With slow, jerky movements, the guard raised his sword. He seemed to be obeying some other power than his own will.
Now came the decisive moment.
He carefully placed the sharp point of the sword against his throat, and seizing the handle in both hands, drove it in until several inches of the blade showed at the back of his neck!
With a choking gurgle, he fell forward on his face. His hands still clutched the hilt, and the point of the weapon glistened horribly among the hair that hung down over his shoulders.
Calaman looked down at him with calm indifference, as he ordered one of his men to take the remains away.
“You see,” he added, addressing Nick Carter. “The man is dead, yet I used no weapon. Can you better that, my stranger guests? It was my will that compelled him to kill himself, though he did not want to do it. He paid the penalty of his clumsiness.”
Nick Carter was disgusted, and he did not try to hide it. Looking the priest squarely in the eye, he frowned angrily.
“The trick is nothing,” he declared. “There are many men in my country who could have done as much, and more. In my opinion, the punishment you inflicted on that man was outrageous and cruel. It would not surprise me if you were called on to pay as heavy a penalty yourself.”
The priest shrugged his shoulders with a scornful smile.
“I treat my own as I please, stranger. The dog was mine, and when I willed him to die, he obeyed. Moreover, the Bolongus do not fear death.”