Blueskin, who very politely offered her his
arm.

Meanwhile, the combat between Kneebone and Mrs. Maggot had been brought
to a termination. When the woollen-draper was nearly worn out, the
Amazon watched her opportunity, and hitting him on the arm, disabled it.

"That's for Mrs. Wood," she cried, as the staff fell from his grasp.

"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly.

"That's for Winifred," vociferated the Amazon, bringing the cudgel
heavily upon his shoulder.

"Damnation!" cried Kneebone.

"That's for myself," rejoined Mrs. Maggot, dealing him a blow, which
stretched him senseless on the floor.

"Bravo, Poll!" cried Jack, who having again pinioned Shotbolt, was now
tracing a few hasty lines on a sheet of paper. "You've given him a
broken head, I perceive."

"He'll scarcely need a plaister," replied Mrs. Maggot, laughing. "Here,
Bess, give me the cord, and I'll tie him to this chest of drawers. I
don't think he'll come to himself too soon. But it's best to be on the
safe side."

"Decidedly so," replied Edgeworth Bess; "and I'll take this opportunity,
while Jack's back is turned,--for he's grown so strangely
particular,--of easing him of his snuff-box. Perhaps," she added, in a
whisper, as she appropriated the before-named article, "he has a
pocket-book."

"Hush!" replied Mrs. Maggot; "Jack will hear you. We'll come back for
that by and by, and the dressing-gown."

At this moment, Rachel and Blueskin returned. Their momentary absence
seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding
appeared to subsist between them.

"Have you sent off the note?" inquired Jack.

"We have, Captain," replied Blueskin. "I say _we_, because Miss Rachel
and I have struck up a match. Shall I bring off anything?" he added,
looking eagerly round.

"No," replied Jack, peremptorily.

Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it
over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped
his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. He, next, seized
the unlucky jailer, and forced him along, while Blueskin expedited his
movements by administering a few kicks behind.

When they got to the door, Jack opened it, and, mimicking the voice of
the jailer, shouted, "Now, my lads, all's ready?"

"Here we are," cried the chairmen, hurrying out of the court with their
swinging vehicle, "where is he?"

"Here," replied Sheppard, dragging out Shotbolt by