George Cruikshank's Omnibus

by George Cruikshank

"In the event of your leaving, would the gentleman you have named feel disposed to part with it, think you?" inquired the stranger. "I would give him a handsome price—for in fact there are early associations connected with the place that attach me to it. You, perhaps, would exercise your influence in my favour?"

The mention of early associations aroused Frank's curiosity, he rang the bell, and ordered candles to be brought, and as soon as they were placed upon the table, he once more adverted to the pleasantness of the cottage, and then enquired, "Pray, sir, is it long ago since you resided here?"

"Yes—yes—I may say it is seventeen or eighteen years," responded the stranger. "I lived with a relation then, and admire the situation so much that I should like to pass the rest of my days upon the spot."

The lieutenant felt his blood tingle down to his fingers' ends at the mention of the period—it was one full of deep interest to him, and casting a searching look at the man, he demanded, "You must know Brady, then?"

Frank Heartwell seizing Brady as the murderer of his Father.

The question was like an electric shock to the stranger—he started, his countenance became contorted, and in the wild rolling of his eye, Frank was instantly reminded of the period at which he had first seen it when a child in the lawyer's room at Lincoln's Inn. He sprang from his chair, and grasping the man by the collar, exclaimed, "You—you are my father's murderer!" Brady drew a pistol, and presented it at Frank's head—the lieutenant knocked up the muzzle, and the ball flew harmlessly to the ceiling. At this moment two men rushed in to the lawyer's rescue, but not till Frank had wrenched the pistol from his hand, and struck him a severe blow with the butt—the next instant the candles were extinguished, and Heartwell lost consciousness through the stunning effects of a hit on the back of his head, and resigned his grasp; he quickly, however, regained it, and a desperate struggle ensued. At this moment the gardener returned from the manor-house—he had seen a light waggon standing on the common under the care of a boy, and on entering the gate, had been nearly knocked down by a tall stout man, who mounted a horse that was in waiting, and galloped off. Hurrying into the cottage, his timely succour turned the fate of the encounter—the two scoundrels were overmatched; one contrived to steal away, Frank still grasped the other, and having managed to get hold of his dirk that lay upon a sofa, the fellow was wounded past resistance and sank upon the floor. Lights were brought; the lieutenant gazed earnestly on the face of his prisoner—it was not Brady, but Shipkins; for the lawyer, though desperately hurt, had taken advantage of Frank's momentary weakness to throw down the candles and effect his escape, and the lieutenant had unknowingly seized the clerk in his stead.

Great were the consternation and alarm of Mrs. Heartwell on her return from the metropolis, to which she had been deluded by a pretended message got up by the vile confederates. The gardener too was similarly deceived; for the scoundrels, unaware that the treasure had been removed, had hoped to find the cottage destitute of protection, so that they might easily carry off the booty they expected to find. Frank's presence had disconcerted Brady, who invented a plausible excuse, but villany met with detection and punishment, as already described.

When calmness was somewhat restored, it was proposed to send Shipkins to prison in the waggon which had brought him out on his nefarious excursion; but the man was evidently dying, and Mrs. Heartwell conjectured that by detaining him at the cottage, and treating him with kindness, he might be induced to make admissions and confessions which would tend to elucidate the past. At first, however, he was stubborn and morose, and refused the assistance that was proffered him—he was not aware that his last hour was so near at hand, but when assured by a surgeon that he had not long to live, and he was earnestly exhorted to unburthen his mind of guilty concealment before entering the presence of his Maker, the hitherto hardened sinner was subdued—the near approach of death, and the terrors of a future state, wrought powerfully on his conscience, and these increased as his physical energies decayed.