“Bury her somewhere else. Do not think that you can pollute the ground—”
“Bartholomew!” I broke in, stepping hastily in front of Mr. Hines, for I had seen all the pink ebb out of his face, leaving it a dreadful sort of gray; and I had no desire to be witness of a murder, however much I might deem it justified.
“I’ll handle him,” said Mr. Hines steadily. “Now; you! You got my hundred in your jeans, ain’t you!”
“Bribery!” boomed the sexton. He drew out the roll of bills and let it fall from his contaminated fingers.
“Sure! Bribery,” railed the other. “What’d you think? Ain’t it enough for what I’m asking?” The two men glared at each other.
I broke the silence. “Exactly what are you asking, Mr. Hines?”
“File that”—he touched the document—“and forget it. Let Min rest out there as my wife, like she ought to have been.”
“Why didn’t you make her your wife?” thundered the accuser.
Some invisible thing gripped the corded throat of Mr. Hines. “Couldn’t,” he gulped. “There was—another. She wouldn’t divorce me.”
“Your sin has found you out,” declared the self-constituted judge of the dead with a dismal sort of relish.