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the cemetery. Even the converted islanders shared the Lau religion’s fear of death. Few would willingly come near the bone-yard after dark.
    It was past midnight before Kella heard approaching footsteps and the creaking of wheels coming from the direction of the mission house. The sergeant shifted his position. He was feeling so stiff that he was sure that some of the corpses around him would be able to give him a start and beat him over a twenty yards sprint.
    Three figures approached through the gloom. One was undoubtedly Sister Conchita in her white robes. She was accompanied by two frightened young island sisters wearing the blue habits of the Daughters of Melanesia. With some difficulty, the American nun was carrying three spades. The two island girls were pushing a wheelbarrow carrying something long and bulky encased in woven mats.
    Kella looked on as the three women started inexpertly to dig a grave. For fifteen minutes they worked doggedly at their task. Maliciously Kella let them get a couple of feet down into the ground. He did not move until the sisters had lowered their spades and were lifting the bundle from the wheelbarrow. Then he stood up and walked quietly towards them. The Melanesians saw him first. They screamed, dropping the mats and their burden. The mats separated, dispersing their contents of darkened bones on the ground.
    ‘Place im e fall down no good too mas,’ said Kella, making one of his infrequent forays into pidgin. He translated for the benefit of the astounded Sister Conchita. ‘This is a bad place for a man to fall down.’
    The American recovered her self-possession quickly. ‘What is the meaning of this, Sergeant Kella?’ she demanded, in a voice that, for all her visible efforts, she was unable to prevent quavering. ‘You do realize that this is consecrated ground?’
    ‘An appropriate enough place for a skeleton,’ agreed Kella. He was on his hands and knees, reassembling the framework in some sort of rough order. Sister Conchita was silent for a moment.
    ‘How …’ she began uncertainly. ‘I mean …’
    ‘Bones,’ said Kella, not looking up, his fingers working busily. ‘Ever since I landed on the island two days ago I’ve been hearing nothing but bones. There was a suspicious death at a village near here after a bones curse had been placed on the dead man. A magic man came down from the high bush just to frighten me off with a bones tabu . When I reach the station I find that there are rumours that a bones curse has been put on something here as well. There’s only one place where a bones curse could really operate and that’s in a graveyard. So I decided to keep watch here for a couple of nights.’ He paused and then added, ‘Then there was the way you were behaving this afternoon.’
    ‘Me?’ asked Sister Conchita, startled.
    ‘You were apprehensive about something. You knocked over a glass when Father Pierre said that the priest was responsible for the safety of everyone on his station. When the father at the Santa Isabel mission spoke over the sked asking permission to bury a non-Christian in his cemetery, you looked really upset. That made me wonder whether you knew something about what was going on here.’
    ‘You’ve been very observant,’ said the nun in a small voice.
    ‘Believe me,’ said Kella grimly, ‘I haven’t even started yet.’
    His groping hands had found the skull. Quickly he turned it in his hands. At the back of the cranium there was the unmistakable indentation of a bullet hole.

LOFTY HERMAN
     
     
    ‘Kella wants a coffin,’ said Inspector Lorrimer.
    ‘Surely not?’ said Chief Superintendent Grice. ‘He can’t be more than thirty. Years ahead of him yet. More’s the pity.’
    ‘It’s not for him,’ said Lorrimer patiently. Grice sometimes overdid his bucolic act. ‘Apparently he’s found a corpse on Malaita.’
    ‘So what else is new?’ asked Grice dispiritedly.
    The two men were in the chief superintendent’s