“A little, Sir,” replied the executioner, with a grim smile.
“Out of the twelve hundred subjects I've tucked up, I may safely place half to his account. If ever he requires my services, he shall find I'm not ungrateful. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. Mr. Wild, gentlemen, and the nubbin' cheat.”
“Fill your glasses, gentlemen,” observed Ireton, “and I'll tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning. Amongst others who came to see him, was a Mr. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. As this gentleman was going away, he said to Jack in a jesting manner, 'that he should be glad to see him to-night at supper.' Upon which the other answered, 'that he accepted his invitation with pleasure, and would make a point of waiting upon him,' Ha! ha! ha!”
“Did he say so?” cried Shotbolt. “Then I advise you to look sharply after him, Mr. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word.”
At this juncture, two women, very smartly attired in silk hoods and cloaks, appeared at the door of the Lodge.
“Ah! who have we here?” exclaimed Griffin.
“Only Jack's two wives—Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot,” replied Austin, laughing.
“They can't go into the Condemned Hold,” said Ireton, consequentially; “it's against Mr. Wild's orders. They must see the prisoner at the hatch.”
“Very well, Sir,” replied Austin, rising and walking towards them. “Well, my pretty dears,” he added, “—to see your husband, eh? You must make the most of your time. You won't have him long. You've heard the news, I suppose?”
“That the death warrant's arrived,” returned Edgeworth Bess, bursting into a flood of tears; “oh, yes! we've heard it.”