that
which they took away. Therefore, his purpose was not fully accomplished
when he had dressed the dead smith in the clothes of the Orleans prince.
Else had he wished it, he could have consigned his victim to the tide.

But Adam--dead--had now to play a part in the grim comedy which Sir
Marmaduke de Chavasse had designed for his own safety, and the more
assured success of all his frauds and plans.

Therefore, after a brief rest, the murderer set to work again. A more
grim task yet! one from which of a truth more than one evil-doer would
recoil.

Not so this bold schemer, this mad worshiper of money and of self.
Everything! anything for the safety of Sir Marmaduke de Chavasse, for
the peaceful possession of L500,000.

Everything! Even the desecration of the dead!

The murderer was powerful, and there is a strength which madness gives.
Heavy boulders pushed by vigorous arms had to help in the monstrous
deed!

Heavy boulders thrown and rolled over the face of the dead, so as to
obliterate all identity!

Nay! had a sound now disturbed the silence of this awesome night, surely
it had been the laughter of demons aghast at such a deed!

The moon indeed hid her face, retreating once more behind the veils of
mist. The breeze itself was lulled and the fog gathered itself together
and wrapped the unavowable horrors of the night in a gray and ghoul-like
shroud.

Madness lurked in the eyes of the sacrilegious murderer. Madness which
helped him not only to carry his grim task to the end, but, having
accomplished it, to see that it was well done.

And his hand did not tremble, as he raised the lantern and looked down
on _that_ which had once been Adam Lambert, the smith.

Nay, had those laughing demons looked on it, they would have veiled
their faces in awe!

The gentle wavelets of the torpid tide were creeping round that thing in
red doublet and breeches, in high top boots, lace cuffs and collar.

Sir Marmaduke looked down calmly upon his work, and did not even shudder
with horror.

Madness had been upon him and had numbed his brain.

But the elemental instinct of self-preservation whispered to him that
his work was well done.

When the sea gave up the dead, only the clothes, the doublet, the
ribands, the lace, the black shade, mayhap, would reveal his identity,
as the mysterious French prince who for a brief while had lodged in a
cottage at Acol.

But the face was unrecognizable.

PART IV

C