d.

CHAPTER XII.

Saint Giles's Round-house.

Saint Giles's Round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an
angle of Kendrick Yard. Originally built, as its name imports, in a
cylindrical form, like a modern Martello tower, it had undergone, from
time to time, so many alterations, that its symmetry was, in a great
measure, destroyed. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two
extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end,--a sort of
Heidelberg tun on a large scale,--and this resemblance was increased by
the small circular aperture--it hardly deserved to be called a
door--pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the
structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight
of wooden steps. The prison was two stories high, with a flat roof
surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing
considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some
thousands of disorderly personages. The windows were small, and strongly
grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the
spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. Lights gleamed from the
lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of
revelry might be heard from within.

Warned of the approach of the prisoners by the increased clamour,
Sharples, who was busied in distributing the Marquis's donation,
affected to throw the remainder of the money among the crowd, though, in
reality, he kept back a couple of guineas, which he slipped into his
sleeve, and running hastily up the steps, unlocked the door. He was
followed, more leisurely, by the prisoners; and, during their ascent,
Jack Sheppard made a second attempt to escape by ducking suddenly down,
and endeavouring to pass under his conductor's legs. The dress of the
dwarfish Jew was not, however, favourable to this expedient. Jack was
caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of Abraham's long frock; and,
instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound
thrashing.

Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards
the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt,
between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist,
and then closed and barred the door.

"Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?"

"To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of
Slaughterfor