“You’re right, Nanny; here is the button.”
“Well, now, Jack, I can’t talk any more; you won’t leave me tonight, I’m sure.”
“No, no, mother, that I will not. Try to go to sleep.”
Hardly had Nanny laid her head down again, when it came across my mind like a flash of lightning that it must have been Spicer who had attempted the deed; and my reason for so thinking was that the blow I had received on the mouth was not like that from the hand of a man, but from the wooden socket fixed to the stump of his right arm. The more I reflected upon it, the more I was convinced. He was a clever armourer, and had picked the lock; and I now recalled to mind what had never struck me before, that he had often asked me questions about old Nanny, and whether I thought the report that she had money was correct.
It was daylight before old Nanny woke up, and then she appeared to be quite recovered. I told her my suspicions, and my intentions to ascertain the truth of them as far as I possibly could.
“Well, and what then?” said old Nanny.
“Why, then, if we bring it home to him, he will be hanged, as he deserves.”
“Now, Jack, hear me,” said old Nanny. “You won’t do anything I don’t wish, I’m sure; and now I’ll tell you that I never would give evidence against him, or any other man, to have him hanged. So, if you find out that it is him, do not say a word about it. Promise me, Jack.”
“Why, mother, I can’t exactly say that I will; but I will talk to Peter Anderson about it.”
“It’s no use talking to him; and, if you do, it must be under promise of secrecy, or I will not consent to it. Jack, Jack, recollect that my poor boy was hanged from my fault. Do you think I will hang another? Oh, no. Perhaps this very man had a foolish wicked mother, like me, and has, like my boy, been led into guilt. Jack, you must do as I wish—you shall, Jack.”