tion seized him and a while
afterwards he died beneath their cruel hands. One of the charges against
him was, that more than twenty years before, he had been seen reading
the Bible at Leyden by Black Meg, who appeared and gave the evidence.
But they did not discover where his treasure was hidden away. To win an
easier death, indeed, he made them a long confession that took them a
still longer journey, but of the truth of the matter he knew nothing,
and therefore could tell them nothing.

Now this scene, so strange and pathetic, ended at last, the five of them
were in the darkness of the street. Here once more Foy and Red Bow clung
to each other, and once more the arm of Martin was about the neck of her
who seemed to be the serving-maid, while ahead, as though he were paid
to show the way, went the pilot. Soon footsteps were heard, for folk
were after them. They turned once, they turned twice, they reached the
bank of a canal, and Hans, followed by Red Bow and her sister, descended
some steps and climbed into a boat which lay there ready. Next came
Martin, and, last of all, Foy. As he set foot upon the first step, a
figure shot out of the gloom towards him, a knife gleamed in the air and
a blow took him between the shoulders that sent him stumbling headlong,
for he was balanced upon the edge of the step.

But Martin had heard and seen. He swung round and struck out with the
sword Silence. The assassin was far from him, still the tip of the long
steel reached the outstretched murderous hand, and from it fell a broken
knife, while he who held it sped on with a screech of pain. Martin
darted back and seized the knife, then he leapt into the boat and pushed
off. At the bottom of it lay Foy, who had fallen straight into the arms
of Red Bow, dragging her down with him.

"Are you hurt, master?" asked Martin.

"Not a bit," replied Foy, "but I am afraid the lady is. She went
undermost."

"Mother's gifts are good gifts!" muttered Martin as he pulled him and
the girl, whose breath had been knocked out of her, up to a seat. "You
ought to have an eight-inch hole through you, but that knife broke upon
the shirt. Look here," and he threw the handle of the dagger on to his
knees and snatched at the sculls.

Foy examined it in the faint light, and there, still hooked above the
guard, was a single severed finger, a long and skinny finger, to which
the point of the sword Silence had played surgeon, and on it a gold
ring. "This may b