intelligence I sent you of your nephew’s return?”
“Was it unlooked-for on your part?” demanded the knight, distrustfully.
“On my soul, yes,” rejoined Jonathan. “I should as soon have expected the bones of Tom Sheppard to reunite themselves and walk out of that case, as Thames Darrell to return. The skipper, Van Galgebrok, affirmed to me — nay, gave me the additional testimony of two of his crew — that he was thrown overboard. But it appears he was picked up by fishermen, and carried to France, where he has remained ever since, and where it would have been well for him if he had remained altogether.”
“Have you seen him?” asked Trenchard.
“I have,” replied Wild; “and nothing but the evidence of my senses would have made me believe he was living, after the positive assurance I received to the contrary. He is at present with Mr. Wood — the person whom you may remember adopted him — at Dollis Hill, near Willesden; and it’s a singular but fortunate circumstance, so far as we are concerned, that Mrs. Wood chanced to be murdered by Blueskin, the fellow who just left the room, on the very night of his return, as it has thrown the house into such confusion, and so distracted them, that he has had no time as yet for hostile movements.”
“And what course do you propose to pursue in reference to him?” asked Sir Rowland.
“My plan is a very simple one,” rejoined the thief-taker smiling bitterly. “I would treat him as you treated his father, Sir Rowland.”
“Murder him!” cried Trenchard shuddering.
“Ay, murder him, if you like the term,” returned Wild. “I should call it putting him out of the way. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same.”
“I cannot consent to it,” replied Sir Rowland firmly. “Since the sea has spared him, I will spare him. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. I will shed no more blood.”
“And perish upon the gibbet,” rejoined Jonathan contemptuously.
“Flight is still left me,” replied Trenchard. “I can escape to France.”
“And do you think I’ll allow you to depart,” cried Jonathan in a menacing tone, “and compromise my safety? No, no. We are linked together in this matter, and must go through with it. You cannot — shall not retreat.”
“Death and hell!” cried Sir Rowland, rising and drawing his sword; “do you think you can shackle my free will, villain?”
“In this particular instance I do, Sir Rowland,” replied Jonathan, calmly, “because you are wholly in my power. But be patient, I am your fast friend. Thames Darrell must die. Our mutual safety requires it. Leave the means to me.”
“More blood! more blood!” cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow. “Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch — the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair! — the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach! — And must another be added to their number — their son! Horror! — let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet — my name tarnished — my escutcheon blotted by the hangman! — No, I cannot submit to that.”
“I should think not,” observed Jonathan, who had some practice in the knight’s moods, and knew how to humour him. “It’s a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed. — The general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did. And life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side. Besides those whom I’ve slain with my own hands, I’ve brought upwards of thirty persons to the gallows. Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don’t remember that any of them have disturbed my rest. The mode of destruction makes no difference. It’s precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell’s throat, as to order Jack Sheppard’s execution.”
As Jonathan said this, Jack’s hand involuntarily sought a pistol.
“But to the point,” continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him — “to the point. On the terms that procured your liberation from Newgate, I will free you from this new danger.”
“Those terms were a third of my estate,” observed Trenchard bitterly.
“What of that,” rejoined Jonathan. “Any price was better than your head. If Thames Darrell escapes, you will lose both life and property.”
“True, true,” replied the knight, with an agonized look; “there is no alternative.”
“None whatever,” rejoined Wild. “Is it a bargain?”
“Take half of my estate — take all — my life, if you will — I am weary of it!” cried Trenchard passionately.
“No,” replied Jonathan, “I’ll not take you at your word, as regards the latter proposition. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares — long after Thames Darrell is forgotten — ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. And as these things should always be treated as matters of business, I’ll just draw up a memorandum of our arrangement.”
And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it.
“Sign this,” he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland.
The knight mechanically complied with his request.
“Enough!” cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum. “And now, in return for your liberality, I’ll inform you of a secret with which it is important you should be acquainted.”
“A secret!” exclaimed Trenchard. “Concerning whom?”
“Mrs. Sheppard,” replied Jonathan, mysteriously.
“Mrs. Sheppard!” echoed Jack, surprised out of his caution.
“Ah!” exclaimed Wild, looking angrily towards his supposed attendant.
“I beg pardon, Sir,” replied Jack, with the accent and manner of the janizary; “I was betrayed into the exclamation by my surprise that anything in which Sir Rowland Trenchard was interested could have reference to so humble a person as Mrs. Sheppard.”
“Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words,” rejoined Jonathan, sternly. “My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears — and hands, if need be — but no tongues. You understand me, sirrah?”
“Perfectly,” replied Jack. “I’m dumb.”
“Your secret?” demanded Trenchard, impatiently.
“I need not remind you, Sir Rowland,” replied Wild, “that you had two sisters — Aliva and Constance.”
“Both are dead,” observed the knight, gloomily.
“Not so;” answered Wild. “Constance is yet living.”
“Constance alive? Impossible!” ejaculated Trenchard.
“I’ve proofs to the contrary,” replied Jonathan.
“If this is the case, where is she?”
“In Bedlam,” replied the thief-taker, with a Satanic grin.
“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed the knight, upon whom a light seemed suddenly to break. “You mentioned Mrs. Sheppard. What has she to with Constance Trenchard?”
“Mrs. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard,” replied Jonathan, maliciously.
Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment.
“Again,” cried Jonathan, sternly: “beware!”
“What!” vociferated Trenchard. “My sister the wife of one condemned felon! the parent of another! It cannot be.”