ion-ladder and, having reached a
part of the deck where the whole wreck was visible, he said:

"It was over there, the lifeboat?"

"Yuss, over there."

Simon rushed to the stern of the vessel, slid down the rope and,
followed by the Indian and the boy, ran alongside the steamer to the
lifeboat which had been torn from the _Queen Mary's_ deck and cast on
the sands some twenty yards from the wreck. It was here that the
attack had taken place. Traces of it remained. The body of one of
those whom the boy had described as "devils" was half-hidden in a
hollow.

But a cry of pain rose from behind the boat. Simon and the Indian ran
round it and saw a man cowering there, with his forehead bound up in a
bloodstained handkerchief.

"Rolleston!" cried Simon, stopping short in bewilderment. "Edward
Rolleston!"

Rolleston! The man whom all accused! The man who had planned the whole
affair and recruited the Hastings blackguards in order to make a dash
for the wreck and steal the miniature! Rolleston, the murderer of
Dolores' uncle, the murderer of William and Charles! Rolleston,
Isabel's persecutor!

Nevertheless Simon hesitated, profoundly troubled by the sight of his
friend. Fearing an outburst of anger on the Indian's part, he seized
him by the arm:

"Wait a moment, Antonio! . . . First, are you really certain?"

For some seconds, neither stirred. Simon was thinking that
Rolleston's presence on the battle-field was the most convincing proof
of his guilt. But Antonio declared:

"This is not the man I met in the corridor of the hotel."

"Ah!" cried Simon. "I was sure of it! In spite of all appearances, I
could not admit. . . ."

And he rushed up to his friend, saying:

"Wounded, Ted? It's not serious, is it, old man?"

The Englishman murmured:

"Is that you, Simon? I didn't recognize you. My eyes are all misty."

"You're not in pain?"

"I should think I was in pain! The bullet must have struck against the
skull and then glanced off; and here I've been since this morning,
half dead. But I shall get over it."

Simon questioned him anxiously:

"Isabel? What has become of her?"

"I don't know. . . . I don't know," the Englishman said, with an
effort. "No . . . no . . . I don't know. . . ."

"But where do you come from? How do you come to be here?"

"I was with Lord Bakefield and Isabel."

"Ah!" said Simon. "Then you were of their party?"

"Yes. We spent the night on the _Queen Mary_ . . . and this morning