Part 20 (2/2)

A discovery of Dolores put an end to his hesitation. In exploring the immediate surroundings, the girl had noticed a submarine cable which crossed the river.

”Capital!” he said. ”The cable evidently comes from England, like ourselves. If we follow it, we shall be going towards France. We shall be sure of going the same way as our enemies and we shall very likely pick up some information on the road.”

”France is a long way off,” Dolores remarked, ”and our horses perhaps won't last for more than another half day.”

”That's their lookout,” cried Simon. ”We shall finish the journey on foot. The great thing is to reach the French coast. Let us make a start.”

At two hundred yards' distance, in a depression of the soil, the cable rose from the river and ran straight to a sand-bank, after which it appeared once more, like one of those roads which show in sections on uneven plains.

”It will lead you to Dieppe,” said a wandering Frenchman, whom Simon had stopped. ”I've just come from there. You've only to follow it.”

They followed it in silence. A mute companion, speaking none save indispensable words, Dolores seemed to be always self-absorbed, or to heed only the horses and the details of the expedition. As for Simon, he gave no thought to her. It was a curious fact that he had not yet felt, even casually, that there was something strange and disturbing in the adventure that brought him, a young man, and her, a young woman, together. She remained the unknown; yet this mystery had no particular attraction for him, nor did Antonio's enigmatic words recur to his memory. Though he was perfectly well aware that she was very beautiful, though it gave him pleasure to look at her from time to time and though he often felt her eyes resting on him, she was never the subject of his thoughts and did not for a moment enter into the unbroken reflections aroused by his love for Isabel Bakefield and the dangers which she was incurring.

These dangers he now judged to be less terrible than he had supposed.

Since Rolleston's plan consisted in sending Lord Bakefield to a Paris banker to obtain money, it might be a.s.sumed that Isabel, held as a hostage, would be treated with a certain consideration, at least until Rolleston, after receiving a ransom, made further demands. But, when this happened, would not he, Simon, be there?

They were now entering a region of a wholly different character, where there was no longer either sand or mud, but a floor of grey rock streaked with thin sheets of hard, sharp-edged stone, which refused to take the imprint of a trail and which even the iron of the horses'

shoes failed to mark. Their only chance of information was from the prowlers whom they might encounter.

These were becoming more and more numerous. Two full days had elapsed since the emergence of the new land. It was now the third day; and from all parts, from every point of the sea-side counties or departments, came hastening all who did not fear the risk of the undertaking: vagabonds, tramps, poachers, reckless spirits, daredevils of all kinds. The ruined towns poured forth their contingent of poverty-striken, starving outcasts and escaped prisoners. Armed with rifles and swords, with clubs or scythes, all these brigands wore an air that was both defiant and threatening. They watched one another warily, each of them gauging at a glance his neighbour's strength, ready to spring upon him or ready to act in self-defence.

Simon's questions hardly evoked as much as a grumbling reply:

”A woman tied up? A party? Horses? Not come my way.”

And they went on. But, two hours later, Simon was greatly surprised to see the motley dress of three men walking some distance ahead, their shoulders laden with bundles which each of them carried slung on the end of a stick. Weren't those Antonio's Indians?

”Yes,” murmured Dolores. ”It's Forsetta and the Mazzani brothers.”

But, when Simon proposed to go after them, ”No!” she said, without concealing her repugnance. ”They're a bad lot. There's nothing to be gained by joining them.”

But he was not listening; and, as soon as they were within hearing, he shouted:

”Is Antonio anywhere about?”

The three men set down their bundles, while Simon and Dolores dismounted and Forsetta, who had a revolver in his hand, thrust it into his pocket. He was a great giant of a fellow.

”Ah, so it's you, Dolores?” he said, after saluting Simon. ”Faith, no, Antonio's nowhere hereabouts. We've not seen him.”

He smiled with a wry mouth and treacherous eyes.

”That means,” retorted Simon, pointing to their burdens, ”that you and Mazzani thought it simpler to go hunting in this direction?”

”May be,” he said, with a leer.

”But the old professor? Antonio left him in your charge.”

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