"He is," returned Quilt, significantly. "Zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. "The other kid's given my partner the slip. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's." And, committing Thames to the care of the watchman, he darted after the fugitive.
"Do you wish to earn a rich reward, my good friend?" said Thames to the watchman, as soon as they were left alone.
"Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence. "If so, it won't pay. You're Mister Wild's pris'ner, and worse luck to it!"
"I don't ask you to liberate me," urged Thames; "but will you convey a message for me?"
"Where to, honey?"
"To Mr. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. He lives near the Black Lion."
"The Black Lion!" echoed Terence. "I know the house well; by the same token that it's a flash crib. Och! many a mug o' bubb have I drained wi' the landlord, Joe Hind. And so Misther Wudd lives near the Black Lion, eh?"
"He does," replied Thames. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell—am detained here by Jonathan Wild."
"Thames Ditton—is that your name?"
"No," replied the boy, impatiently; "Darrell—Thames Darrell."