After the Inquest Page #3

"After the Inquest" by W. W. Jacobs is a captivating short story that explores themes of mystery, human folly, and the consequences of actions taken in haste. Following a peculiar incident that leads to an inquest, the narrative delves into the reactions and motivations of the characters involved. Jacobs, known for his wit and humor, skillfully intertwines elements of suspense and irony, ultimately revealing deeper truths about human nature and the complexities of social interactions. The story showcases his signature style, blending humor with a touch of the macabre, making it a memorable read.

• Fiction

								

large. S’pose you go in the other bunk, Jemmy. It’s a good bit higher
than this, and you’d get more air and be more comfortable altogether.”

“Joe wouldn’t like it, mum,” said the boy anxiously. The last glimpse
he had had of the skipper’s face did not make him yearn to share his
bed with him.

“Stuff an’ nonsense!” said Mrs. Harbolt hotly. “Who’s Joe, I’d like to
know? Out you come.”

“I can’t move, mum,” said Jemmy firmly.

“Nonsense!” said the lady. “I’ll just put it straight for you first,
then in it you go.”

“No, don’t, mum,” shouted Jemmy, now thoroughly alarmed at the success
of his plot. “There, there’s a gentleman in that bunk. A gentleman we
brought from London for a change of sea air.”

“My goodness gracious!” ejaculated the surprised Mrs. Harbolt. “I never
did. Why, what’s he had to eat?”

“He—he—didn’t want nothing to eat,” said Jemmy, with a woeful disregard
for facts.

“What’s the matter with him?” inquired Mrs. Harbolt, eyeing the bunk
curiously. “What’s his name? Who is he?”

“He’s been lost a long time,” said Jemmy, “and he’s forgotten who he
is—he’s a oldish man with a red face an’ a little white whisker all
round it—a very nice-looking man, I mean,” he interposed hurriedly. “I
don’t think he’s quite right in his head, ’cos he says he ought to have
been buried instead of someone else. Oh!”

The last word was almost a scream, for Mrs. Harbolt, staggering back,
pinched him convulsively.

“Jemmy!” she gasped, in a trembling voice, as she suddenly remembered
certain mysterious hints thrown out by the mate. “Who is it?”

“The captain!” said Jemmy, and, breaking from her clasp, slipped from
his bed and darted hastily on deck, just as the pallid face of his
commander broke through the blankets and beamed anxiously on his wife.

Five minutes later, as the crew gathered aft were curiously eyeing the
foc’s’le, Mrs. Harbolt and the skipper came on deck. To the great
astonishment of the mate, the eyes of the redoubtable woman were
slightly wet, and, regardless of the presence of the men, she clung
fondly to her husband as they walked slowly to the cabin. Ere they went
below, however, she called the grinning Jemmy to her, and, to his
private grief and public shame, tucked his head under her arm and
kissed him fondly.
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