‘What do you think, a cow?’
Arthur poked the skull with his stick. ‘Possibly, or a large hound.’
‘Strange, sitting here in the middle of an empty moor. A deer I could understand. I wonder how it got here.’ James puffed on his pipe.
‘Well, let’s have a closer look. The evidence is all there, we just have to deduce what it means.’
A stiff breeze caused Arthur to place his hand on his deerstalker hat to stop it blowing away as he bent down to inspect the skull.
‘I do wonder why you insist on wearing that thing. We’re not hunting any deer.’
‘One is always on the hunt, James, even if it is just for a good topic to write about.’
Arthur picked up the skull, next to it lay one or two bones from the unfortunate beast.
‘Well?’ James asked.
Arthur shrugged, ‘Beats me. Probably died of…
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