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BY BOWMAN TILLER.

CHAPTER II.

Time progressed, and though Mrs. Heartwell still laboured under unaccountable agitation and alarm, yet there was a counteracting influence that diffused itself through her frame and buoyed her up with hope. Honest Ben more than once or twice entered the room, and with diffidence inquired whether his mistress had any commands; he asked no intrusive questions—he made no observations—the matter was something beyond his comprehension, and it never for one moment entered into his thoughts to speculate upon causes and effects; yet desirous of affording all the comfort and consolation which suggested itself to his mind, he took especial pains in making some excellent coffee, which he carried up to the distressed lady.

"You are kind and considerate, my good friend," said she whilst accepting the proffered refreshment. "I wish Mr. Heartwell was here to partake of it with me. Surely something unusual must have happened to detain him."

"No doubt on it, my lady," returned the seaman; "an ould messmate or shipmate mayhap, or an extra glass of grog or two."

The lady shook her head as she mournfully replied, "No, no, those would not be inducements strong enough to keep your master away from his home."

"Bless you, my lady," responded the seaman earnestly, as he busied himself about the parlour; "as to the strength of the deucements, all I can say is, that they mixes 'em strong enough when they pleases—though half-and-half ought to satisfy any reasonable man. But there, what's the odds so as you're happy?"

"You must prepare yourself, Ben, to go to Lincoln's Inn, and see if your master has been detained by business," said the lady, disregarding, or perhaps not observing the poor fellow's mistake. "You know the office of Mr. Brady."

"Yes, my lady," returned the seaman; "and I'll make sail as soon as ever you pleases to give orders."

"Wait then a little longer," added Mrs. Heartwell, as she looked at the watch: "go down now, and I will ring for you presently."

Accustomed to implicit obedience when afloat, the seaman still adhered to it now that he was ashore; and therefore again descending to the kitchen, he awaited the expected summons.

Drearily and heavily the minutes passed away, and yet as the fingers of the dial moved progressively over the divisions of the hour into quarters—marking the march of time—they seemed to have flown too quickly, for they afforded additional evidence that some calamity must have befallen the individual whose continued absence had caused increasing pain. Yet there the mourning watcher sat, suffering the extreme trial of human patience—waiting for those who came not.

Several times had the silent contemplations of Mrs. Heartwell been disturbed by the loud ticking and sudden stopping of a clock or watch. At first she scarcely heeded the noise, but the frequent repetition drew her attention more strongly to it, and she sought for the cause: it could not be the dial, for the vibrations of that were clear and continuous—it could not be her own watch, the sound was so different; but to satisfy herself, she wrapped it in a handkerchief and placed it in the table-drawer. Again the ticking came; it seemed to fill every corner of the apartment, sometimes heard in one place and sometimes in another; and when Mrs. Heartwell fancied she had found the spot from which it emanated, it suddenly ceased, and then commenced elsewhere. She rang the bell for Ben, who promptly answered, and stood within the open door. "Did Mr. Heartwell take his timepiece with him?" inquired she.

"Yes, my lady," responded Ben; "I saw the chain and seals hanging down as he went out at the door."

"Is there any strange watch or clock in the house that you know of?" demanded she again.

"No, my lady, not as I knows of," replied Ben, much surprised at the question, and somewhat fearful that grief had unsettled the reason of his mistress.

"Hark then, Ben—listen, and tell me what is that," exclaimed she energetically, as the ticking was loudly renewed. "There must be a clock somewhere to produce such sounds."

Ben did listen as the eyes of his mistress were intently fixed upon him, but the tar shook his head and was silent.

"It must be some trick," said Mrs. Heartwell; "can you hear it distinctly?"

"It's easy enough to hear," responded the seaman with another slow shake of his head; "and though it's some years since I heard it afore, yet there's no mistaking that, my lady."

"What is it then?" demanded the excited woman in a tone assuming peremptory command; "what is it that produces so loud and peculiar a noise?"

