uld see that
the arena in which he had landed was surrounded by a wall made of
barricades added according to the means at hand: ships' boats,
packing-cases and bales, rocks, banks of sand. The hulk of a
torpedo-boat was continued by some cast-iron piping. A stack of
drain-pipes was followed by a submarine.

All along this enclosure, sentinels armed with rifles mounted guard.
Beyond it, kept at a distance of more than a hundred yards by the
menace of the rifles and of a machine-gun levelled a little way to the
rear, the swarm of marauders was eddying and bawling. Inside, there
was an expanse of yellow pebbles, sulphur-coloured, like those which
the madwoman had carried in her bag. Were the gold coins mixed with
those pebbles and had a certain number of resolute, well-armed robbers
clubbed together to exploit this precious field? Here and there rose
mounds resembling the truncated cones of small extinct volcanoes.

Meantime, Simon's warders made him face about, in order to bind him to
the stump of a broken mast, near a group of prisoners whom other
warders were holding, like so many animals, by halters and chains.

On this side was the general staff of the gang, sitting for the moment
as a court-martial.

In the centre of a circle was a platform of moderate height, edged by
ten or a dozen corpses and dying men, some of the latter struggling in
hideous convulsions. On the platform a man who was drinking sat or
rather sprawled in a great throne-like chair. Near him was a stool
with bottles of champagne and a knife dripping with blood. Beside him
was a group of men with revolvers in their hands. The man in the chair
wore a black uniform relieved with decorations and stuck all over with
diamonds and precious stones. Emerald necklaces hung round his neck. A
diadem of gold and gems encircled his forehead.

When he had finished drinking, his face appeared. Simon started. From
certain details which recalled the features of his friend Edward
Rolleston, he realized that this man was no other than Wilfred
Rolleston. Moreover, among the jewels and necklaces, was a miniature
set in pearls, the miniature and the pearls of Isabel Bakefield.

CHAPTER VI

HELL ON EARTH

A rascally face was Wilfred Rolleston's, but above all a drunkard's
face, in which the noble features of his cousin Edward were debased by
the habit of debauch. His eyes, which were small and sunk in their
sockets, shone with an extraordinary glitter. A c