The Breton bent near to him, and the chain with the Great Seal of the Tien Tu Hin was hung around his neck.
“Never take it off,” the dying man whispered hoarsely. “I—I—command.” His eyes closed and the pallor of death came upon him.
The priest leaned close; all listened, for the speech of the derelict was precious.
His lips moved, and the Breton bending closer heard:
“Alice——”
And so he died.
The priest on his knees held his crucifix over the body of the derelict.
Hours passed, and still the Breton did not move. The stillness in the room was unbroken, and the men crouching upon the floor hardly breathed. The only sounds were the weird flight of wild fowl as they winged their way through the night.
A cock crowed.
Night was ending, and the priest, rising, stood before the men with the Great Symbol glittering on his breast. Thrice again the men struck their foreheads upon the earthen floor.