Bert was down in the basement of the house limewashing a cellar. Crass called him up and gave him the necessary instructions, chief of which was to get back again as soon as ever he could. The boy ran off, and while they were waiting for him to come back the others went on with their several jobs. Philpot returned to the small gable he had been painting before breakfast, which he had not quite finished. As he worked a sudden and unaccountable terror took possession of him. He did not want to do that other gable; he felt too ill; and he almost resolved that he would ask Crass if he would mind letting him do something else. There were several younger men who would not object to doing it – it would be mere child’s play to them, and Barrington had already – yesterday – offered to change jobs with him.
But then, when he thought of what the probable consequences would be, he hesitated to take that course, and tried to persuade himself that he would be able to get through with the work all right. He did not want Crass or Hunter to mark him as being too old for ladder work.
Bert came back in about half an hour flushed and sweating with the weight of the rope and with the speed he had made. He delivered it to Crass and then returned to his cellar and went on with the limewashing, while Crass passed the word for Philpot and the others to come and raise the ladder. He handed the rope to Ned Dawson, who took it up to the attic, accompanied by Sawkins; arrived there they lowered one end out of the window down to the others.
‘If you ask me,’ said Ned Dawson, who was critically examining the strands of the rope as he passed it out through the open window. ‘If you ask me, I don’t see as this is much better than the one we made up by tyin’ the short pieces together. Look ’ere,’ – he indicated a part of the rope that was very frayed and worn – ‘and ’ere’s another place just as bad.’
‘Well, for Christ’s sake don’t say nothing about it now,’ replied Sawkins. ‘There’s been enough talk and waste of time over this job already.’
Ned made no answer and the end having by this time reached the ground, Bundy made it fast to the ladder, about six rungs from the top.
The ladder was lying on the ground, parallel to the side of the house. The task of raising it would have been much easier if they had been able to lay it at right angles to the house wall, but this was impossible because of the premises next door and the garden wall between the two houses. On account of its having to be raised in this manner the men at the top would not be able to get a straight pull on the rope; they would have to stand back in the room without being able to see the ladder, and the rope would have to be drawn round the corner of the window, rasping against the edge of the stone sill and the brickwork.
The end of the rope having been made fast to the top of the ladder, Crass and Harlow stood on the foot and the other three raised the top from the ground; as Barrington was the tallest, he took the middle position – underneath the ladder – grasping the rungs, Philpot being on his left and Bundy on his right, each holding one side of the ladder.
At a signal from Crass, Dawson and Sawkins began to haul on the rope, and the top of the ladder began to rise slowly into the air.
Philpot was not of much use at this work, which made it all the harder for the other two who were lifting, besides putting an extra strain on the rope. His lack of strength, and the efforts of Barrington and Bundy to make up for him caused the ladder to sway from side to side, as it would not have done if they had all been equally capable.
Meanwhile, upstairs, Dawson and Sawkins – although the ladder was as yet only a little more than half the way up – noticed, as they hauled and strained on the rope, that it had worn a groove for itself in the corner of the brickwork at the side of the window; and every now and then, although they pulled with all their strength, they were not able to draw in any part of the rope at all; and it seemed to them as if those others down below must have let go their hold altogether, or ceased lifting.
That was what actually happened. The three men found the weight so overpowering, that once or twice they were compelled to relax their efforts for a few seconds, and at those times the rope had to carry the whole weight of the ladder; and the part of the rope that had to bear the greatest strain was the part that chanced to be at the angle of the brickwork at the side of the window. And presently it happened that one of the frayed and worn places that Dawson had remarked about was just at the angle during one of those momentary pauses. On one end there hung the ponderous ladder, straining the frayed rope against the corner of the brickwork and the sharp edge of the stone sill, at the other end were Dawson and Sawkins pulling with all their strength, and in that instant the rope snapped like a piece of thread. One end remained in the hands of Sawkins and Dawson, who reeled backwards into the room, and the other end flew up into the air, writhing like the lash of a gigantic whip. For a moment the heavy ladder swayed from side to side: Barrington, standing underneath, with his hands raised above his head grasping one of the rungs, struggled desperately to hold it up. At his right stood Bundy, also with arms upraised holding the side; and on the left, between the ladder and the wall, was Philpot.
For a brief space they strove fiercely to support the overpowering weight, but Philpot had no strength, and the ladder, swaying over to the left, crashed down, crushing him upon the ground and against the wall of the house. He fell face downwards, with the ladder across his shoulders; the side that had the iron bands twisted round it fell across the back of his neck, forcing his face against the bricks at the base of the wall. He uttered no cry and was quite still, with blood streaming from the cuts on his face and trickling from his ears.
Barrington was also hurled to the ground with his head and arms under the ladder; his head and face were cut and bleeding and he was unconscious; none of the others was hurt, for they had all had time to jump clear when the ladder fell. Their shouts soon brought all the other men running to the spot, and the ladder was quickly lifted off the two motionless figures. At first it seemed that Philpot was dead, but [Easton rushed off for a neighbouring doctor, who came in a few minutes.
