"Or such a customer as Mr. Wild," edged in Quilt.
"Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here
all night?"
"Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?"
"One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. "So, stir your
stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch."
"Comin'! comin'!" returned the constable, shuffling towards him.
"Coming!--so is midnight--so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a
significant look at Thames.
"Have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these
troublesome warmint?" observed Abraham. "The guv'ner'll be here afore
midnight."
Darrell's attention was drawn to the latter part of this speech by a
slight pressure on his foot. And, turning at the touch, he perceived
Sheppard's glance fixed meaningly upon him.
"Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake."
"Awake!--to be sure I am, my flash cove," replied Sheppard; "I'm down as
a hammer."
"I've just bethought me of a crib as'll serve their turn," interposed
Sharples, "at any rate, they'll be out o' the vay, and as safe as two
chicks in a coop."
"Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock
authority.
The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off,
like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is
needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden
partition. A door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the
peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded
from within, that this chamber was occupied by the Marquis and his
friends. Against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills,
(weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and
lanterns. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a
rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of
box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an
apology for a cupboard. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps,
and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as
large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel.
"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the
lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. "I call
this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in
Guildhall. I _have_ squeezed three kids into it afore now. To be sure,"
he added, lowering his tone, "they wos little 'uns, and one on 'em was
smothered--ough! ough!--how this cough chokes me!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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