“Here are Jonathan Wild's written instructions to Quilt Arnold,” rejoined Sheppard, producing the pocket-book he had found in the janizary's clothes. “This letter will vouch for me that a communication has taken place between your enemies.” Thames glanced at the despatch, and, after a moment's reflection, inquired, “In what way is the attempt upon my life to be made?” “That I couldn't ascertain,” replied Jack; “but I advise you to be upon your guard. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment.” “Here!” ejaculated Wood, with a look of alarm. “Oh lord! I hope not.” “This I do know,” continued Jack,--“Jonathan Wild superintends the attack.” “Jonathan Wild!” repeated the carpenter, trembling. “Then it's all over with us. Oh dear!--how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser.” “There's some one in the garden at this moment,” cried Jack; “I saw a face at the window.” “Where--where?” cried Thames. “Don't stir,” replied Jack. “I will at once convince you of the truth of my assertions, and ascertain whether the enemy really is at hand.” So saying, he advanced towards the window, threw open the sash, and called out in the voice of Thames Darrell, “Who's there?” He was answered by a shot from a pistol. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. “I was right,” replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened. “It is Jonathan. Your uncle--_our_ uncle is with him. I saw them both.” “May I trust you?” cried Thames, eagerly. “You may,” replied Jack: “I'll fight for you to the last gasp.” “Follow me, then,” cried Thames, drawing his sword, and springing through the window. “To the world's end,” answered Jack, darting after him. “Thames!--Thames!” cried Winifred, rushing to the window. “He will be murdered!--Help!” “My child!--my love!” cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. Two shots were fired, and presently the clashing of swords was heard below. After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. Wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered was Thames Darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in his blood. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. As the body was borne to the house in the arms of the farming-men, Mr. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. CHAPTER VIII. OLD BEDLAM.