He knelt down and carefully examined the crushed and motionless form of Philpot, while the other men stood by in terrified silence.]
[Barrington, who fortunately was but momentarily stunned was sitting against the wall and had suffered nothing more serious than minor cuts and bruises.]
[The doctor’s examination of Philpot was a very brief one, and when he rose from his knees, even before he spoke they knew from his manner] that their worst fears were realized.
Philpot was dead.
47
The Ghouls
Barrington did not do any more work that day, but before going home he went to the doctor’s house and the latter dressed the cuts on his head and arms. Philpot’s body was taken away on the ambulance to the mortuary.
Hunter arrived at the house shortly afterwards and at once began to shout and bully because the painting of the gable was not yet commenced. When he heard of the accident he blamed them for using the rope, and said they should have asked for a new one. Before he went away he had a long, private conversation with Crass, who told him that Philpot had no relatives and that his life was insured for ten pounds in a society of which Crass was also a member. He knew that Philpot had arranged that in the event of his death the money was to be paid to the old woman with whom he lodged, who was a very close friend. The result of this confidential talk was that Crass and Hunter came to the conclusion that it was probable that she would be very glad to be relieved of the trouble of attending to the business of the funeral, and that Crass, as a close friend of the dead man, and a fellow member of the society, was the most suitable person to take charge of the business for her. He was already slightly acquainted with the old lady, so he would go to see her at once and get her authority to act on her behalf. Of course, they would not be able to do much until after the inquest, but they could get the coffin made – as Hunter knew the mortuary keeper there would be no difficulty about getting in for a minute to measure the corpse.
This matter having been arranged, Hunter departed to order a new rope, and shortly afterwards Crass – having made sure that everyone would have plenty to do while he was gone – quietly slipped away to go to see Philpot’s landlady. He went off so secretly that the men did not know that he had been away at all until they saw him come back just before twelve o’clock.
The new rope was brought to the house about one o’clock and this time the ladder was raised without any mishap. Harlow was put on to paint the gable, and he felt so nervous that he was allowed to have Sawkins to stand by and hold the ladder all the time. Everyone felt nervous that afternoon, and they all went about their work in an unusually careful manner.
When Bert had finished limewashing the cellar, Crass set him to work outside, painting the gate of the side entrance. While the boy was thus occupied he was accosted by a solemn-looking man who asked him about the accident. The solemn stranger was very sympathetic and inquired what was the name of the man who had been killed, and whether he was married. Bert informed him that Philpot was a widower, and that he had no children.
‘Ah, well, that’s so much the better, isn’t it?’ said the stranger shaking his head mournfully. ‘It’s a dreadful thing, you know, when there’s children left unprovided for. You don’t happen to know where he lived, do you?’
‘Yes,’ said Bert, mentioning the address and beginning to wonder what the solemn man wanted to know for, and why he appeared to be so sorry for Philpot since it was quite evident that he had never known him.
‘Thanks very much,’ said the man, pulling out his pocket-book and making a note of it. ‘Thanks very much indeed. Good afternoon,’ and he hurried off.
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Bert and he turned to resume his work. Crass came along the garden just as the mysterious stranger was disappearing round the corner.
‘What did he want?’ said Crass, who had seen the man talking to Bert.
‘I don’t know exactly; he was asking about the accident, and whether Joe left any children, and where he lived. He must be a very decent sort of chap, I should think. He seems quite sorry about it.’
‘Oh, he does, does he?’ said Crass, with a peculiar expression. ‘Don’t you know who he is?’
‘No,’ replied the boy; ‘but I thought p’raps he was a reporter of some paper.’
‘’E ain’t no reporter: that’s old Snatchum the undertaker. ’E’s smellin’ round after a job; but ’e’s out of it this time, smart as ’e thinks ’e is.’
Barrington came back the next morning to work, and at breakfast-time there was a lot of talk about the accident. They said that it was all very well for Hunter to talk like that about the rope, but he had known for a long time that it was nearly worn out. Newman said that only about three weeks previously when they were raising a ladder at another job he had shown the rope to him, and Misery had replied that there was nothing wrong with it. Several others besides Newman claimed to have mentioned the matter to Hunter, and each of them said he had received the same sort of reply. But when Barrington suggested that they should attend the inquest and give evidence to that effect, they all became suddenly silent and in a conversation Barrington afterwards had with Newman the latter pointed out that if he were to do so, it would do no good to Philpot. It would not bring him back but it would be sure to do himself a lot of harm. He would never get another job at Rushton’s and probably many of the other employers would ‘mark him’ as well.
‘So if you say anything about it,’ concluded Newman, ‘don’t bring my name into it.’
Barrington was constrained to admit that all things considered it was right for Newman to mind his own business. He felt that it would not be fair to urge him or anyone else to do or say anything that would injure themselves.
