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where they put the coffin when they bring it in.”
    Carolus looked about him. He was in a church-like building with a chancel in which was a curious structure for the coffin. Beyond it was something in the shape of an altar with a brass cross and two candlesticks. Seeing him looking at this, the man beside him explained.
    â€œThey can have the cross or not, just as they like. A lot on the free-thinking side don’t care for it, but there’s others that do. Same with the parson. You don’t
have
to have him. A good many of them like to read out bits of poetry or something of the sort for themselves. It’s all according. But Grossiter’s lots C of E. They’re having hymns and that. The organ’s at the back and there’s a choir of four—three ladies and a man. Mr. Pye’s the organist and I always think he’s a bit loud. I’d like a bit more hush about it. Well, I must run along now. The hearse’ll be here any minute.”
    It was a quarter of an hour, however, before the coffin was carried in, followed by the two brothers Neast, and some way behind them came a tall dark man with huge hands and feet whom Carolus took to be Darkin. All three of them looked unctuously solemn. There was no one else.
    As well as he could, Carolus examined the brothers Neast. He had watched their faces only in profile as they passed, .and now could see no more than the backs of their heads. Both had thick dark hair growing far down their necks, both had long narrow heads and rather prominent ears. But otherwise there seemed little resemblance. One, who was tall and narrow-shouldered, was pale and somewhat saturnine. The other, much shorter, looked powerful and heavy and had a red bad-tempered face. They wore, Carolus guessed for the first time, stiff uncomfortable suits of black with starched collars and black ties.
    The organ finished playing the Dead March and a form of funeral service was read by a sleek little parson in a surplice. Its climax came when the coffin which, it now appeared, was on an electrically-operated lift, began to disappear slowly into regions below, and the words of the parson took a consolatory and resurrectionary turn. It was all rather unpleasant.
    Carolus waited until the brothers and Darkin had left the building, then came out in time to see them getting into a Rolls Royce driven by Darkin—the property of the late Mr. Grossiter, Carolus suspected.
    Carolus found his recent friend standing beside him.
    â€œI don’t know how you feel,” the man said. “But if you were thinking of a drink, there’d just be time for me to come down with you to Feathers and get back before the next lot. If we was to go in that car of yours.”
    Carolus nodded and they walked towards the car park.
    â€œReverend Gillow brings a thermos when we’ve got two on in one morning, and Mr. Pye’s a teetotaler. But I must say I find a drop helps you through it, though I don’t always get a chance.”
    They pulled up at the Feathers and found themselves alone in a small bar divided from the saloon by a partition.
    â€œWas you a friend of the departed, sir? Or of those brothers Neast?”
    â€œNeither, really. I wanted to see a cremation.”
    The man laughed.
    â€œWell, you’ve seen one,” he said. “Funny turn-out, isn’t it? I shouldn’t like it, not for myself I wouldn’t. I told the wife, I want to be buried when my time comes. I can’t understand people asking to be frizzled up like that. Can you?”
    â€œThere may be reasons sometimes,” Carolus said.
    â€œYou mean if there’s anything funny about the way they’ve gone? There’s always that. I believe if the police could stop it altogether, they would. Look at the evidence that may get destroyed.”
    Carolus said nothing and the man began to talk about the ceremony just completed.
    â€œThey haven’t paid for it yet,” he