"Just bones, my dear. A skeleton. Under three feet of leaf mould. And some shreds of cloth."
"And his pen?"
"That was separate," he said carefully.
"You mean, it-had been-that it had been thrown down after?"
"Not necessarily, but-probably."
"I see."
"I don't know whether you will find it comforting or not-I think it is-but the police surgeon is of the opinion that he was not alive-or perhaps it would be more accurate to say not conscious-when he — "
"When he was thrown over," Bee said for him.
"Yes. The nature of the skull injury, I understand, leads him to that conclusion."
"Yes. Yes, I am glad, of course. He probably knew nothing about it. Just ended quite happy on a summer afternoon."