The Cardinal-Archbishop reverently took the wafer from Tristan and held it up in two hands. The men-at-arms sank to their knees with a rattle and ring of accoutrement. Every one knelt. Then in improvised procession, His Eminence restored the wafer to the tabernacle. Tristan was dragged out of the chapel. In the corridor horror-stricken men-at-arms buffeted him into some sort of consciousness. His bewildered ears caught the words: "To San Angelo," as he staggered between the men-at-arms as one in the thrall of an evil dream, leaving behind him a nameless fear and horror among the monks, priests and attendants at the Lateran. END OF BOOK THE THIRD BOOK THE FOURTH CHAPTER I THE RETURN OF THE MOOR In a domed chamber of the Emperor's Tomb there sat two personages engaged in whispered conversation, Basil and a weird hooded phantom that seemed part of the dread shadows which crowded in upon the room, quenching the dying light of day. Deep silence reigned. Only the monotonous tread of the sentries broke the stillness as they made the rounds above them. It was Basil who spoke. "All is going well! We shall prevail! We shall set up the throne of Ebony in the stead of the Cross. I bow to your wisdom, my master! The promised reward shall not fail you!" As he spoke, the thin, black arm of his vis-a-vis trembled for a moment in the ample folds of his black gown. Then, with a quick, bird-like movement, a thin hand, twisted like a claw, wrinkled and yellow, was stretched out towards the Grand Chamberlain. On the second finger of this claw there was a ring. Basil bent and kissed it. Basil began to speak in his ordinary, conversational tone, but there was a strange gleam in his eyes. "It has been accomplished," he said. "They tell me all Rome is astir!" The voice that replied seemed to come from a great distance; the lips of the waxen face hardly moved. They parted, that was all. "It has been done! I took it myself! It was the Host which the Cardinal of Ravenna had consecrated on that morning." "And you were not seen?" "I was not," came the whispered reply. "As a measure of precaution I wore the mask which I use to go about the churches at night. I met no one." "Is it here?" Basil queried eagerly. "It is not here," replied the voice. "It must be kept until the night of the great consecration, when Lucifer himself shall sit upon the ebony throne and demand his bride--his stainless dove. Where is she now?" The light had faded out of Basil's eyes, and his face was ashen. "One has been found, worthy of even as fastidious a master as he, whom we both serve. Well-nigh had she escaped us, had not one who never fails me tracked her on that fatal night, when her body lay in her coffin ready to be consecrated to the Nameless one." From the eyeless sockets of the shadow-mask a phosphorescent gleam shot towards the Grand Chamberlain. "What of the man?"