underwent a severe shock. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room.
But these fears, like those he had recently experienced, speedily vanished, and he prepared to return to the roof, congratulating himself that owing to the opportune falling of the bricks, he had in all probability escaped serious injury.
Throwing the blanket over his left arm and shouldering the iron bar, he again clambered up the chimney; regained the Red Room; hurried along the first passage; crossed the Chapel; threaded the entry to the Lower Leads; and, in less than ten minutes after quitting the Castle, had reached the northern extremity of the prison.
Previously to his descent he had left the nail and spike on the wall, and with these he fastened the blanket to the stone coping. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety.
Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. To his great joy he found a small garret-door in the roof of the opposite house open. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. As he was about to descend his chains slightly rattled. “Oh, lud! what’s that?” exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. “Only the dog,” replied the rough tones of a man.
Securing the chain in the best way he could, Jack then hurried down two pair of stairs, and had nearly reached the lobby, when a door suddenly opened, and two persons appeared, one of whom held a light. Retreating as quickly as he could, Jack opened the first door he came to, entered a room, and searching in the dark for some place of concealment, fortunately discovered a skreen, behind which he crept.
CHAPTER 21.
WHAT BEFELL JACK SHEPPARD IN THE TURNER’S HOUSE.
Jack was scarcely concealed when the door opened, and the two persons of whom he had caught a glimpse below entered the room. What was his astonishment to recognise in the few words they uttered the voices of Kneebone and Winifred! The latter was apparently in great distress, and the former seemed to be using his best efforts to relieve her anxiety.
“How very fortunate it is,” he observed, “that I happened to call upon Mr. Bird, the turner, to give him an order this evening. It was quite an unexpected pleasure to meet you and your worthy father.”
“Pray cease these compliments,” returned Winifred, “and, if you have any communication to make, do not delay it. You told me just now that you wished to speak a few words to me in private, concerning Thames Darrell, and for that purpose I have left my father below with Mr. Bird and have come hither. What have you got to say?”
“Too much,” replied Kneebone, shaking his head; “sadly too much.”
“Do not needlessly alarm me, I beseech you,” replied Winifred. “Whatever your intelligence may be I will strive to bear it. But do not awaken my apprehension, unless you have good cause for so doing. — What do you know of Thames? — Where is he?”
“Don’t agitate yourself, dearest girl,” rejoined the woollen-draper; “or I shall never be able to commence my relation.”
“I am calm — perfectly calm,” replied Winifred. “Pray, make no further mystery; but tell me all without reserve.”
“Since you require it, I must obey,” replied Kneebone; “but prepare yourself for a terrible shock.”
“For mercy’s sake, go on!” cried Winifred.
“At all hazards then then you shall know the truth,” replied the woollen-draper, in a tone of affected solicitude — “but are you really prepared?”
“Quite — quite!” replied Winifred. “This suspense is worse than torture.”
“I am almost afraid to utter it,” said Kneebone; “but Thames Darrell is murdered.”
“Murdered!” ejaculated Winifred.
“Basely and inhumanly murdered, by Jack Sheppard and Blueskin,” continued Kneebone.
“Oh! no — no — no,” cried Winifred, “I cannot believe it. You must be misinformed, Mr. Kneebone. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend — of that I am assured.”
“Generous girl!” cried Jack from behind the skreen.
“I have proofs to the contrary,” replied Kneebone. “The murder was committed after the robbery of my house by Sheppard and his accomplices. I did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness.”
“You were right not to mention it to him,” rejoined Winifred, “for he is in such a state of distress at the mysterious disappearance of Mrs. Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him. And yet I know not — for the object of his visit here to-night was to serve Jack, who, if your statement is correct, which I cannot however for a moment believe, does not deserve his assistance.”
“You may rest assured he does not,” rejoined Kneebone, emphatically, “but I am at a loss to understand in what way your father proposes to assist him.”
“Mr. Bird, the turner, who is an old friend of our’s, has some acquaintance with the turnkeys of Newgate,” replied Winifred, “and by his means my father hoped to convey some implements to Jack, by which he might effect another escape.”
“I see,” remarked Kneebone. “This must be prevented,” he added to himself.
“Heaven grant you may have been wrongly informed with respect to Thames!” exclaimed Winifred; “but, I beseech you, on no account to mention what you have told me to my poor father. He is not in a state of mind to bear it.”
“Rely on me,” rejoined Kneebone. “One word before we part, adorable girl — only one,” he continued, detaining her. “I would not venture to renew my suit while Thames lived, because I well knew your affections were fixed upon him. But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it.”
“No more of this,” said Winifred, angrily. “Is this a season to speak on such a subject?”
“Perhaps not,” rejoined the woollen-draper; “but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. My whole life shall be devoted to you, beloved girl. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me.”
“Sir!” exclaimed Winifred.
“You will make me the happiest of mankind,” cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses.
“Let me go,” cried Winifred. “I disbelieve the whole story you have told me.”
“By Heaven!” cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, “it
