he was. It was a bad
night, deceased was very wet, and took something to drink; he drank a
fairish amount, but not _that_ much, not more than a gentleman should
drink. Deceased was not drunk when he went away.

"He was drunk enough to leave his top-coat behind him, was he not?" the
coroner asked. "Did you not find this coat after he was gone?" and he
pointed to a poor masterless garment, that looked greener and more
outworn than ever as it hung over the back of a chair.

"Yes, deceased had certainly left his coat behind him, but he was not
drunk."

"There are different standards of drunkenness, gentlemen," said the
coroner, imitating as well as he might the facetious cogency of a real
judge, "and I imagine that the standard of the Merrymouth may be more
advanced than in some other places. I don't think"--and he looked
sarcastically at Westray--"I do _not_ think we need carry this inquiry
farther. We have a man who drinks, not an habitual drunkard, Mr
Ennefer says, but one who drinks enough to bring himself into a
thoroughly diseased state. This man sits fuddling in a low public-house
all the evening, and is so far overtaken by liquor when he goes away,
that he leaves his overcoat behind him. He actually leaves his coat
behind him, though we have it that it was a pouring wet night. He goes
to the organ-loft in a tipsy state, slips as he is getting on to his
stool, falls heavily with the back of his head on a piece of wood, and
is found dead some hours later by an unimpeachable and careful
witness"--and he gave a little sniff--"with his head still on this piece
of wood. Take note of that--when he was found his head was still on
this very pedal which had caused the fatal injury. Gentlemen, I do not
think we need any further evidence; I think your course is pretty
clear."

All was, indeed, very clear. The jury with a unanimous verdict of
accidental death put the colophon to the sad history of Mr Sharnall,
and ruled that the same failing which had blighted his life, had brought
him at last to a drunkard's end.

Westray walked back to the Hand of God with the forlorn old top-coat
over his arm. The coroner had formally handed it over to him. He was
evidently a close friend of the deceased, he would perhaps take charge
of his wearing apparel. The architect's thoughts were too preoccupied
to allow him to resent the sneer which accompanied these remarks; he
went off full of sorrow and gloomy forebodings.

De