esn't it stand to sense that if 'e'd done it 'isself, he'd
a'most ha' blowed 'is 'ead off, leastways made a 'ole a lot bigger nor
that? And wot's more, there'd ha' been a 'ole on the other side, and
there wasn't any sign o' one."

"But perhaps it wasn't 'Arry Pole's skull?"

"Yes, it was. Why, where's the sense of its not bein'? I remember his
bein' buried as if it was yesterday, and I knowed the spot quite well.
And do you think it likely that two men 'ud be put in the same grave
both wi' rook bullets in their 'eads? If it wasn't 'Arry Pole, who was
it?"

"But wasn't all this gone into at the inquest?"

"Well, you see, it's over forty years since it 'appened; but I can
remember as the 'ole were looked into, and there was a good deal o' talk
at the time. There was two men as said they seed him wi' the gun in his
hand, and a mournful look on his face, like. And so, what wi' one thing
and another, when they couldn't find who else had killed him, they give
the verdict as he must ha' killed hisself. So, you see, they made it out
some'ow. But you'll never make me believe 'e did it 'isself--not after
I've seen that 'ole."

"I wonder who shot him," I said meditatively.

"Yes, and you'll 'ave to go on wondering till the Judgment Day. You'll
find out then. All I can tell yer is that it wasn't me, and it wasn't
Polly Towers. However, when I found his skull I didn't break it as I do
wi' most on 'em. I just kep' it in a bag and put it back when I filled
in the grave.

"But you were askin' me about Parson. Well, I telled him the state o'
the churchyard when he come to the living. At first he took it pretty
easy. 'Hide 'em as far as you can, Johnny,' he says to me. 'And remember
there's this great consolation--they'll all be sorted out on the
Judgment Day.'

"But one day something 'appened as give Parson a pretty start. It was
one of these chaps in motors, I reckon, as did it. I see him one
Saturday night rootin' about the churchyard and lookin' behind them
laurels where I used to pitch all the bits and bobs of bone as I see
lying about. I've often wished I'd took the number on his motor, and
then we'd ha' catched him fine! But he was a gentlemanly-looking young
feller, and I didn't suspect nothing at the time.

"Well, next morning, when Parson comes to read the Service, what do you
think he found? Why, there was a man's thigh-bone, large as life, stuck
in the middle of the big Prayer-Book at the Psalms for the day. Then,