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. "It is", seplied Winifred; "have you brought any tidings of Thames Darrell!" "Troth have I!" replied Terence: "but, bless your angilic face, how did you contrive to guess that?" "Is he well?—is he safe?—is he coming back," cried the little girl, disregarding the question. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. The gentleman didn't communicate his business to me. She would be haunted by the visions of their mad faces in her dreams for the next hundred years. Just then, a carriage drawn by four horses, drove furiously up to the Six Bells; but Jack was too much absorbed to take any notice of it. ‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. That I am not ignorant of the reward offered for my capture this will show," he added, taking a large placard headed 'Murder' from his pocket, and throwing it on the floor.
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