Inspector, “see how it works round upon him. It’s a wild tempestuous evening when this man that was,” stooping to wipe some hailstones out of his hair with an end of his own drowned jacket, “⁠—there! Now he’s more like himself; though he’s badly bruised⁠—when this man that was, rows out upon the river on his usual lay. He carries with him this coil of rope. He always carries with him this coil of rope. It’s as well known to me as he was himself. Sometimes it lay in the bottom of his boat. Sometimes he hung it loose round his neck. He was a light-dresser was this man;⁠—you see?” lifting the loose neckerchief over his breast, and taking the opportunity of wiping the dead lips with it⁠—“and when it was wet, or freezing, or blew cold, he would hang this coil of line round his neck. Last evening he does this. Worse for him! He dodges about in his boat, does this man, till he gets chilled. His hands,” taking up one of them, which dropped like a leaden weight, “get numbed. He sees some object that’s in his way of business, floating. He makes ready to secure that object. He unwinds the end of his coil that he wants to take some turns on in his boat, and he takes turns enough on it to secure that it shan’t run out. He makes it too secure, as it happens.