"Bless you, my lady," returned the seaman solemnly, as he folded his arms across his breast. "Them sounds are out of all natur, for the works were never made by mortal fingers—there's no living hand as winds 'em up—no human spring as sets 'em a-going—that my lady is the death-watch:" and then Ben added his usual expletive, though his countenance was ruefully sad, "but what's the odds so as you're happy?"

Mrs. Heartwell was perfectly aware that what had generally been called "the death-watch," was nothing more than a small insect, and the noise it produced was caused by striking its proboscis against hollow wood to release itself from confinement; but her nervous system was greatly relaxed and her mental energies impaired through the violent agitation she had undergone during the night. For several minutes, therefore, a superstitious dread came over her mind—it was the first time she had ever heard the supposed monitor of the shroud and coffin, and Ben's impressive manner as he announced its alleged character threw an additional weight of gloom over her already oppressed spirits. But reason was not long in resuming its sway, though it could not utterly banish feelings which had been excited by such a visitation, especially acted upon as she was by previous apprehensions of some direful but unknown calamity.

The tapers on the table were nearly consumed, and the re-assured lady directed Ben to supply others in their places: she then walked towards the window, and unclosing one of the shutters, the bright gleams from a beautiful daylight mingling with the fading light of the newly-risen moon streamed full upon her.

Hallowed and tranquillising are the effects of a lovely dawn; darkness has fled before a mighty conqueror—the face of nature is again unveiled, and smiling beauty colours every feature with its rosy tints; the sorrows of the heart are for a time absorbed in the universal peace which prevails, and even the dying who cannot expect to see its close, rejoice in the opening glory of another day.

The weary watcher as she looked up to the heavens felt relieved and comforted; a prayer rose spontaneously from her heart to that Being who had sent light from above to cheer her in the dreariness of night; and now with humble adoration she poured forth her gratitude at being spared to witness the early beams that illumed the east, and called man forth to his daily labour.

Ben was again summoned—the servants were called up from their beds—Mrs. Heartwell went to the pillow of her sleeping boy, but his repose was so calm, his rest so undisturbed, that she would not awake him; but imprinting one gentle kiss on his fair forehead, she descended to the parlour to commence active operations in search of her husband.

The seaman was despatched to Lincoln's Inn, as the first essay, and after an absence of about an hour, he returned to report that he had waited some time at the door of Mr. Brady's office, till the porter had told him the office would not be open till nine o'clock, and he thought it best to come and let his mistress know.

"It is fast approaching that hour," said the lady. "Be quick and get your breakfast; I will go myself, and you and Frank shall accompany me."

"I wants no breakfast, my lady," returned the seaman. "I'm rigged and ready at once, if so be as you wishes to get under weigh"—

"No—do as I direct you "—responded the lady, firmly. "Frank is not yet ready—we have had our meal whilst you were away, and you must not be deprived of yours."

The tar made his bow and descended to the kitchen, where the servants were assembled, and each endeavoured to catechise Ben on the events of the night; but he could tell them nothing, for he had nothing to tell, and even Sally failed in drawing forth any communication from the seaman.

When Frank entered the parlour, he ran and kissed his mother, but looked astonished at beholding his father's vacant chair—he gazed earnestly in his mother's face, and though she strove to smile upon her boy, yet fatigue and anxiety had left too visible an impression on her countenance—With the intuitive quickness of childhood Frank became instantly aware that something was wrong, and throwing his arms round his parent's neck, he burst into an agony of grief, whilst she strained him to her heart, and the tears of the mother and the child ran mingling down together.

As soon as emotion had subsided, Mrs. Heartwell briefly informed the lad that she feared something had happened to his father, and that she was about to make inquiries after him. The returning confidence and self-command of the mother produced not only a soothing influence, but also an animated spirit of investigation in the son; the mind of the child was fresh and vigorous from a night's repose—he had cherished no harassing fears, had endured no torturing suspense, and therefore, young as he was, his courage was aroused, and he longed to set out on the search which his mother had proposed.

