Here he was hotly pursued.

Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means--though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot--a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him.
At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard.

Hearing the distant shouts, these fellows rushed down to the entrance of the court, and arrived there just as Jack passed it.

"Stop thief!" roared Jonathan.

"Stop thief!" clamoured the rabble behind.
At no loss to comprehend that Jack was the individual pointed out by these outcries, two of the nearest of the group made a dash at him.