d the ground, a violent
concussion shook the chain, of which she had not yet let go, and a
shot rang out from the other bank.

"Ah!" she said. "I was lucky: the bullet has struck one of the links."

Simon had faced round. Opposite them, the tramps were venturing on the
footbridge one by one.

"But who can have fired?" he demanded. "Those beggars haven't a
rifle."

Dolores gave him a sudden push, so that he was protected by the bulk
of the wreck:

"Who fired?" she repeated. "Forsetta or Mazzani."

"Have you seen them?"

"Yes, at the back of the promontory. You can understand, a very few
words would enable them to make a deal with the tramps and persuade
them to attack us."

They both ran round to the other side of the stern. From there they
could see the whole of the footbridge and were under cover from the
snipers. Simon raised his rifle to his shoulder.

"Fire!" cried Dolores, seeing him hesitate.

The shot rang out. The foremost of the vagabonds fell. He roared with
pain, holding his leg. The others hurried back, dragging him with
them, and the promontory was cleared of men. But, though the tramps
could not risk going on the footbridge, it was no less dangerous for
Dolores and Simon to leave the protected area formed by the wreck.
Directly they became visible, they were exposed to Forsetta's or
Mazzani's fire.

"We must wait till dark," Dolores decided.

For hours, rifle in hand, they watched the promontory, on which a head
and shoulders or gesticulating arms appeared at frequent intervals and
from which on several occasions also the threat of a levelled rifle
forced them to hide themselves. Then, as soon as the darkness was
dense enough, they set off again, convinced that Rolleston's trail
would continue to ascend the Somme.

They travelled quickly, never doubting that the two Indians and the
vagabonds would pursue them. Indeed, they heard their voices across
the water and saw fleeting glimmers of light on the same bank as
themselves.

"They know," said Dolores, "that Rolleston went in this direction and
that we, who are looking for him, are bound to keep to it."

After two hours' progress, during which they groped their way, guided
from time to time by the vague shimmering of the river, they reached a
sort of isolated chaos into which Simon wearily cast the light of his
electric torch. It consisted of enormous blocks of hewn stone, sunk in
some lighter, marble, as far as he could see, and partly