"I've heard of him," replied Jack, impatiently. "Who are the others?"
"Let me see. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Then, there's Mr. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. And, lastly, there's Mr. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields."
"Figg's an old friend of mine," rejoined Jack; "he was my instructor in the small sword and back sword exercise. I'm glad he's come to see me."
"You don't inquire what brings Sir James Thornhill here?" said Austin.
"Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly.
"No such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business."
"On what business, in the name of wonder?" asked Sheppard.
"To paint your portrait," answered the jailer.
"My portrait!" echoed Jack.
"By desire of his Majesty," said the jailer, consequentially. "He has heard of your wonderful escapes, and wishes to see what you're like. There's a feather in your cap! No house-breaker was ever so highly honoured before."