Sergeant Colon nodded.
'So you've seen a lot of corpses, right, when you've been ministering to the fallen—'
Corporal Nobbs nodded. They both knew that 'ministering' meant harvesting any personal jewellery and stealing their boots. In many a faraway battlefield the last thing many a mortally wounded foeman ever saw was Corporal Nobbs heading towards him with a sack, a knife and a calculating expression.
'Shame to let good stuff go to waste,' said Nobby.
'So you've noticed how dead bodies get. . . deader,' said Sergeant Colon.
'Deader than dead?'
'You know. More corpsey,' said Sergeant Colon, forensic expert.
'Goin' stiff and purple and suchlike?'
'Right.'
'And then sort of manky and runny . . .'
'Yes, all right—'
'Makes it easier to get the rings off, mind you—'
'The point is, Nobby, that you can tell how old a corpse is. That clown, for e.g. You saw him, same as me. How long, would you say?'
'About 5' 9", I'd say. His boots didn't fit, I know that. Too floppy.'
'I meant how long he'd been dead.'
'Couple of days. You can tell because there's this—'
'So how come Boffo saw him yesterday morning?'
They strolled onwards.
'Bit of a poser, that is,' said Nobby.
'You're right. I expect the captain'll be very interested.'
'Maybe he was a zombie?'
'Shouldn't think so.'
'Never could stand zombies,' Nobby mused.
'Really?'
'It was always so hard to nick their boots.'
Sergeant Colon nodded at a passing beggar.
'You still doing the folk dancing on your nights off, Nobby?'
'Yes, Fred. We're practising “Gathering Sweet Lilacs” this week. There is a very complicated double crossover-step.'
'You're definitely a man of many parts, Nobby.'
'Only if I couldn't cut the rings off, Fred.'