“Oh! he told you that, did he?” said Blueskin, marching up to her, and chucking her under the chin.  “I’ll show you Captain Sheppard, my dear.  There he stands.  I’m his lieutenant,—­Lieutenant Blueskin.  We’re two good-looking fellows, ain’t we?”

“Very good-looking,” replied Rachel.  “But, where’s the strange gentleman I saw under the table?”

“Under the table!” echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack.  “When did you see him, my love?”

“A short time ago,” replied the housekeeper, unsuspiciously.

“The plot’s out!” cried Jack.  And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide.  The crash was tremendous.  The lights rolled over, and were extinguished.  And, if Rachel had not carried a candle, the room would have been plunged in total darkness.  Amid the confusion, Shotbolt sprang to his feet, and levelling a pistol at Jack’s head, commanded him to surrender; but, before any reply could be made, the jailer’s arm was struck up by Blueskin, who, throwing himself upon him, dragged him to the ground.  In the struggle the pistol went off, but without damage to either party.  The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist.  He was speedily disarmed; and the rope and gag being found upon him, were exultingly turned against him by his conqueror, who, after pinioning his arms tightly behind his back, forced open his mouth with the iron, and effectually prevented the utterance of any further outcries.  While the strife was raging, Edgeworth Bess walked up to Rachel, and advised her, if she valued her life, not to scream or stir from the spot; a caution which the housekeeper, whose curiosity far outweighed her fears, received in very good part.

In the interim, Jack advanced to the woollen-draper, and regarding him sternly, thus addressed him: 

“You have violated the laws of hospitality, Mr. Kneebone, I came hither as your guest.  You have betrayed me.”

“What faith is to be kept with a felon?” replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully.

“He who breaks faith with his benefactor may well justify himself thus,” answered Jack.  “I have not trusted you.  Others who have done, have found you false.”

“I don’t understand you,” replied Kneebone, in some confusion.

“You soon shall,” rejoined Sheppard.  “Where are the packets committed to your charge by Sir Rowland Trenchard?”

“The packets!” exclaimed Kneebone, in alarm.

“It is useless to deny it,” replied Jack.  “You were watched to-night by Blueskin.  You met Sir Rowland at the house of a Romisch priest, Father Spencer.  Two packets were committed to your charge, which you undertook to deliver,—­one to another priest, Sir Rowland’s chaplain, at Manchester, the other to Mr. Wood.  Produce them!”

“Never!” replied Kneebone.

“Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!” replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head.  “I give you one minute for reflection.  After that time nothing shall save you.”