On quitting the Lodge, Wild repaired to his own habitation. Telling
the porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go
in search of Jack Sheppard. There was something in Jonathan's manner,
as he issued this command, that struck the man as singular, and he
afterwards recalled it. He, however, made no remark at the time, but
instantly prepared to set out. As soon as he was gone, Jonathan went
up stairs to the audience-chamber; and, sitting down, appeared for
some time buried in reflection. The dark and desperate thoughts that
were passing through his mind at this time will presently be shown.
After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could
have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily
forgotten. Muttering something to himself, he appeared to be telling
upon his fingers the advantages and disadvantages of some scheme
he had in contemplation. That he had resolved upon its execution,
whatever it might be, was evident from his saying aloud,--
“I will do it. So good an opportunity may never occur again.”
Upon this he arose, and paced the room hastily backwards and
forwards, as if further arranging his plans. He then unlocked a
cabinet, opened a secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents,
discovered a paper he was in search of, and a glove. Laying these
carefully aside, he restored the drawer to its place. His next
occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub
the flints. His sword then came in for his scrutiny: he felt at, and
appeared satisfied with its edge. This employment seemed to afford
him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin--it cannot be
called a smile--played upon his face all the time he was engaged in
it. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his
hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash,
intentionally, upon the table.
“After all,” he said, “this is the safest weapon. No instrument I've
ever used has done me such good service. It _shall_ be the bludgeon.”
So saying, he slung it upon his wrist.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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