Spring Heeled Jack | Page 6

reply came from Alfred Morgan, the late Sir Sidney's trusted representative.
This letter destroyed in an instant any hope, if such ever existed, in Michael Dacre's breast that Jack might be an impostor.
But there was one gleam of hope in the cautiously-worded postscript to the letter.
"Do not mention this to anyone. I am on my way to England, and I may identify the boy and produce the necessary papers--or I may not. It will depend a great deal upon the first interview I have with you; and that interview must take place before I see the boy."
"What did this mean?" thought Michael Dacre. "Did it mean that here was a tool ready to his hand, who would swear away his cousin's birthright?"
Time alone would show.
Then again the improbability of such a thing occurring would sweep over him with tenfold force, and he decided to take time by the fore- lock and remove Jack from his path.
Michael Dacre had not the pluck to do this fell deed himself, but he had more than one tool at hand who would fulfil his foul bidding for a price.
The man he chose on this occasion was one Black Ralph, a ruffian who had been everything by turns, but nothing long.
He was strongly suspected of obtaining his living at the time of which we are writing by poaching, but nothing had ever been proved against him.
In the days when Jack's grandfather had been alive, Michael Dacre, who acted as steward and agent on the estate, always pooh-poohed any suggestion of the kind, and sent the complaining gamekeepers away, literally "with a flea in their ears."
The arrangement was soon made between Michael Dacre and Black Ralph.
The former was to admit the latter to the house, and he was to ransack the plate pantry, taking sufficient to repay him for his trouble.
He was then to pass to Jack's bedroom, which Michael pointed out, and to settle him at once.
He was then to proceed to Newhaven, where a lugger was to be in waiting, and so make his way with his booty over to France.
This the cousin thought would make all secure.
But he had reckoned without his host.
Or shall we say his guest, as it was in that light that he regarded the real Sir John Dacre?
The lad was a light sleeper, and on the night planned for the attack he became aware of the presence of Black Ralph in his chamber almost as soon as the would-be assassin had entered it.
Brave though Jack was, he felt a thrill of terror run through him as he thought of his utterly helpless condition, for Ned Chump had been sent on some cunningly-contrived errand to keep him out of the way, and he had not yet returned.
That murder was the object of the midnight intruder Jack Dacre never doubted.
There was but one way out of it, and that was to rush up into the bell tower which communicated with a staircase abutting on his chamber.
Once here he could ring the bell, if he could only keep his assailant at bay.
At the worst, he could but jump into the moat below, and stand a chance of saving his life.
In an instant he had left his bed, and dashed for the door.
But the assassin was upon him.
Jack just managed to bound up the stairs, and enter the tower.
Ere he could seize the bell-rope he felt Black Ralph's hot breath upon his neck. In an instant the lad had sprang upon the parapet. Then an instant later he was speeding on his way to the moat below, having made the terrible leap with a grace and daring which he never afterwards eclipsed, even when assisted by the mechanical appliances which he used in the adventures we are about to describe in his assumed character of Spring-Heeled Jack.
Our hero suffered nothing from his perilous jump worse than a ducking.
And it is very probable that this did him more good than harm, as it served to restore his somewhat scattered thoughts.
By the time Jack Dacre had managed to clamber oat of the moat, Black Ralph had put a considerable distance between himself and Dacre Hall.
He had got his share of the booty, and whether Master Jack survived the fall or not mattered little to him.
He could rely upon Michael Dacre's promise that the lugger should be waiting for him at Newhaven, and once in France he could soon find a melting-pot for his treasure, and live, for a time at least, a life of riotous extravagance.
When Jack reached the house he found the hall door open, and without fear he entered; bent upon going straight to his cousin's room and informing him of what had happened.
Before he could reach the corridor which contained the state bedroom in which Michael Dacre had ensconced himself, Jack heard a