“Back, villain!” said the knight, haughtily. “I disown you. The whole story of your relationship is a fabrication.” “Time will show,” replied Jack with equal haughtiness. “But, however, it may turn out, I disown _you_.” “Well, Jack,” said Jonathan, who had looked at him with surprise not unmixed with admiration, “you are a bold and clever fellow, I must allow. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. I'm almost sorry I've sworn to hang you. But, it can't be helped. I'm a slave to my word. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you. Besides, you've secrets which must not be disclosed. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner.” “And you flatter yourself you can detain me?” laughed Jack. “At least I'll try,” replied Jonathan, sarcastically. “You must be a cleverer lad than even _I_ take you for, if you get out of this place.” “What ho! Blueskin!” shouted Jack. “Here I am, Captain,” cried a voice from without. And the door was suddenly thrown open, and the two janizaries felled to the ground by the strong arm of the stalwart robber. “Your boast, you see, was a little premature, Mr. Wild,” said Sheppard. “Adieu, my worthy uncle. Fortunately, I've secured the proof of my birth.” “Confusion!” thundered Wild. “Close the doors below! Loose the dogs! Curses! they don't hear me! I'll ring the alarm-bell.” And he raised his arm with the intention of executing his purpose, when a ball from Jack's pistol passed through the back of his hand, shattering the limb. “Aha! my lad!” he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; “now I'll show you no quarter.” And, with the uninjured hand he drew a pistol, which he fired, but without effect, at Jack. “Fly, Captain, fly!” vociferated Blueskin; “I shan't be able to keep these devils down. Fly! they shall knock me on the head--curse 'em!--before they shall touch you.” “Come along!” cried Jack, darting through the door. “The key's on the outside--quick! quick!” Instantly alive to this chance, Blueskin broke away. Two shots were fired at him by Jonathan; one of which passed through his hat, and the other through the fleshy part of his arm; but he made good his retreat. The door was closed--locked,--and the pair were heard descending the stairs. “Hell's curses!” roared Jonathan. “They'll escape. Not a moment is to be lost.” So saying, he took hold of a ring in the floor, and disclosed a flight of steps, down which he hurried, followed by the janizaries. This means of communication instantly brought them to the lobby. But Jack and his companion were already gone. Jonathan threw open the street-door. Upon the pavement near the court lay the porter, who had been prostrated by a blow from the butt-end of a pistol. The man, who was just able to move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. Jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph.