Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle.
“If things had gone smoothly,” he thought, “I should have cursed the fellow’s stupidity. As it is, I’m not sorry for the blunder.”
Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle.
“’T is he!” he mentally ejaculated.
“What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?” whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth’s view. “It would be a thousand pities, wouldn’t it, to put so promising a lad out of the way?”
“Devil!” exclaimed the knight fiercely, “Give me the paper.”
Jonathan hastily picked up the pen, and presented it to Trenchard, who attached his signature to the document.
“If I am the devil,” observed Wild, “as some folks assert, and I myself am not unwilling to believe, you’ll find that I differ from the generally-received notions of the arch-fiend, and faithfully execute the commands of those who confide their souls to my custody.”
“Take hence this boy, then,” rejoined Trenchard; “his looks unman me.”
“Of what am I accused?” asked Thames, who though a good deal alarmed at first, had now regained his courage.
“Of robbery!” replied Jonathan in a thundering voice, and suddenly confronting him. “You’ve charged with assisting your comrade, Jack Sheppard, to purloin certain articles of value from a jewel-case belonging to Lady Trafford. Aha!” he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, “I see you’re confounded. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows.”
“I’ve nothing to confess,” replied Thames, boldly; “I’ve done no wrong. Are you my accuser?”
“I am,” replied Wild; “have you anything to allege to the contrary?”
“Only this,” returned Thames: “that the charge is false, and malicious, and that you know it to be so.”
“Is that all!” retorted Jonathan. “Come, I must search you my youngster!”
“You shan’t touch me,” rejoined Thames; and, suddenly bursting from Charcam, he threw himself at the feet of Trenchard. “Hear me, Sir Rowland!” he cried. “I am innocent, f have stolen nothing. This person — this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is — I know not why — my enemy. He has sworn that he’ll take away my life!”
“Bah!” interrupted Jonathan. “You won’t listen to this nonsense, Sir Rowland!”
“If you are innocent, boy,” said the knight, controlling his emotion; “you have nothing to apprehend. But, what brought you here?”
“Excuse me, Sir Rowland. I cannot answer that question. My business is with Lady Trafford.”
“Are you aware that I am her ladyship’s brother?” returned the knight. “She has no secrets from me.”
“Possibly not,” replied Thames, in some confusion; “but I am not at liberty to speak.”
“Your hesitation is not in your favour,” observed Trenchard, sternly.
“Will he consent, to be searched?” inquired Jonathan.
“No,” rejoined Thames, “I won’t be treated like a common felon, if I can help it.”
“You shall be treated according to your deserts, then,” said Jonathan, maliciously. And, in spite of the boy’s resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature.
“Where did you get this from?” asked Wild, greatly surprised at the result of his investigation.
Thames returned no answer.
“I thought as much,” continued Jonathan. “But we’ll find a way to make you open your lips presently. Bring in his comrade,” he added, in a whisper to Charcam; “I’ll take care of him. And don’t neglect my instructions this time.” Upon which, with an assurance that he would not do so, the attendant departed.
“You can, of course, identify this picture as Lady Trafford’s property?” pursued Jonathan, with a meaning glance, as he handed it to the knight.
“I can,” replied Trenchard. “Ha!” he exclaimed, with a sudden start, as his glance fell upon the portrait; “how came this into your possession, boy?”
“Why don’t you answer, sirrah?” cried Wild, in a savage tone, and striking him with the silver staff. “Can’t you speak?”
“I don’t choose,” replied Thames, sturdily; “and your brutality shan’t make me.”
“We’ll see that,” replied Jonathan, dealing him another and more violent blow.
“Let him alone,” said Trenchard authoritatively, “I have another question to propose. Do you know whoso portrait this is?”
“I do not,” replied Thames, repressing his tears, “but I believe it to be the portrait of my father.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the knight, in astonishment. “Is your father alive?”
“No,” returned Thames; “he was assassinated while I was an infant.”
“Who told you this is his portrait?” demanded Trenchard.
“My heart,” rejoined Thames, firmly; “which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer.”
“That’s me,” interposed Jonathan; “a thief-taker is always a murderer in the eyes of a thief. I’m almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. But I can tell you who’ll have the pleasure of hanging your father’s son; and that’s a person not a hundred miles distant from you at this moment — ha! ha!”
As he said this, the door was opened, and Charcam entered, accompanied by a dwarfish, shabby-looking man, in a brown serge frock, with coarse Jewish features, and a long red beard. Between the Jew and the attendant came Jack Sheppard; while a crowd of servants, attracted by the news, that the investigation of a robbery was going forward, lingered at the doorway in hopes of catching something of the proceedings.
When Jack was brought in, he cast a rapid glance around him, and perceiving Thames in the custody of Jonathan, instantly divined how matters stood. As he looked in this direction, Wild gave him a significant wink, the meaning of which he was not slow to comprehend.
“Get it over quickly,” said Trenchard, in a whisper to the thief-taker.
Jonathan nodded assent.
“What’s your name?” he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on.
