don’t think your guests would steal them,” observed Rachel, archly.
“They shan’t have the opportunity,” replied Kneebone. And, by way of checking his housekeeper’s familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table.
“Who’s there?” cried Rachel. “I’ll see.” And before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed Shotbolt. “Oh, Gemini!” she exclaimed. “A man!”
“At your service, my dear,” replied the jailer.
“Now your curiosity’s satisfied, child,” continued Kneebone, “perhaps, you’ll attend to my orders.”
Not a little perplexed by the mysterious object she had seen, Rachel left the room, and, shortly afterwards returned with the materials of a tolerably good supper; — to wit, a couple of cold fowls, a tongue, the best part of a sirloin of beef, a jar of pickles, and two small dishes of pastry. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master.
“I expect a very extraordinary person to supper, Rachel,” he remarked.
“The gentleman under the table,” she answered. “He does seem a very extraordinary person.”
“No; another still more extraordinary.”
“Indeed! — who is it?”
“Jack Sheppard.”
“What! the famous housebreaker. I thought he was in Newgate.”
“He’s let out for a few hours,” laughed Kneebone; “but he’s going back again after supper.”
“Oh, dear! how I should like to see him. I’m told he’s so handsome.”
“I’m sorry I can’t indulge you,” replied her master, a little piqued. “I shall want nothing more. You had better go to bed.”
“It’s no use going to bed,” answered Rachel. “I shan’t sleep a wink while Jack Sheppard’s in the house.”
“Keep in your own room, at all events,” rejoined Kneebone.
“Very well,” said Rachel, with a toss of her pretty head, “very well. I’ll have a peep at him, if I die for it,” she muttered, as she went out.
Mr. Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. It was eleven o’clock. Another long interval elapsed. The watch was again consulted. It was now a quarter past twelve. Mr. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles.
“I suspect our friend has thought better of it, and won’t come,” he remarked.
“Have a little patience, Sir,” rejoined the jailer.
“How are you off there, Shoplatch?” inquired Kneebone. “Rather cramped, eh?”
“Rather so, Sir,” replied the other, altering his position. “I shall be able to stretch my limbs presently — ha! ha!”
“Hush!” cried Kneebone, “I hear a noise without. He’s coming.”
The caution was scarcely uttered, when the door opened, and Jack Sheppard presented himself. He was wrapped in a laced roquelaure, which he threw off on his entrance into the room. It
