Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. She interrupted. Hastily ascending these steps, Jack found the door, as he anticipated, locked. She thought of all sorts of odd and desperate expedients, and with passionate petulance rejected them all. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly.
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