When the turnkey, next morning, stepp’d into his room,
The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb;
The sheriff’s black bracelets lay strewn on the ground,
But the lad that had worn ’em could nowhere be found.

          
                                                                    Tol-de-rol!”

As Jack concluded his ditty, the door flew open with a crash, and Thames sprang through the aperture.

This manoeuvre was so suddenly executed that it took Abraham completely by surprise.  He was standing at the moment close to the hatch, with his ear at the keyhole, and received a severe blow in the face.  He staggered back a few paces; and, before he could recover himself, Thames tripped up his heels, and, placing the point of the spike at his throat, threatened to stab him if he attempted to stir, or cry out.  Nor had Jack been idle all this time.  Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key.  The policy of this step was immediately apparent.  Alarmed by the noise of the scuffle, Quilt and Sharples rushed to the assistance of their comrade.  But they were too late.  The entrance was barred against them; and they had the additional mortification of hearing Sheppard’s loud laughter at their discomfiture.

“I told you the prison wasn’t built that could hold me,” cried Jack.

“You’re not out yet, you young hound,” rejoined Quilt, striving ineffectually to burst open the door.

“But I soon shall be,” returned Jack; “take these,” he added, flinging the handcuffs against the wooden partition, “and wear ’em yourself.”

“Halloo, Nab!” vociferated Quilt.  “What the devil are you about!  Will you allow yourself to be beaten by a couple of kids?”

“Not if I can help it,” returned Abraham, making a desperate effort to regain his feet.  “By my shalvation, boy,” he added, fiercely, “if you don’t take your hande off my peard, I’ll sthrangle you.”

“Help me, Jack!” shouted Thames, “or I shan’t be able to keep the villain down.”

“Stick the spike into him, then,” returned Sheppard, coolly, “while I unbar the outlet.”

But Thames had no intention of following his friend’s advice.  Contenting himself with brandishing the weapon in the Jew’s eyes, he exerted all his force to prevent him from rising.

While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—­as if in contempt of the general uproar—­the following strain:—­

    With pipe and punch upon the board,
      And smiling nymphs around us;
    No tavern could more mirth afford
      Than old Saint Giles’s round-house!
          The round-house! the round-house! 
          The jolly—­jolly round-house!

“The jolly, jolly round-house!” chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts.  “Hurrah! come along, Thames; we’re free.”