“What’s up?  What’s the matter?” demanded several voices.

“It’s Joe—­poor Joe Gibbs,” said Mr. Kidd.  “I was on Smith’s wharf shifting that lighter to the next berth, and, o’ course Joe must come aboard to help.  He was shoving her off with ’is foot when—­”

He broke off and shuddered and, accepting a mug of beer, pending the arrival of some brandy that a sympathizer had ordered, drank it slowly.

“It all ’appened in a flash,” he said, looking round.  “By the time I ’ad run round to his end he was just going down for the third time.  I hung over the side and grabbed at ’im, and his collar and tie came off in my hand.  Nearly went in, I did.”

He held out the collar and tie; and approving notice was taken of the fact that he was soaking wet from the top of his head to the middle button of his waistcoat.

“Pore chap!” said the landlord, leaning over the bar.  “He was in ’ere only ’arf an hour ago, standing in this very bar.”

“Well, he’s ‘ad his last drop o’ beer,” said a carman in a chastened voice.

“That’s more than anybody can say,” said the landlord, sharply.  “I never heard anything against the man; he’s led a good life so far as I know, and ’ow can we tell that he won’t ’ave beer?”

He made Mr. Kidd a present of another small glass of brandy.

“He didn’t leave any family, did he?” he inquired, as he passed it over.

“Only a wife,” said Mr. Kidd; “and who’s to tell that pore soul I don’t know.  She fair doated on ’im.  ’Ow she’s to live I don’t know.  I shall do what I can for ’er.”

“Same ’ere,” said Mr. Brown, in a deep voice.

“Something ought to be done for ’er,” said the carman, as he went out.

“First thing is to tell the police,” said the landlord.  “They ought to know; then p’r’aps one of them’ll tell her.  It’s what they’re paid for.”

“It’s so awfully sudden.  I don’t know where I am ’ardly,” said Mr. Kidd.  “I don’t believe she’s got a penny-piece in the ’ouse.  Pore Joe ’ad a lot o’ pals.  I wonder whether we could’nt get up something for her.”

“Go round and tell the police first,” said the landlord, pursing up his lips thoughtfully.  “We can talk about that later on.”

Mr. Kidd thanked him warmly and withdrew, accompanied by Mr. Brown.  Twenty minutes later they left the station, considerably relieved at the matter-of-fact way in which the police had received the tidings, and, hurrying across London Bridge, made their way towards a small figure supporting its back against a post in the Borough market.

“Well?” said Mr. Gibbs, snappishly, as he turned at the sound of their footsteps.

“It’ll be all right, Joe,” said Mr. Kidd.  “We’ve sowed the seed.”

“Sowed the wot?” demanded the other.

Mr. Kidd explained.

“Ho!” said Mr. Gibbs.  “An’ while your precious seed is a-coming up, wot am I to do?  Wot about my comfortable ’ome?  Wot about my bed and grub?”