The way led up a gutter to the peak of one slope, down that, up another and over to a cranny which formed about the back chimneys. The still moist tiles were, in fact, slippery and treacherous, and their movements were made with calculation and solicitude.
Smith, arriving the last at the top of the first peak, waited until the Egghead had descended and climbed in safety to the next ridge, glanced down the twenty feet of slippery slate, and, tempted, called out:
"Look out, fellows, I'm going to slide!"
The Goat and the Egghead, in unison, cried to him to desist, for the second ridge which ended the slope of the first had a downward inclination towards the edge of the roof that made it exceedingly dangerous.
Just how it happened has never been satisfactorily settled: whether Smith actually intended to slide or whether he lost his grip and started unwillingly. However it may be, Egghead and the Goat, astride the second ridge, were suddenly horrified to see Smith's naked body shoot down the slope, strike the moist incline at the bottom, and, bounding down that, with increased velocity disappear over the roof. They heard one thud and then another in the gravel path, three stories below.
The two clung to each other with a dreadful sinking feeling.
"He's dead," said the Goat, solemnly. "Poor old Smith is dead."
"Squashed like a bug," said the Egghead. "We won't even recognise his remains."
"Egghead, it's all our fault—all our fault."
"Shut up, Goat, and don't blubber."