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ToC Scarcely an hour after the horrible occurrence just related, as Jonathan Wild was seated in the audience-chamber of his residence at the Old Bailey, occupied, like Peachum, (for whose portrait he sat,) with his account-books and registers, he was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Quilt Arnold, who announced Jack Sheppard and Blueskin. Where is Sebastianus? I am Rhea. Apparently I’m not to exist yet. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust. “You know what? You’re right. October arrived; and in another week the court would be sitting at the Old Bailey. Jack had got into one of the pens at the north side of the chapel. On that morning the death warrant had arrived from Windsor, ordering Sheppard for execution, (since his capture by Jonathan Wild in Bedlam, as related in a former chapter, Jack had been tried, convicted, and sentenced to death,) together with three other malefactors on the following Friday.
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