returning home from his visit to town yesterday, might have found
himself robbed, his place pilfered and, in his angst, knocked over a
lantern or, worse, suffered a stroke in the ensuing panic.

"Can a coroner establish if heart failure occurred prior to
asphyxiation?" he found himself muttering half-absentmindedly.

Jake was hoping so. Gingerly, he fingered memories of what he would
have done had Scot returned the night as intended. Still, if all held
true, there was nothing to implicate him, even if Humboldt had died
unexpectedly. Jake was in the process of reassuring himself. All had
been taken care of. Scot dead and now the car a convenient
shambles--the only possible source of clues or evidence. How tidy fate
had been. Strange. If only he had managed to get the money prior to
Scot inadvertently doing away with himself. He smiled, how lucky he had
been. Especially now, that Humboldt, too, was dead of God knows what
and he, he was no worse off for his pains. He still might locate a
cache or two on the property when all this blew over.

The other side of Jake's personality was now exerting itself, the
peasant cunning of folk long inured to the earth's rhythmic cycles. He
knew of the officer's steady gaze and his ploy. The officer was playing
it smart, letting Jake see all the possibilities when asking his
opinion. First mention the near likelihood of a robbery but be vague on
the question of accomplices. And, of course, the question of the
necessary instigation. Jake was wondering if he were looking a little
too detached from his friend's death. A little too sincere? Then there
was the issue of a second coroner if the evidence seemed inconclusive.
Wild fantasies swept through his now activated brain. Did he dare?
Might he risk it? Would the officer be ... well receptive to a little
more ... er fact finding? And the best way to approach him? Hmmm.

Jake stared at the charred hulk of a bedpost. Humboldt's? The long
deceased sister probably. He couldn't rightly tell but did recall
Humboldt hadn't removed the bedding at the time of her death. Either
way, he mused, he would have to let events take their course or steer
them back his way at once. He pressed his manured boot over a darkened
brick kicking it free.

"Am I free, uh, to go?" Jake asked the constable.

"Free to go, why, why shouldn't you be Mr. Wright?"

THE SANDPIT

Bertrand had been surprised by the recoil of his father's rifle. He had
not prepared