Call over and swear the Jury! While the ceremony is in progress, sensation is created by the entrance of a chubby little man in a large shirt-collar, with a moist eye, and an inflamed nose, who modestly takes a position near the door as one of the general public, but seems familiar with the room too. A whisper circulates that this is Little Swills. It is considered not unlikely that he will get up an imitation of the Coroner, and make it the principal feature of the Harmonic Meeting in the evenlng.
“Well, gentlemen—” the coroner begins.
“Silence there, will you!” says the beadle. Not to the Coroner, though it might appear so.
“Well, gentlemen,” resumes the Coroner. “You are impanelled here, to inquire into the death of a certain man. Evidence will be given before you, as to the circumstances attending that death, and you will give your verdict according to the — skittles; they must be stopped, you know, beadle! — evidence, and not according to anything else. The first thing to be done, is to view the body.”
“Make way there!” cries the beadle.
So they go out in a loose procession, something after the manner of a straggling funeral, and make their inspection in Mr Krook’s back second floor, from which a few of the Jurymen retire pale and precipitately. The beadle is very careful that two gentlemen not very neat about the cuffs and buttons (for whose accommodation he has provided a special little table near the Coroner, in the Harmonic Meeting Room), should see all that is to be seen. For they are the public chroniclers of such inquiries, by the line; and he is not superior to the universal human infirmity, but hopes to read in print what “Mooney, the active and intelligent beadle of the district,” said and did; and even aspires to see the name of Mooney as familiarly and patronizingly mentioned as the name of the Hangman is, according to the latest examples.
Little Swills is waiting for the Coroner and Jury on their return. Mr Tulkinghorn, also. Mr Tulkinghorn is received with distinction, and seated near the Coroner; between that high judicial officer, a bagatelle board, and the coal-box. The inquiry proceeds. The Jury learn how the subject of their inquiry died, and learn no more about him. “A very eminent solicitor is in attendance, gentlemen,” says the Coroner, “who, I am informed, was accidentally present, when discovery of the death was made; but he could only repeat the evidence you have already heard from the surgeon, the landlord, the lodger, and the law- stationer; and it is not necessary to trouble him. Is anybody in attendance who knows anything more?”
Mrs Piper pushed forward by Mrs Perkins. Mrs Piper sworn.
Anastasia Piper, gentlemen. Married woman. Now, Mrs Piper — what have you got to say about this?
Why, Mrs Piper has a good deal to say, chiefly in parentheses and without punctuation, but not much to tell. Mrs Piper lives in the court (which her husband is a cabinet-maker) and it has long been well beknown among the neighbours (counting from the day next but one before the half-baptizing of Alexander James Piper aged eighteen months and four days old on accounts of not being expected to live such was the sufferings gentlemen of that child in his gums) as the Plaintive — so Mrs Piper insists on calling the deceased — was reported to have sold himself. Thinks it was the Plaintive’s air in which that report originatinin. See the Plaintive often, and considered as his air was feariocious, and not to be allowed to go about some children being timid (and if doubted hoping Mrs Perkins may be brought forard for she is here and will do credit to her husband and herself and family). Has seen the Plaintive wexed and worrited by the children (for children they will ever be and you cannot expect them specially if of playful dispositions to be Methoozellers which you was not yourself). On accounts of this and his dark looks has often dreamed as she see him take a pick-axe from his pocket and split Johnny’s head (which the child knows not fear and has repeatually called after him close at his eels). Never however see the plaintive take a pickaxe or any other wepping far from it. Has seen him hurry away when run and called after as if not partial to children and never see him speak to neither child nor grown person at any time (excepting the boy that sweeps the crossing down the lane over the way round the corner which if he was here would tell you that he has been seen a speaking to him frequent).