“Well, well, I'm not within a minute,” rejoined the turnkey.
“We shall never be able to get you out unseen, Jack,” whispered Poll Maggot. “You must make a bold push.”
“Impossible,” replied Sheppard, in the same tone. “That would be certain destruction. I can't run in these heavy fetters. No: I must face it out. Tell Bess to slip out, and I'll put on her cloak and hood.”
Meanwhile, the party at the table continued drinking and chatting as merrily as before.
“I can't help thinking of Jack Sheppard's speech to Mr. 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. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch. If he escapes at all, it must be before our faces.”
“It wouldn't surprise me if he did,” remarked Griffin. “He's audacity enough for anything. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair.”
“Caught you napping, eh?” rejoined Ireton, with a laugh. “Well, he won't do that here. I'll forgive him if he does.”
“And so will I,” said Austin. “We're too wide awake for that. Ain't we, partner?” he added, appealing to Langley, whom punch had made rather dozy.
“I should think so,” responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn.