Persuaded that Jack Sheppard would keep his appointment with Mr. Kneebone, and feeling certain of capturing him if he did so, Shotbolt, on quitting Newgate, hurried to the New Prison to prepare for the enterprise. After debating with himself for some time whether he should employ an assistant, or make the attempt alone, his love of gain overcame his fears, and he decided upon the latter plan. Accordingly, having armed himself with various weapons, including a stout oaken staff then ordinarily borne by the watch, and put a coil of rope and a gag in his pocket, to be ready in case of need, he set out, about ten o'clock, on the expedition. Before proceeding to Wych Street, he called at the Lodge to see how matters were going on, and found Mrs. Spurling and Austin at their evening meal, with Caliban in attendance. “Well, Mr. Shotbolt,” cried the turnkey, “I've good news for you. Mr. Wild has doubled his offer, and the governor has likewise proclaimed a reward of one hundred guineas for Jack's apprehension.” “You don't say so!” exclaimed Shotbolt. “Read that,” rejoined Austin, pointing to the placard. “I ought to tell you that Mr. Wild's reward is conditional upon Jack's being taken before to-morrow morning. So I fear there's little chance of any one getting it.” “You think so, eh?” chuckled Shotbolt, who was eagerly perusing the reward, and congratulating himself upon his caution; “you think so--ha! ha! Well, don't go to bed, that's all.” “What for?” demanded the turnkey. “Because the prisoner's arrival might disturb you--ha! ha!” “I'll lay you twenty guineas you don't take him to-night,” rejoined Austin. “Done!” cried Shotbolt. “Mrs. Spurling, you're a witness to the bet. Twenty guineas, mind. I shan't let you off a farthing. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it.” “Never count your chickens till they're hatched,” observed Mrs. Spurling, drily. “_My_ chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so,” replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. “Get ready your heaviest irons, Austin. I'll send you word when I catch him.” “You'd better send _him_,” jeered the turnkey. “So I will,” rejoined Shotbolt; “so I will. If I don't, you shall clap me in the Condemned Hold in his stead. Good-bye, for the present--ha! ha!” And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. “I'll lay my life he's gone on a fox-and-goose-chase to Mr. Kneebone's,” remarked Austin, rising to fasten the door. “I shouldn't wonder,” replied Mrs. Spurling, as if struck by a sudden idea. And, while the turnkey was busy with the keys, she whispered to the black, “Follow him, Caliban. Take care he don't see you,--and bring me word where he goes, and what he does.” “Iss, missis,” grinned the black. “Be so good as to let Caliban out, Mr. Austin,” continued the tapstress; “he's only going on an errand.”