was
reckoned
before;
so
Billy
couldn't
own
up
to
his
lark.
He thought
himself
safe
when
Taylor
changed
his
mind
and
spoke
of strychnine;
but
he
had
disposed
of
what
he
bought
from
Hawkins's to
that
misshaped
dwarf
Dyke
in
London,
for
his
nobbling
business,
and
it
was
not
to
be
got
back.
Worse
still,
Cook
must
go
and die
of
some
unknown
disease,
like
a
fool!
The
trouble
is,
I
understand,
that
if
one
accidentally
causes
the
death
of
a
man
while engaged
in
a
felony—and
so
Billy
was—the
Law
reckons
it
to
be murder.
Billy
feared
the
tartar
emetic
might
have
caused
the convulsions.
That's
what
was
on
his
mind,
my
poor,
dear
rascal! Will
Saunders,
who's
a
fine
fellow,
would
have
sworn
that
Billy intended
to
use
the
strychnine
on
those
hounds
which
were
running
his
mares;
but
Captain
Hatton—damn
his
eyes!—made
Will "safe",
as
they
say.
'I've
had
a
great
many
unkind
letters
from
all
and
sundry.
For the
most
part,
they
speak
of
my
affair
with
that
cowardly
rogue Jerry
Smith.
But
I've
finished
it,
once
and
for
all.
He
can
sink
or swim
as
he
pleases.
'There's
been
kind
letters,
too,
and
some
strange
ones,
and
the strangest
of
all
came
from
a
lady
who
signs
herself
"Jane
Smirke" —Jane
Widnall,
as
was.
She
knew
my
Billy
at
Liverpool
and Haywood,
and
feels
guilty
for
leading
him
astray.
He
was
a
very good
boy,
she
says,
and
now
if
she
can
be
of
any
service
to
me
in my
affliction,
etc.
.
.
.
'But
that
letter
I
could
not
answer;
my
heart
was
too
full; besides,
she
gave
me
no
address.
.
.'