“Vill this do?” demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole.  “I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices’ cells in Guildhall.  I have squeezed three kids into it afore now.  To be sure,” he added, lowering his tone, “they wos little ’uns, and one on ’em was smothered—­ough! ough!—­how this cough chokes me!”

Sheppard, meanwhile, whose hands were at liberty, managed to possess himself, unperceived, of the spike of a halbert, which was lying, apart from the pole, upon a bench near him.  Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clock-faces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,—­that is, back foremost,—­broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards.  His mirth, however, received an unpleasant check; for Abraham, greatly incensed by his previous conduct, caught him by the legs, and pushed him with such violence into the hole that the point of the spike, which he had placed in his pocket, found its way through his clothes to the flesh, inflicting a slight, but painful wound.  Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples’s face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.

“How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?” asked Sharples, in a jeering tone.

“Better than your company, Saint Giles,” replied Sheppard; “so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce.”

“That boy’ll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell,” observed Sharples.

“Or the street,” returned Jack:  “mind my words, the prison’s not built that can keep me.”

“We’ll see that, young hempseed,” replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it.  “If you get out o’ that cage, I’ll forgive you.  Now, come along, gem’men, and I’ll show you some precious sport.”

The two janizaries followed him as far as the entrance to the inner room, when Abraham, raising his finger to his lips, and glancing significantly in the direction of the boys, to explain his intention to his companions, closed the door after them, and stole softly back again, planting himself near the recess.

For a few minutes all was silent.  At length Jack Sheppard observed:—­“The coast’s clear.  They’re gone into the next room.”

Darrell returned no answer.

“Don’t be angry with me, Thames,” continued Sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion’s indignation.  “I did all for the best, as I’ll explain.”

“I won’t reproach you, Jack,” said the other, sternly.  “I’ve done with you.”

“Not quite, I hope,” rejoined Sheppard.  “At all events, I’ve not done with you.  If you owe your confinement to me, you shall owe your liberation to me, also.”