"It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. Of Jack Sheppard or the assailants they could not discover a single trace. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. " So saying, he descended a short spiral staircase, and, entering a long stone gallery, from which several other passages branched, took one of them, and after various turnings—for he was familiar with all the intricacies of the prison— arrived at the cell of which he was in search. " "It is too late," returned Jack, sullenly; "I can't be honest if I would.
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