His desire was soon gratified, and a very short time beheld Mrs. Heartwell and Frank, followed by Ben, proceeding from their residence in Ormond Street towards Lincoln's Inn. The streets were not much crowded, for the worthy citizens were at that time accustomed to reside under the same roofs with their shops and warehouses, and consequently were always on the spot ready for business. Not that they are negligent in the present day, for no class of men are more punctual than our merchants and tradesmen; but the extension of commerce has compelled vast numbers to convert their dwellings into storehouses; and the City is, to a certain degree, deserted in the evening for the rural suburbs with their handsome mansions—delightful villas and cottage retreats. Man has a natural love for the country—the green fields—the pure air—and the fragrance of flowers—these are the works of the Creator, and our grateful admiration should be mingled with the worship which is his due.

The clock had not struck nine when they passed through the spacious area of Lincoln's Inn Fields, the trees in which had already become leafless, and gave an air of desolation to the dingy scenery. What a crowd of reflections do our Inns of Court give rise to—and yet how few who pass through them ever bestow one thought on the thousands who are toiling daily, and many nightly, within those walls to render perfect and secure for others the property which without the aid of the law would be unsafe! A writer in an American work has remarked, "what a happy country that would be where there were no lawyers;" but he must first people it with immaculate beings, to whom the ten commandments would become as a dead letter, and every one of the inhabitants must enjoy equality. To suppose such a thing is an absurdity—human passions and human prejudices will prevail, and it is to govern the one and guide the other—to protect the right—avenge the injured, and to punish crime—that laws were framed; and men indefatigably devoted themselves to study all their bearings that they might be carried into full effect. An honourable, useful, and manly profession is that of the lawyer; and though there are some unworthy members amongst the fraternity—(and what community is without them?)—yet, taken as a body, they bear a character of which England is justly proud.

Exactly at nine they reached the chambers of Mr. Brady, and at the same moment a tall, stout, boney man took a key from his pocket and opened the door.

"Mr. Brady is not yet come, madam," said he, observing that Mrs. Heartwell was about to address him. "His business-time is half-past nine, and you will find him punctual to the moment. Would you like to wait, or will you call again?"

"You are, I presume, in Mr. Brady's service?" said the lady, as she passed within the door.

"His assistant, madam—his clerk—his confidential clerk," responded the man, stiffly bowing and assuming a pompous manner.

But Mrs. Heartwell heeded not his conduct, her mind was too much engrossed by other matters, and she earnestly remarked, "You are then acquainted with all Mr. Brady's employers—"

"His clients, madam, I suppose you mean," interrupted the person addressed, as he bent a keen look on the interesting countenance of the lady. "Oh yes—I necessarily know his clients well—"

"Then," returned she, "you perhaps can inform me whether Mr. Heartwell"—her voice became tremulous with emotion, but by a sharp struggle she mastered her feelings and repeated "whether Mr. Heartwell was here yesterday?"

"Lieutenant Heartwell of the Royal Navy, madam, I presume," said the clerk, obsequiously bowing. "Have I the honour to address his worthy lady?"

"He is my husband, sir," answered the lady, proudly, for there was something in the manners of the man that excited unpleasant sensations—a smirking attempt to please that but ill accorded with his look and appearance. "Was Mr. Heartwell here yesterday?"

"Most assuredly he was, madam," responded the clerk. "I hope nothing unpleasant has occurred."

"Confound the lubber, he seems to know it," mumbled Ben, whose keen gaze had been fixed upon the man. "I wish my lady ud let me ax him a bit of his catechiz."

"At what hour did Mr. Heartwell quit this office?" inquired the agitated woman.

"At what hour, madam?" repeated the clerk, casting his eyes up to a clock that hung, or rather stood, in the corner; "why really I cannot call to recollection the precise hour—I was so busily engaged upon the will of Mr. Checkwell, the rich banker, who was not expected to live many hours—indeed he died this morning, and if that last testament had not been made out as quick as it was, so as to enable him to sign it, all his property would have gone amongst his poor relations—but now he has bequeathed it to a favorite niece"—and the man smiled—"he will be a fortunate fellow who wins her favour—two hundred thousand pounds and—"

"Oh, what's the odds so as you're happy?" exclaimed Ben, peevishly interrupting him. "Jist tell my lady when the leftenant hauled his wind out of this."

