“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!”