As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. It would not burden him with any obligation. It had been removed from the scabbard by the Jew. She thought she had hidden well from him. He had now reached the adjoining house, and, scaling the roof, approached another building, which seemed to be, at least, one story loftier than its neighbours. Kneebone?" "He'd better not," muttered Blueskin. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look.
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