"Hauled his wind out of this?" reiterated the clerk, giving the worthy tar a sidelong glance of contempt. "Speak English, my friend."

Ben was about to reply in no very gentle terms, but his mistress raised her hand, and the tar was silent. She then turned to the clerk. "I have put a plain and simple question to you, sir; will you oblige me with an answer?"

"Why really, madam, I beg pardon—but the question has escaped my memory," responded the man, as if desirous of gaining time.

"I asked you at what hour Mr. Heartwell quitted this place," repeated the lady, her heart swelling almost to bursting.

"Oh—ay—I trust you will excuse me. I remember now," answered the clerk, as he retired to his desk; "but the will, madam, the will of Mr. Checkwell occupied my whole attention. Yet let me see: it must have been eight o'clock. No, it was later than that; but Mr. Brady can inform you most correctly, I have no doubt: he will be here in a few minutes. Will you walk in, and the young gentleman with you?" and, rising, he opened the door to an inner room. "There are chairs: as for my friend here, he will perhaps remain in the outer office."

Mrs. Heartwell entered a spacious apartment, the windows admitting an unobstructed light, which was thrown upon a large oblong table, bearing innumerable packages of letters and documents tied up with red tape or green ribbon, according to the rank of the client. The walls of the room were nearly concealed behind law-books and japanned boxes with painted initials on their fronts—though some bore in full the names of highly respectable firms and companies, and one or two displayed the titles of noblemen. On the floor were pieces of carpet resembling ancient tapestry, and there were three chairs of dark oak, the seats cased with leather, the original colour of which it was impossible to detect.

The lady, with her son by her side, retired into a part of the apartment that was somewhat obscured by shade; and here, as she sate awaiting the coming of the individual on whose knowledge seemed to rest her future happiness or misery, her thoughts reverted to the previous evening when her husband was in that very same apartment; and as there were two chairs placed at a part of the table that was cleared from papers, she conjectured that one had been occupied by the lieutenant; and small as the matter might seem in the estimation of others, she would have given much to have known which of the two it was. Then arose other contemplations: one of the chairs was doubtless for the clients—the other, at a more respectful distance, for the suppliants who came to entreat for delay against the execution of the law, or to appeal for the extension of mercy from his creditor. Oh! how many sorrowing spirits grieving over blighted hopes and desolated prospects—how many breaking hearts, crushed beneath the torturing pressure of affliction that verged upon despair—how many upbraiding consciences, filled with remorse at past deeds of shame or extravagance—had been there! Parents, who had reduced their offspring from affluence to poverty, through crime or indiscretion—husbands that had wasted their substance, and brought their wives to want—ruined merchants and tradesmen who had borne a good name in the world, but, surrounded by difficulties which they could not master, were compelled to have their names announced in the Gazette. What a wide field for reflection was there!

At length Mr. Brady arrived; and, after a short consultation with his clerk, the door of his room opened, and Mrs. Heartwell beheld a gentlemanly-looking man of about thirty years of age, whose firm-set frame gave evidence of strong muscular powers. His limbs were large, but yet in just proportion to the rest of his body; and a handsomely formed pair of legs were well displayed in tight black silk stockings. His features were of a repulsive cast: a round, bullet-head, with high cheek-bones and protruding bushy eyebrows that frowned above a pair of large but piercing black eyes, which, like the rattlesnake's, had something of fascination in them.

There is a world of language in the human eye that carries with it its own translation; and when Mrs. Heartwell saw the bright orbs of the lawyer as he looked round the room, a strange thrill came over her bosom—an indefinable sensation that sickened her very heart: she had never, to her recollection, seen Mr. Brady before that moment; yet the piercing keenness of his eyes was vividly pictured on her memory—they were familiar to the mind as having at some former period occasioned much distress, but where or when, or with what connexion, baffled remembrance was utterly at fault.

