“Only papers on the unfortunate man, I see,” said Lightwood, glancing from the description of what was found, to the finder.
“Only papers.”
Here the girl arose with her work in her hand, and went out at the door.
“No money,” pursued Mortimer; “but threepence in one of the skirt-pockets.”
“Three. Penny. Pieces,” said Gaffer Hexam, in as many sentences.
“The trousers pockets empty, and turned inside out.”
Gaffer Hexam nodded. “But that’s common. Whether it’s the wash of the tide or no, I can’t say. Now, here,” moving the light to another similar placard, “ his pockets was found empty, and turned inside out. And here,” moving the light to another, “ her pocket was found empty, and turned inside out. And so was this one’s. And so was that one’s. I can’t read, nor I don’t want to it, for I know ’em by their places on the wall. This one was a sailor, with two anchors and a flag and G. F. T. on his arm. Look and see if he warn’t.”
“Quite right.”
“This one was the young woman in grey boots, and her linen marked with a cross. Look and see if she warn’t.”
“Quite right.”
“This is him as had a nasty cut over the eye. This is them two young sisters what tied themselves together with a handkecher. This the drunken old chap, in a pair of list slippers and a nightcap, wot had offered—it afterwards come out—to make a hole in the water for a