"Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. Say I will come to him. E. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening. "Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. Jarvis did not leave a will. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. I can help you to both,—nay, I will help you to both, if you do not interfere with my plans. " This exclamation had scarcely escaped him, when the discharge of a pistol was heard, and a bullet whizzed past his ears.
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