“Male or female?”
“Didn’t I tell you it had been in the mire for a long time?”
“It must have had clothes on,” put in Mrs. Grimes stoutly. “Wouldn’t you know Ollie Baxter’s clothes if you—”
“Hasn’t got any clothes on. Not a stitch. Shoes or anything. It ain’t got anything on. Not even flesh.”
“A—a skeleton?” gulped the old lady.
“No clothes on?” demanded Mr. Sikes. “Then it can’t be Ollie. He had his new suit on.”
Mr. Link hesitated. “That detective says the chances are that whoever did the killing stripped the body and burnt the clothes,” he said slowly, weightily.
A longer silence than before. Mr. Link’s listeners seemed turned to stone. Finally Mr. Sikes moistened his stiff lips.
“What do you mean, Silas, by—by killing?”
“If you feel sort of squeamish, Serepty,” began Mr. Link considerately, “maybe you’d better—”