“No,” replied Jonathan, “I’ll not take you at your word, as regards the latter proposition.  We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—­long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—­ha! ha!  A third of your estate I accept.  And as these things should always be treated as matters of business, I’ll just draw up a memorandum of our arrangement.”

And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it.

“Sign this,” he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland.

The knight mechanically complied with his request.

“Enough!” cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum.  “And now, in return for your liberality, I’ll inform you of a secret with which it is important you should be acquainted.”

“A secret!” exclaimed Trenchard.  “Concerning whom?”

“Mrs. Sheppard,” replied Jonathan, mysteriously.

“Mrs. Sheppard!” echoed Jack, surprised out of his caution.

“Ah!” exclaimed Wild, looking angrily towards his supposed attendant.

“I beg pardon, Sir,” replied Jack, with the accent and manner of the janizary; “I was betrayed into the exclamation by my surprise that anything in which Sir Rowland Trenchard was interested could have reference to so humble a person as Mrs. Sheppard.”

“Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words,” rejoined Jonathan, sternly.  “My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,—­and hands, if need be,—­but no tongues.  You understand me, sirrah?”

“Perfectly,” replied Jack.  “I’m dumb.”

“Your secret?” demanded Trenchard, impatiently.

“I need not remind you, Sir Rowland,” replied Wild, “that you had two sisters—­Aliva and Constance.”

“Both are dead,” observed the knight, gloomily.

“Not so;” answered Wild.  “Constance is yet living.”

“Constance alive?  Impossible!” ejaculated Trenchard.

“I’ve proofs to the contrary,” replied Jonathan.

“If this is the case, where is she?”

“In Bedlam,” replied the thief-taker, with a Satanic grin.

“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed the knight, upon whom a light seemed suddenly to break.  “You mentioned Mrs. Sheppard.  What has she to with Constance Trenchard?”

“Mrs. Sheppard is Constance Trenchard,” replied Jonathan, maliciously.

Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment.

“Again,” cried Jonathan, sternly:  “beware!”

“What!” vociferated Trenchard.  “My sister the wife of one condemned felon! the parent of another!  It cannot be.”

“It is so, nevertheless,” replied Wild.  “Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society.  It is useless to trace out her miserable career; though I can easily do so if you require it.  To preserve herself, however, from destitution, or what she considered worse, she wedded a journeyman carpenter, named Sheppard.”