Ellis sighs. No, no value in the corpse. Some muted urge demands that Ellis try to give Mr. Bradshaw some kind of dignity in death, but ignoring it, he digs the coin out of his pocket to hold it up for her to see.

"A coin."

Blood-smeared. Ellis hasn't tried to clean it. His palm is crusted over already, and he'll deal with the slash in the carriage.

"Not very imaginative, but at least it's easily portable."

And they can give it to Mr. Roscoe to examine. Ellis has a spell he could try, but he'd rather leave off. They've done enough.

"Do you want some whiskey?" Ellis asks her abruptly, as if just remembering that they might want to celebrate being alive or take the edge off nearly dying.