"Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife.
"No, I won't leave go!" screamed Mrs. Wood. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!"
"Come along," cried Jack.
"I can't," answered Blueskin. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. Leave go, I tell you!" and he forced open the knife with his teeth.
"Help!—murder!—thieves!" screamed Mrs. Wood;—"Owen—Owen!—Thames, help!"
"Coming!" cried Mr. Wood, leaping from the bed. "Where are you?"
"Here," replied Mrs. Wood. "Help—I'll hold him!"
"Leave her," cried Jack, darting down stairs, amid a furious ringing of bells,—"the house is alarmed,—follow me!"
"Curses light on you!" cried Blueskin, savagely; "since you won't be advised, take your fate."
And seizing her by the hair, he pulled back her head, and drew the knife with all his force across her throat. There was a dreadful stifled groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing.