And he made no answer.
Suddenly, hearing a great cry as of a man that is at the point of death, they ran in the direction whence the cry came, saying:
“Hold on, we are coming to the rescue!”
But they were long before they found their comrade, for some said the cry came from the valley, others that it came from the highest dune.
At length, when they had well searched dune and valley with their lanterns, they found their comrade bitten in the leg and in the arm, from behind, and his neck broken like the other victims.
Lying on his back, he was holding his sword in his clenched fist; his musket was on the sand. By his side were three severed fingers, which they carried off, and which were not his fingers. His pouch had been taken.
They took up on their shoulders their comrade’s body, his good sword, and his gallant musket, and grieved and angry, they carried the corpse to the bailiff’s where the bailiff received them in the company of the clerk of the court, two aldermen, and two surgeons.
The severed fingers were examined and recognized as the fingers of an old man, who was no worker at any trade, for the fingers were long and tapering, and the nails were long as the nails of lawyers and churchmen.
Next day the bailiff, the aldermen, the clerk, the surgeons, and the soldiers went to the place where the poor slain man had been bitten, and saw that there were drops of blood upon the grass and footmarks that went as far as the sea, where they ceased.