The lady tremblingly arose as the lawyer approached; but her agitation was considerably diminished when a voice, soft and gentle, and sweetly harmonious, requested her "to be seated," and she again resumed the chair; whilst Frank, overawed by the presence of Mr. Brady, took up a position nearly behind his mother so as scarcely to be seen, though he commanded a perfect view of all that was going on. The lawyer retired to the corner of the table, against which he reclined with his left hand resting on the corner; he raised his right to his chin, and fixing his eyes on the distressed lady, seemed to devote himself to mute attention.

Mrs. Heartwell told her name and related the cause of her visit, which drew forth no remark nor a single token that she was heard, till the narrative was ended, and even then he continued for a minute or two in deep and unmoved silence. At length he uttered in accents of soothing kindness—

"I trust, my dear lady, that you will not distress yourself unnecessarily. Affairs may not be so bad as you anticipate; and yet—" he paused for a moment, and then inquired, "Had Mr. Heartwell no friends in your neighbourhood on whom he could call in his way home?"

"We have but few acquaintances, sir, and but fewer friends," returned the lady mournfully; "besides, I am certain that my husband would not have willingly remained away from home all night."

"Was Mr. Heartwell at all addicted—you will excuse my putting so plain a question, nothing but the urgency of the occasion would compel me—but was Mr. Heartwell at all addicted to drinking—I mean so as to become inebriated?" inquired the lawyer.

"No, sir, never—never," said the lady firmly; "a better husband, a kinder father, a more sober man never existed—and these very qualities do but increase my fears for his safety."

"I am gratified to hear it," responded the lawyer. "Mr. Heartwell transacted business with me yesterday to a very large extent; we had some wine together, and what with his good fortune and the generous liquor, I must own he was somewhat elevated when we parted."

Mrs. Heartwell paused for a moment or two before she responded. The affection she had always cherished for her husband had produced unbounded confidence in all his actions: she knew that sailors were fond of the social glass, but she had never seen him indulge to excess, nor witnessed anything that could induce her to suppose that he had done so; and the thought that Mr. Brady implied, that he was drunk, went with thrilling anguish to her very soul, for it wounded her pride whilst it increased her fears. "Oh, do not say so, sir," said she; "do not say he was intoxicated; indeed he was ever too guarded to yield to intemperance."

Mrs. Heartwell and Frank's first interview with Mr. Brady.

London, Tilt & Bogue, Fleet Street

"You are labouring under error, my dear lady," said the lawyer mildly; "I did not say that he was intoxicated, but merely elevated—a single glass of wine when joy is overpowering the heart will oftentimes produce the semblance of inebriety. I know you are not aware of the whole fact, for he mentioned his intention to surprise you, and great was his gratification at the thoughts of it—the property of his uncle exceeded his expectations—the whole was converted into gold, and notes, and securities, to the amount of many thousand pounds; he received it in this office from an agent of the bank, and at nine o'clock last night, both himself and the bags were deposited in a hackney-coach—the number of which, I dare say, can be ascertained—though, probably, my clerk, who is very particular in all matters of business, may recollect it—and the coachman was ordered to drive to Ormond Street." The lawyer touched a bell, and the clerk entered. "Pray, Mr. Shipkins, do you remember the number of the coach in which Mr. Heartwell left here last night?"

"Four hundred and seventy-five," replied the clerk; "coachman, red face, carbuncle nose—small eyes—drab box-coat, with seven capes; each cape bound with scarlet—he held the light whilst we put in the bags."

The superior nodded, and the clerk withdrew. "Thus far then, my dear lady, it will not be difficult to trace your husband's progress; but it is necessary that we should claim the assistance of a magistrate."

