was partitioned in a similar manner.  Those whom he retained about his person, or placed in offices of trust, were for the most part convicted felons, who, having returned from transportation before their term had expired, constituted, in his opinion, the safest agents, inasmuch as they could neither be legal evidences against him, nor withhold any portion of the spoil of which he chose to deprive them.  But the crowning glory of Jonathan, that which raised him above all his predecessors in iniquity, and clothed this name with undying notoriety—­was to come.  When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—­namely, a traffic in human blood.  This he carried on by procuring witnesses to swear away the lives of those persons who had incurred his displeasure, or whom it might be necessary to remove.

No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him.

Apparently, Jonathan perceived he was an object of scrutiny; for, hastily dismissing his attendant, he walked towards the knight.

“So, you’re admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland,” he remarked, with a sinister smile; “it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,—­ha! ha!  This skull,” he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, “once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now.  In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered.  When I’ve placed another skull and another halter beside them, I shall be contented.”

“To business, Sir!” said the knight, with a look of abhorrence.

“Ay, to business,” returned Jonathan, grinning, “the sooner the better.”

“Here is the sum you bargained for,” rejoined Trenchard, flinging a pocket-book on the table; “count it.”

Jonathan’s eyes glistened as he told over the notes.

“You’ve given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland,” he said, after he had twice counted them, “or I’ve missed my reckoning.  There’s a hundred pounds too much.”

“Keep it,” said Trenchard, haughtily.

“I’ll place it to your account, Sir Rowland,” answered the thief-taker, smiling significantly.  “And now, shall we proceed to Queenhithe?”

“Stay!” cried the other, taking a chair, “a word with you, Mr. Wild.”

“As many as you please, Sir Rowland,” replied Jonathan, resuming his seat.  “I’m quite at your disposal.”

“I have a question to propose to you,” said Trenchard, “relating to—­” and he hesitated.

“Relating to the father of the boy—­Thames Darrell,” supplied Jonathan.  “I guessed what was coming.  You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland.  Well, you shall know.”

“Without further fee?” inquired the knight.

“Not exactly,” answered Jonathan, drily.  “A secret is too valuable a commodity to be thrown away.  But I said I wouldn’t drive a hard bargain with you, and I won’t.  We are alone, Sir Rowland,” he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, “and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—­at least to your disadvantage.”