It was gone.

The murderers had also taken off his shoes and stockings.

And noticing this spoliation, the exposed throat, the bare up-turned feet, Byrne felt his eyes run full of tears.
In other respects the seaman was fully dressed; neither was his clothing disarranged as it must have been in a violent struggle.

Only his checked shirt had been pulled a little out the waistband in one place, just enough to ascertain whether he had a money belt fastened round his body.
Byrne began to sob into his handkerchief.
It was a nervous outburst which passed off quickly.

Remaining on his knees he contemplated sadly the athletic body of as fine a seaman as ever had drawn a cutlass, laid a gun, or passed the weather earring in a gale, lying stiff and cold, his cheery, fearless spirit departed--perhaps turning to him, his boy chum, to his ship out there rolling on the grey seas off an iron-bound coast, at the very moment of its flight.
He perceived that the six brass buttons of Tom's jacket had been cut off.
He shuddered at the notion of the two miserable and repulsive witches busying themselves ghoulishly about the defenceless body of his friend.
Cut off.