"They shan't have the opportunity," replied Kneebone. And, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table.
"Who's there?" cried Rachel. "I'll see." And before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed Shotbolt. "Oh, Gemini!" she exclaimed. "A man!"
"At your service, my dear," replied the jailer.
"Now your curiosity's satisfied, child," continued Kneebone, "perhaps, you'll attend to my orders."
Not a little perplexed by the mysterious object she had seen, Rachel left the room, and, shortly afterwards returned with the materials of a tolerably good supper;—to wit, a couple of cold fowls, a tongue, the best part of a sirloin of beef, a jar of pickles, and two small dishes of pastry. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master.
"I expect a very extraordinary person to supper, Rachel," he remarked.
"The gentleman under the table," she answered. "He does seem a very extraordinary person."
"No; another still more extraordinary."
"Indeed!—who is it?"
"Jack Sheppard."