Misery came to the house about eleven o’clock and informed several of the hands that as work was very slack they would get their back day at pay time. He said that the firm had tendered for one or two jobs, so they could call round about Wednesday and perhaps he might then be able to give some of them another start. Barrington was not one of those who were ‘stood off’, although he had expected to be on account of the speech he had made at the Beano, and everyone said that he would have got the push sure enough if it had not been for the accident.
Before he went away, Nimrod instructed Owen and Crass to go to the yard at once: they would there find Payne the carpenter, who was making Philpot’s coffin, which would be ready for Crass to varnish by the time they got there.
Misery told Owen that he had left the coffin-plate and the instructions with Payne and added that he was not to take too much time over the writing, because it was a very cheap job.
When they arrived at the yard, Payne was just finishing the coffin, which was of elm. All that remained to be done to it was the pitching of the joints inside and Payne was in the act of lifting the pot of boiling pitch off the fire to do this.
As it was such a cheap job, there was no time to polish it properly, so Crass proceeded to give it a couple of coats of spirit varnish, and while he was doing this Owen wrote the plate, which was made of very thin zinc lacquered over to make it look like brass:
JOSEPH PHILPOT
Died
September 1st 19—
Aged 56 years.
The inquest was held on the following Monday morning, and as both Rushton and Hunter thought it possible that Barrington might attempt to impute some blame to them, they had worked the oracle and had contrived to have several friends of their own put on the jury. There was, however, no need for their alarm, because Barrington could not say that he had himself noticed, or called Hunter’s attention to the state of the rope; and he did not wish to mention the names of the others without their permission. The evidence of Crass and the other men who were called was to the effect that it was a pure accident. None of them had noticed that the rope was unsound. Hunter also swore that he did not know of it – none of the men had ever called his attention to it; if they had done so he would have procured a new one immediately.
Philpot’s landlady and Mr Rushton were also called as witnesses, and the end was that the jury returned a verdict of accidental death, and added that they did not think any blame attached to anyone.
The coroner discharged the jury, and as they and the witnesses passed out of the room, Hunter followed Rushton outside, with the hope of being honoured by a little conversation with him on the satisfactory issue of the case; but Rushton went off without taking any notice of him, so Hunter returned to the room where the court had been held to get the coroner’s certificate authorizing the interment of the body. This document is usually handed to the friends of the deceased or to the undertaker acting for them. When Hunter got back to the room he found that during his absence the coroner had given it to Philpot’s landlady, who had taken it with her. He accordingly hastened outside again to ask her for it, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.
Crass and the other men were also gone; they had hurried off to return to work, and after a moment’s hesitation Hunter decided that it did not matter much about the certificate. Crass had arranged the business with the landlady and he could get the paper from her later on. Having come to this conclusion, he dismissed the subject from his mind: he had several prices to work out that afternoon – estimates from some jobs the firm was going to tender for.
That evening, after having been home to tea, Crass and Sawkins met by appointment at the carpenter’s shop to take the coffin to the mortuary, where Misery had arranged to meet them at half past eight o’clock. Hunter’s plan was to have the funeral take place from the mortuary, which was only about a quarter of an hour’s walk from the yard; so tonight they were just going to lift in the body and get the lid screwed down.
It was blowing hard and raining heavily when Crass and Sawkins set out, carrying the coffin – covered with a black cloth – on their shoulders. They also took a small pair of tressels for the coffin to stand on. Crass carried one of these slung over his a
rm and Sawkins the other.
On their way they had to pass the ‘Cricketers’ and the place looked so inviting that they decided to stop and have a drink – just to keep the damp out, and as they could not very well take the coffin inside with them, they stood it up against the brick wall a little way from the side of the door: as Crass remarked with a laugh, there was not much danger of anyone pinching it. The Old Dear served them and just as they finished drinking the two half-pints there was a loud crash outside and Crass and Sawkins rushed out and found that the coffin had blown down and was lying bottom upwards across the pavement, while the black cloth that had been wrapped round it was out in the middle of the muddy road. Having recovered this, they shook as much of the dirt off as they could, and having wrapped it round the coffin again they resumed their journey to the mortuary, where they found Hunter waiting for them, engaged in earnest conversation with the keeper. The electric light was switched on, and as Crass and Sawkins came in they saw that the marble slab was empty.
The corpse was gone.
‘Snatchum came this afternoon with a hand-truck and a corfin,’ explained the keeper. ‘I was out at the time, and the missis thought it was all right so she let him have the key.’
Hunter and Crass looked blankly at each other.
‘Well, this takes the biskit!’ said the latter as soon as he could speak.
‘I thought you said you had settled everything all right with the old woman?’ said Hunter.
‘So I did,’ replied Crass. ‘I seen ’er on Friday, and I told ’er to leave it all to me to attend to, and she said she would. I told ’er that Philpot said to me that if ever anything ’appened to ’im I was to take charge of everything for ’er, because I was ’is best friend. And I told ’er we’d do it as cheap as possible.’
The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Page 68
