And here also my sense of humour came to my aid; gave me perhaps an undue advantage over my competitors. Twelve good men and true had been asked to say how a Lascar sailor had met his death. It was perfectly clear how he had met his death. A plumber, working on the roof of a small two-storeyed house, had slipped and fallen on him. The plumber had escaped with a few bruises; the unfortunate sailor had been picked up dead. Some blame attached to the plumber. His mate, an excellent witness, told us the whole story.
“I was fixing a gas-pipe on the first floor,” said the man. “The prisoner was on the roof.”
“We won't call him 'the prisoner,'” interrupted the coroner, “at least, not yet. Refer to him, if you please, as the 'last witness.'”
“The last witness,” corrected himself the man. “He shouts down the chimney to know if I was ready for him.”
“'Ready and waiting,' I says.”
“'Right,' he says; 'I'm coming in through the window.'”
“'Wait a bit,' I says; 'I'll go down and move the ladder for you.”
“'It's all right,' he says; 'I can reach it.'”
“'No, you can't,' I says. 'It's the other side of the chimney.'”
“'I can get round,' he says.”