"Inherited the family pile on the Isle of Skye, filled it with books, and prefers them to people. That's why he didn't come south for my wedding. I shan't be surprised if he misses my funeral as well." It had been said in jest.

There were voices in the kitchen, where food was being collected as friends and neighbors brought dishes along with their sympathy.

The day dragged on, and at one point, Rutledge found himself speaking to the rector of St. Paul's, Chaswell's church.

"Scotland Yard, are you?" Mr. Gramling asked. When Rutledge nodded, he went on, "I understand you are here in your capacity as a friend, not as a policeman? Good. Then you'll be pleased to hear that I've determined that Captain Hume died while his mind was overcome by his suffering. Wounds take many forms," he said to Rutledge with a perfectly straight face. "I see no reason why he may not be buried in holy ground."

"I'm glad to hear it," Rutledge responded. It was something that had been on his mind most of the afternoon. There would of course be an inquest. Someone else had brought that up. But he had hoped for Rosemary's sake that it would be reasonably considerate of her feelings. "I hope that I shan't be required to give evidence." Hume's letter was still in his pocket. He had no intention of reading it aloud at an inquest.

"I see no reason to impose on your personal grief," Mr. Gramling agreed, understanding Rutledge's unspoken message. "He regularly attended services with his wife, even when he couldn't hear what was being said. I could consider that a proof, if we need it, that he was sound of mind and spirit. Mr. Hume did not fail in his duty to the church, and the church will not fail in its duty to him."

"I consider that very enlightened of you," he said, and Gramling smiled.

He was a short, stout man with heavy shoulders. Just beginning to gray, he had deep-set dark eyes under thick eyebrows, lending him a sinister look until he smiled. "I don't hold with judging my flock. I see no reason to usurp God's right." He paused, then added, "Max and I spoke from time to time. Often on a tablet of paper I kept in my desk. I burned the sheets afterward. I considered him a friend."