"Why should we?"
He put his hand wearily to his head. His face was very pale, and his eyes were bright and big with dark rings round them.
"No, you wouldn't bring them, I know, but they'll come all the same! I'm wanted. Wanted by the police. They're after me!"
"Oh, Bevis, don't talk like this! No police want you. Why don't you go home?"
"Go home! Go to Chagmouth! His ghost would stop me! Tell me, where have they buried him?"
"Buried whom?"
"Why, Tudor Williams of course—the poor boy that I murdered."
"But Tudor's all right. He wasn't really much hurt. He walked home."
Bevis stared searchingly at Mavis, then shook his head.
"I know he's dead. It's no use telling me he isn't. I murdered him. Haven't I heard the bell tolling for his funeral? It never stops. I tell you it never stops. I hear it night and day, and I feel like Cain!"