Whilst these explanations were going on, Mrs. Heartwell felt almost crushed beneath the weight of perplexity that appeared to accumulate at every step. The mention of many thousand pounds as being in the possession of her husband had conjured up fearful visions; but when, in addition to this, she found that he was sent away in a coach alone, and that too in at least a state of elevation, her mind was wrought up to a pitch of indescribable anguish; she sprang from her chair, and wildly exclaimed, "It is but too plain, sir—it is but too plain! You send him in a coach with large sums of money. When he left me he mentioned his intention to surprise me—he would have returned—delightedly returned; but he has never been home—Oh my God, sustain me—he is dead—he is murdered!" and sinking back into her chair, she buried her face in her handkerchief, and sobbed hysterically, whilst little Frank clung to his mother, and fixing his tearful eyes upon Mr. Brady, who he supposed had caused her distress, he observed a twitching spasm convulse the lawyer's face, and a peculiar cast in one of his eyes, which had so fierce an expression as to terrify the lad, and which from that moment was never forgotten. The whole did but occupy a passing instant—the lawyer's face resumed its usual expression as he uttered,

"No, no, no; do not think that, my dear lady—do not give way to so horrid a thought. But come, no time should be lost." He started from the table and put on his hat. "We will walk to the nearest coach-stand, and proceed to Bow Street."

In accordance with this proposition they left the office; and Ben was despatched back to Ormond Street for the purpose of ascertaining whether anything had transpired during their absence, and with instructions to join his mistress with all expedition at Bow Street. The mother and son, with Mr. Brady, hastened to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where they found the very coach 475, in which the clerk had stated that the lieutenant had quitted the office the night before. The quick eye of Frank was the first to detect this; and he directly pointed it out to his mother, who at the first glance saw that the coachman perfectly answered the description given by Shipkins; and she would have instantly questioned him but for the request of Mr. Brady, who cautioned her to take no notice lest it might excite his suspicion. He called him off the stand to receive a fare.

"To Bow Street Police Office," said the lawyer, as the coachman stood waiting for orders; and the door was closed, the box mounted, and off he drove. But who can describe the sensations of the agitated wife as she entered and took her seat in the very vehicle in which it was alleged that her husband had been conveyed from the office of the lawyer! her whole frame trembled and her heart grew sick. Mr. Brady was not idle—he examined every nook and corner of the interior of the carriage in which the lady assisted him, and every spot on the padded cushions raised a horrible terror in her breast as she fancied that it might be blood; but they discovered nothing that could in the slightest degree elucidate the matter. On reaching their destination, the coachman was directed to wait for the purpose of conveying them back again.

The doors of the office were thronged with a miscellaneous assemblage of characters, principally of the lower classes; but there were also many well-dressed persons in the crowd, for the notorious pickpocket George Waldron, or, as he named himself, George Barrington, had that morning been brought up for examination, charged with stealing a purse of money and a gold watch from the person of a gentleman in Drury Lane Theatre, and numbers of curious individuals of all ranks were desirous of beholding a man who by education and manners was the finished gentleman, but in habit a confirmed thief.

Through this crowd the lawyer and his party pushed their way into the outer office; and what a scene was presented there!—squalid poverty in rags—maudlin sensibility awaking from intoxication, and feverish from the night's debauch—the bucks of fashion, as the dandies of that day were called, still labouring under the influence of liquor, and detained to answer for a midnight spree—the detected pickpocket glorying in the mechanism of his profession, and only ashamed that he should have practised the art so clumsily as to be caught: these and numerous others occupied distinct portions to themselves—attended by the various peace-officers and watchmen, who hoped to profit, and largely too, by their earnest zeal in protecting his Majesty's liege subjects from let, hindrance, and molestation.

The first object of Mr. Brady was to detain the coachman; and on applying to one of the superiors, an officer was promptly set to watch his movements, with orders to take him into custody should he attempt to drive away. But the jarvey did not manifest the slightest intention to depart, for he sat apparently contented on his seat eyeing the different groups, and perhaps moralising on the instability of human affairs—for men of sedentary habits are generally found to be moralists, however humble their pretensions.

The urgency of Mrs. Heartwell's case procured an immediate admission to the office where the magistrates were sitting; but as they were at that moment busily engaged, the party was requested to stand aside till the hearing was disposed of.

