Gently he turned it over, and they looked on a thin old face gone grey with more than age. "He can't be," said Urquhart. "He can't be. I didn't touch him." Peter said nothing. His eyes rested on the broken end of a chestnut-stick protruding from the faggot, dangling loose by its bark. Urquhart's glance followed his. "I see," said Urquhart quietly. "That did it.