The mayor paused and glanced at me reflectively.

“Go on, Le Bihan,” I said.

“With them,” continued the mayor, turning the scroll and reading on the other side, “was buried the body of that vile traitor who betrayed the fort to the English.  The manner of his death was as follows:  By order of the most noble Count of Soisic, the traitor was first branded upon the forehead with the brand of an arrowhead.  The iron burned through the flesh and was pressed heavily so that the brand should even burn into the bone of the skull.  The traitor was then led out and bidden to kneel.  He admitted having guided the English from the island of Groix.  Although a priest and a Frenchman, he had violated his priestly office to aid him in discovering the password to the fort.  This password he extorted during confession from a young Breton girl who was in the habit of rowing across from the island of Groix to visit her husband in the fort.  When the fort fell, this young girl, crazed by the death of her husband, sought the Count of Soisic and told how the priest had forced her to confess to him all she knew about the fort.  The priest was arrested at St. Gildas as he was about to cross the river to Lorient.  When arrested he cursed the girl, Marie Trevec——­”

“What!” I exclaimed, “Marie Trevec!”

“Marie Trevec,” repeated Le Bihan; “the priest cursed Marie Trevec, and all her family and descendants.  He was shot as he knelt, having a mask of leather over his face, because the Bretons who composed the squad of execution refused to fire at a priest unless his face was concealed.  The priest was l’Abbe Sorgue, commonly known as the Black Priest on account of his dark face and swarthy eyebrows.  He was buried with a stake through his heart.”

Le Bihan paused, hesitated, looked at me, and handed the manuscript back to Durand.  The gendarme took it and slipped it into the brass cylinder.

“So,” said I, “the thirty-ninth skull is the skull of the Black Priest.”

“Yes,” said Fortin.  “I hope they won’t find it.”

“I have forbidden them to proceed,” said the mayor querulously.  “You heard me, Max Fortin.”

I rose and picked up my gun.  Mome came and pushed his head into my hand.

“That’s a fine dog,” observed Durand, also rising.

“Why don’t you wish to find his skull?” I asked Le Bihan.  “It would be curious to see whether the arrow brand really burned into the bone.”

“There is something in that scroll that I didn’t read to you,” said the mayor grimly.  “Do you wish to know what it is?”

“Of course,” I replied in surprise.

“Give me the scroll again, Durand,” he said; then he read from the bottom:  “I, l’Abbe Sorgue, forced to write the above by my executioners, have written it in my own blood; and with it I leave my curse.  My curse on St. Gildas, on Marie Trevec, and on her descendants.  I will come back to St. Gildas when my remains are disturbed.  Woe to that Englishman whom my branded skull shall touch!”