It was a curious sight to see how this extraordinary woman, who, it has been said, was not less remarkable for the extreme delicacy of her features, and the faultless symmetry of her figure, than for her wonderful strength and agility, conducted herself in the present encounter; with what dexterity she parried every blow aimed against her by her adversary, whose head and face, already marked by various ruddy streams, showed how successfully her own hits had been made;--how she drew him hither and thither, now leading him on, now driving him suddenly back; harassing and exhausting him in every possible way, and making it apparent that she could at any moment put an end to the fight, and only delayed the finishing stroke to make his punishment the more severe. Jack, meanwhile, with Blueskin's assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made Shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them. “Write as I dictate,” he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Shotbolt nodded in token of acquiescence, and emitted an odd guttural sound. “Write as follows,” continued Jack. “'I have succeeded in capturing Jack Sheppard. The reward is mine. Get all ready for his reception. In a few minutes after the delivery of this note he will be in Newgate.' Sign it,” he added, as, after some further threats, the letter was indited according to his dictation, “and direct it to Mr. Austin. That's well. And, now, to find a messenger.” “Mr. Kneebone's man is in the shop,” said Rachel; “he'll take it.” “Can I trust him?” mused Jack. “Yes; he'll suspect nothing. Give him this letter, child, and bid him take it to the Lodge at Newgate without loss of time. Blueskin will go with you,--for fear of a mistake.” “You might trust me,” said Rachel, in an offended tone; “but never mind.” And she left the room with Blueskin, who very politely offered her his arm. Meanwhile, the combat between Kneebone and Mrs. Maggot had been brought to a termination. When the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the Amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it. “That's for Mrs. Wood,” she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp. “I'm at your mercy, Poll,” rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. “That's for Winifred,” vociferated the Amazon, bringing the cudgel heavily upon his shoulder. “Damnation!” cried Kneebone. “That's for myself,” rejoined Mrs. Maggot, dealing him a blow, which stretched him senseless on the floor. “Bravo, Poll!” cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. “You've given him a broken head, I perceive.” “He'll scarcely need a plaister,” replied Mrs. Maggot, laughing. “Here, Bess, give me the cord, and I'll tie him to this chest of drawers. I don't think he'll come to himself too soon. But it's best to be on the safe side.”