At the bar was a tall man of very genteel appearance, whose habit and demeanour might readily have introduced him to society as a highly respectable clergyman. He appeared to be about thirty years of age; his countenance was sedate and indicative of benevolence; but there was at the same time an arch look in his small sharp eyes that evidenced pleasantry and wit. His hair was frizzed out and powdered according to the fashion of the times, and a queue with a plentiful expenditure of black silk hung down behind. His left hand was raised to his face, and displayed amazingly long fingers ornamented with rings, and he bowed occasionally in the most graceful manner to Mr. Bond, the sitting magistrate, when he had to reply to questions that were put to him. At the entrance of Mrs. Heartwell, he had turned and cast a rapid but sharp glance at the lady; and for the moment his dark sallow complexion assumed a more sickly hue; but finding that she was a stranger, he politely inclined his head, and resumed his position.

This was Barrington, the notorious pickpocket; and near him stood, in remarkable contrast, a smart well-made dapper little man, sprucely dressed, with silver buckles in his shoes, both of which were brightly polished; his head combed smooth and straight, so that not a hair was misplaced or out of order, but with a "natty curl" on each side—much in the same way as in after years the friseur was accustomed to ornament his brown wig;—his eyes were keen and hawk-like; and diminutive as he was, there was a something in his manner which strongly marked him as a man not to be trifled with. This was the afterwards celebrated Townsend.

On the bench with the magistrates, were two or three noblemen and gentlemen in high life, who had been summoned to give evidence; and amongst them was the well-known Major Hanger and General St. John, who deposed to "the previous capture of the pickpocket at the Theatre, his being taken to the lobby and searched, and the purse and watch found upon him."

"Pardon me, General," said the prisoner, respectfully bowing; "your memory has not served you correctly—neither purse nor watch was found upon my person, for this very simple but convincing reason—they had never been there."

"I remember now," resumed the General; "they were not found upon your person, but upon the floor close to where you were taken into custody."

"And I saw you drop them," exclaimed Major Hanger, hastily interrupting the witness.

Barrington bowed his head in the most bland manner, and gracefully waving his hand, uttered with much seeming good-humour, "One at a time, gentlemen, if you please—it is neither fair nor honourable to try and crush a man whom misfortune loves to sport with."

It is not necessary to go through the whole of the examination, which proved that from the Theatre, Barrington had been conveyed to the Brown Bear in Bow Street, where he contrived to escape from the charge of the constable, and since then had been levying contributions in different parts of the country, assuming a variety of characters as best suited his purpose.

He was subsequently detected in a northern town, mingling in the first circles, and dexterously carrying on his depredations; from thence he was conveyed to the metropolis. The charge was considered sufficiently proven to commit; and this "king of thieves" was removed from the bar without evincing outwardly the slightest want of self-command.

As soon as he was gone, and the buzz arising from the conversation of the noblemen and gentlemen had subsided by their taking their departure, the next case was about to be called, when Mr. Brady earnestly solicited the private hearing of the magistrates for a few minutes, on a charge of some magnitude, involving, as it was supposed, the life and property of an officer in his Majesty's navy.

This was not spoken aloud, but only within the hearing of a few of the officers, and the request was promptly granted; Mr. Bond passed into a private room, where Mr. Brady having stated the case, Mrs. Heartwell was called in to give her deposition, which narrated every circumstance relative to the lieutenant's quitting his home the afternoon before, and promising "to be back early, and that he would then communicate something that would delight and astonish them." The lawyer and the magistrate looked earnestly at each other, for the former had mentioned that the circumstance of the officer having to receive considerable property had been concealed from the wife.

"Were you not at all acquainted with the object to which your husband alluded?" inquired Mr. Bond.

"Not to its full extent, sir," replied the lady; "I knew that he had business to transact with Mr. Brady, but was not informed of its purport, though I supposed it was in some measure connected with the decease of an uncle in the East Indies."

