“Because they're in the next room, and the door's shut; that's vy, my jack-a-dandy!” replied Abraham, unsuspiciously.
“Oh! they are—are they?” muttered Jack, triumphantly; “that'll do. Now for it, Thames! Make as great a row as you can to divert his attention.”
With this, he drew the spike from his pocket; and, drowning the sound of the operation by whistling, singing, shuffling, and other noises, contrived, in a few minutes, to liberate his companion from the handcuffs.
“Now, Jack,” cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard's hand, “you are my friend again. I freely forgive you.”
Sheppard cordially returned the pressure; and, cautioning Thames, “not to let the ruffles drop, or they might tell a tale,” began to warble the following fragment of a robber melody:—
“Oh! give me a chisel, a knife, or a file,
And the dubsmen shall find that I'll do it in style!
Tol-de-rol!”
“Vot the devil are you about, noisy?” inquired Abraham.
“Practising singing, Aaron,” replied Jack. “Vot are you?”
“Practising patience,” growled Abraham.
“Not before it's needed,” returned Jack, aloud; adding in a whisper, “get upon my shoulders, Thames. Now you're up, take this spike. Feel for the lock, and prize it open,—you don't need to be told how. When it's done, I'll push you through. Take care of the old clothesman, and leave the rest to me.