"You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner.
"Of course," responded the widow, heaving a deep sigh. "Oh! Jack! Jack!—you little know what a price I've paid for you!"
"Well, I'm glad those women are gone," remarked Shotbolt. "Coupling their presence with Jack's speech, I couldn't help fearing some mischief might ensue."
"That reminds me he's still at large," returned Ireton. "Here, Caliban, go and fasten his padlock."
"Iss, Massa Ireton," replied the black.
"Stop, Caliban," interposed Mrs. Spurling, who wished to protract the discovery of the escape as long as possible. "Before you go, bring me the bottle of pine-apple rum I opened yesterday. I should like Mr. Ireton and his friends to taste it. It is in the lower cupboard. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. How provoking!" she added, pretending to rummage her pockets; "one never can find a thing when one wants it."
"Never mind it, my dear Mrs. Spurling," rejoined Ireton; "we can taste the rum when he returns. We shall have Mr. Wild here presently, and I wouldn't for the world—Zounds!" he exclaimed, as the figure of the thief-taker appeared at the wicket, "here he is. Off with you, Caliban! Fly, you rascal!"
"Mr. Wild here!" exclaimed Mrs. Spurling in alarm. "Oh gracious! he's lost."
"Who's lost?" demanded Ireton.
"The key," replied the widow.