“What has passed?” asked Hugh in a hollow voice.
“Murgh!” answered Dick, pointing to the dead man on the floor.
“Have you killed him, friend?”
“Ay, sure enough, as he strove to kill me,” and again he pointed, this time to the broken dagger.
Hugh made no answer, only seeing the writing on the table, took it up, and began to read like one who knows not what he does. Presently his eyes brightened and he said:
“What does this mean, I wonder. Hearken.”
“Rogue, you have cheated me as you cheat all men and now I follow her who has gone. Be sure, however, that you shall reap your reward in due season, de Noyon.”
“I know not,” said Dick, “and the interpreter is silent,” and he kicked the body of Basil. “Perhaps I was a little over hasty who might have squeezed the truth out of him before the end.”
“‘Her who is gone,’” reflected Hugh aloud. “‘Tis Red Eve who is gone and de Noyon is scarcely the man to seek her among passed souls. Moreover, the Jews swear that he rode from Avignon two days ago. Come, Dick, let that carrion lie, and to the plague pit.”
An hour later and they stood on the edge of that dreadful place, hearing and seeing things which are best left untold. A priest came up to them, one of those good men who, caring nothing for themselves, still dared to celebrate the last rites of the Church above the poor departed.