"My client," remarked the lawyer, "mentioned that his wife was not cognisant of the transactions between us; and he expressed great delight at the idea of communicating to her the intelligence that he was now able to raise his family to affluence."

"I must beg of you to compose yourself as much as possible, madam," said Mr. Bond with kindness; "the affair is certainly mysterious, but my best assistance shall be given."

The magistrate then went on with the examination, and Ben having in the mean time arrived, made his statement, corroborating that of his mistress—the lawyer also gave his testimony, and ultimately, the coachman was brought forward. His deposition went in substance to state, that "his name was Gervase Simpson, and on the night before, he had been hired off the stand in the 'Fields' shortly before nine o'clock, to take up a fare in Lincoln's Inn—that he went, and a middle-aged man brought out a light, which he held, whilst four or five small, but apparently heavy bags were put into the vehicle; the light was then taken away, and a navy officer came out with another gentleman; the former getting into the coach, and the latter bidding the navy officer 'good night,' told the deponent to drive to Ormond Street, and then he believed went in again. That he accordingly drove to Ormond Street, and felt the check-string pulled; he drew up, dismounted, and opened the door—the navy officer alighted, and having removed the bags, paid him his fare, and went down the street; but deponent took no further notice of his proceedings, remounted his box, and drove to the stand in Charles Street, Covent Garden. He then got another fare to the Borough, and afterwards went home to the stables at Newington."

"All this, if true, can easily be traced," said the magistrate; "it certainly is extremely mysterious—And the lieutenant did not go to his residence, nor has he been seen since? Was he a man of sober habits and reputable character?"

"Most unexceptionable in both," replied the lawyer; "it is true that he had taken a glass or two of wine, but he was perfectly master of his actions—though I cannot altogether account for his leaving the coach where he did."

"Pray," said the magistrate, addressing the coachman, "had you sufficient light or opportunity to observe the person of the officer?"

"Vy not exactly, your vurship," answered Jehu; "it vas wery dark in Linkun's Inn, and them lamps arn't much good, only to blind people; but I saw the glittering of his buttons and his hanger, and could jist make out he vas a tall man; but he vhipped in in sich a hurry, that I hadn't much time to notice; nor did I think of anything of this here kind happening, for as long as I'm civil and gets my full fare, your vurship, I seldom troubles myself about other consarns."

"But in Ormond Street," urged the magistrate, "there you possibly had better light and more time—what took place there?"

"Vell, your vurship, I've tould you all as I knows," responded the witness. "The lamps in Ormond Street arn't never no better nor the rest in regard of lighting—they're pretty much like an ould watchman's eye. I seed as he was an officer of the navy, but arter he tipped the fare, and there was somut handsome over and above the reglar, I was too busy reckoning my money to take much notice—he went off with the bags, some on 'em he had got tied up in a handkercher; but what he had in em' I never guv a moment's thought to."

"Was the officer sober?" inquired the magistrate.

"Vell, your vurship, it arn't ezactly clear vot sobriety is," answered the coachman; "he might or he might not, for I took no perticklar notice, only he seemed to valk avay steady enough. He guv me five shillings; I said 'Thanky, yer honor,' and he says 'Good night,' and that vos all."

"Should you know the gentleman again?" asked the lawyer, bending his keen gaze upon the man.

"Vy, yes, I think I should, if I vos to see him as I did last night," responded the coachman; "but daylight alters people's looks, and I shouldn't like to svear."

After other questions of no very material consequence, the magistrate decided that "the affair should be put into the hands of an experienced officer, who should thoroughly investigate the whole, and he would be ready to attend to any information as soon as it was obtained; but if no further light was thrown upon the transaction, and the lieutenant still remained absent, then he must request Mr. Brady to be in attendance at eleven o'clock the following morning, accompanied by his clerk, the bank agent, and all the evidence he could procure." In the mean time he recommended that intelligence should be given at the other offices, and diligent inquiry made at the hospitals; though in the first instance it would be best to commence the investigation in the neighbourhood of Ormond Street. Mr. Brady promised strict attention, and the parties withdrew.