"Well," he resumed, turning to Christian, "how did you manage it? I should like to know."
Christian, who would also have been pleased to hear how a single man sets about plundering a trader's boat, stood at first speechless, but as he began to think how he would act under the specified circumstances, his imagination came to his help. He went to the stand near the door, where the axes were kept, and took the largest gimlet he could see. Then he took down his father's great sheep-skin, threw it on the bed, and after he had taken his stand in the middle of the room, began thus. "There lies the boat at anchor" (be pointed to the bed) "and there lies the skipper asleep" (he indicated the sheep-skin).
"Wait! Let me think!" interrupted the bailiff, whose brain worked slowly.
But Christian continued. "Here I stand on the shore, watching the boat. Then I consider. There lies a boat and here am I. Probably there is something at the bottom of the boat."
Christian, who was not accustomed to lie, came to a stop, for his awakening conscience urged him to flight and freedom. Fortunately the bailiff utilised this pause to get his ideas into order.
"Let me see," he said. "There lies the skipper, and there lies the gimlet. What had you to do with the gimlet?"
Christian knew well, but that was, for the present, his secret. "I throw myself into the sea, my legs are entangled in the weeds, I wrench myself loose, swim to the anchor-rope, take the gimlet and sink the boat."
"That is too fast, too fast! Wait! Where were we?" said the bailiff. "We sank the boat."
He dipped the wooden spoon into the jug of milk, and continued.
"Well, and the cargo sank too?"