Spring Heeled Jack | Page 7

low--
"Hist!"
He turned round and saw Ned Chump beckoning to him and pointing to the flight of stairs that led to their common chamber, and from thence to the bell tower.
Our hero having perfect confidence in his sailor friend obeyed the signal.
When the two were safely seated in their bedroom, Ned said, eagerly--
"Tell me, boy, what has happened?"
In a very few words Jack told him.
"My eye!" ejaculated Ned with a low whistle, "that was a jump indeed."
Then he continued--
"But who was your assailant? Could you not see his face?"
"No; it was too dark," replied Jack; "but there was a something about his figure that seemed familiar to me."
"Yes, lad, there was," said honest Ned Chump. "I met the ruffian but now, making the best of his way to Newhaven, no doubt."
"Who was it?" asked the lad.
"Why that poaching scoundrel, Black Ralph," answered Ned; "and you may depend upon it that your worthy cousin has laid this plant to kill you, and so prevent any chance of a bother about the property."
"What had I better do?" asked Jack. "I will act entirely under your advice."
"Well, my boy," said Ned, "take no notice; let matters take their course. We are sure to find out something or other in the morning."
And the two firm friends carefully fastened their door and turned in to rest.
In the morning the alarm of the robbery was given, but neither Jack nor Ned uttered one word to indicate that they knew aught about it.
"How did you get in?" asked Michael Dacre, roughly, as he turned towards Chump.
The would-be baronet's rage at the appearance of Jack Dacre unharmed, although his plate-chest (as he chose to consider it) had been ransacked, knew no bounds.
But Ned had his answer ready.
"I thought the door was left open for me, sir," he said, "so I simply entered and bolted the door behind me, and made my way up to bed."
"This is indeed a mysterious affair," said Michael Dacre, "but I have reasons of my own for not letting the officers of justice know about this affair. I have my suspicions as to who the guilty party is, and I think, if all is kept quiet, I can see my way to recovering my lost plate."
"Your lost plate!" said Jack, contemptuously. "Say, rather, my lost plate."
"I thought that subject was to be tabooed between us until Mr. Morgan arrives with the proofs of your identity, or imposture, as the case may be."
"Very well, sir," replied Jack; "so be it. But I cannot help thinking that Mr. Morgan ought to have arrived long before this."
However, in due course the long-looked for one arrived.
But instead of coming straight on to Dacre Hall, as one would have expected a trustworthy agent to have done, he took up his quarters at the Dacre Arms, and sent word to Michael Dacre that Mr. Alfred wanted to see hint on important business.
The message, of course, was a written one, as the people belonging to the inn would have thought it strange had an unknown man sent such a message to one so powerful as Michael Dacre was now making himself out to be.
In an hour's time the two men were seated over a bottle of brandy, discussing the position of affairs.
"And if I prove to the law's satisfaction--never mind about yours, for you know the truth--that the boy is illegitimate, what is to be my share?"
"A thousand pounds," said Michael.
"A thousand fiddlesticks," replied Morgan, grinding his teeth. "Without my aid you are a penniless beggar, kicked out of Dacre Hall; and with no profession to turn your hands to. Make it worth my while, and what are you? Why Sir Michael Dacre, the owner of this fine estate, and one of the most powerful landowners in this part of the county of Sussex. A thousand pounds--bah!"
The would-be owner of Dacre Hall looked aghast at Morgan's vehemence, and with an imploring gesture he placed his finger on his lip and pointed at the door.
Then under his breath he muttered--
"Five thousand, then?"
"No, not five thousand, nor yet ten thousand," said Morgan.
"Now look you here, Mr. Michael Dacre," he went on with a strong emphasis upon the prefix.
"Now look here--my only terms are these: You to take the Dacre estates in England, and I to have the Indian plantations. That's my ultimatum. Answer, 'yes' or 'no.'"
For an instant Michael Dacre hesitated, but he saw no hope in the cold grey eye of Alfred Morgan, and at last consented.
The two now separated, but met again the following day, when the necessary agreements were signed, and Mr. Alfred retired to Brighton to make his appearance two days later as Mr. Alfred Morgan, the Indian representative of the late Sir Sidney Dacre.
"My poor boy," he said, sympathetically, when he first met our hero. "My poor boy, this