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As the day wore on, the crowds diminished, many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away ungratified, and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr. Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. Griffin, who held the same office in Westminster Gatehouse were left in the Lodge.
"In with him!" "Ay ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. "Get in wid ye, ye villin!" And, despite his resistance, Shotbolt was thrust into the chair, which was instantly fastened upon him. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man. "Off with you to Newgate!" cried Jack, "and don't let him out till you get inside the Lodge.
"I was in the Lodge at the time," replied the jailer. "Then, of course, you must know. Well, it's scarcely credible. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it. But, egad! I believe he will." "I'm convinced of it," replied Shotbolt; "and it was on that very account I came here." And he proceeded to unfold his scheme to the woollen-draper.
"Shotbolt! by " cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. "I've won, after all." Exclamations of wonder burst from all. Mrs. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. Caliban absolutely crowed with delight. "Hear the letter," said Ireton, breaking the seal. "'This is the way in which I will serve all who attempt to apprehend me. It is signed JACK SHEPPARD."
Certain information, it seems, has been received from a female, that Blueskin would be at a flash-ken near the Chase at five o'clock to-day, and they're all set out in the expectation of nabbing him." "Mr. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain Darrell," observed Shotbolt. "I don't exactly know the rights of that affair," rejoined Griffin, with some curiosity.
When they got to the door, Jack opened it, and, mimicking the voice of the jailer, shouted, "Now, my lads, all's ready?" "Here we are," cried the chairmen, hurrying out of the court with their swinging vehicle, "where is he?" "Here," replied Sheppard, dragging out Shotbolt by the collar, while Blueskin pushed him behind, and Mrs. Maggot held up a lantern, which she found in the shop.
Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night." "Poh! poh!" rejoined Ireton; "it was mere idle boasting. I examined the Condemned Hold myself carefully this morning, and didn't find a nail out of its place.
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?"
"Because the prisoner's arrival might disturb you ha! ha!" "I'll lay you twenty guineas you don't take him to-night," rejoined Austin. "Done!" cried Shotbolt. "Mrs. Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. Twenty guineas, mind. I shan't let you off a farthing. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it." "Never count your chickens till they're hatched," observed Mrs. Spurling, drily.
"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.
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