CHAPTER III. JACK SHEPPARD'S QUARREL WITH JONATHAN WILD.
Scarcely an hour after the horrible occurrence just related, as Jonathan Wild was seated in the audience-chamber of his residence at the Old Bailey, occupied, like Peachum, (for whose portrait he sat,) with his account-books and registers, he was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Quilt Arnold, who announced Jack Sheppard and Blueskin.
“Ah!” cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction. “I was just thinking of you Jack. What news. Have you done the trick at Dollis Hill?—brought off the swag—eh?”
“No,” answered Jack, flinging himself sullenly into a chair, “I've not.”
“Why how's this?” exclaimed Jonathan. “Jack Sheppard failed! I'd not believe it, if any one but himself told me so.”
“I've not failed,” returned Jack, angrily; “but we've done too much.”
“I'm no reader of riddles,” said Jonathan. “Speak plainly.”
“Let this speak for me,” said Sheppard, tossing a heavy bag of money towards him. “You can generally understand that language. There's more than I undertook to bring. It has been purchased by blood!”
“What! have you cut old Wood's throat?” asked Wild, with great unconcern, as he took up the bag.