The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. "Not so," replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. The knife is at my breast. Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. When you send for me I shall come back. And thus he was once more free, having effected one of the most wonderful escapes ever planned or accomplished. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin.
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