The Tremendous Event Read online

  CHAPTER I

  INSIDE THE WRECK

  The expedition so gaily launched, in which Simon saw merely apicturesque adventure, such as one reads of in novels, had suddenlybecome the most formidable tragedy. It was no longer a matter ofcinema Indians and circus cow-boys, nor of droll discoveries in fabledlands, but of real dangers, of ruthless brigands operating in regionswhere no organized force could thwart their enterprises. What couldIsabel and her father do, beset by criminals of the worst type?

  "Good God!" exclaimed Simon. "How could Lord Bakefield be so rash asto risk this journey? Look here, Antonio, the lady's-maid told youthat Lord Bakefield had gone to London by train, with his wife anddaughter. . . ."

  "A misunderstanding," declared the Indian. "He must have seen theduchess to the station and arranged the expedition with MissBakefield."

  "Then they're alone, those two?"

  "No, they have two men-servants with them. It's the four riders whosetracks we picked up."

  "What imprudence!"

  "Imprudence, yes. Miss Bakefield told you of it in the interceptedletter, counting on you to take the necessary measures to protect her.Moreover, Lord Bakefield had given orders to his secretary, Williams,and his valet, Charles, to join them. That is why those two poorfellows were put out of action on the road by Rolleston and his sixaccomplices."

  "Those are the men I'm afraid of," said Simon, hoarsely. "Have LordBakefield and his daughter escaped them? Did the departure of whichMiss Bakefield speaks take place before their arrival? How can we findout? Where are we to look for them?"

  "Here," said Antonio.

  "On this deserted wreck?"

  "There's a whole crowd inside the wreck," the Indian affirmed. "Here,we'll begin by questioning the boy who is watching us over there."

  Leaning against the stump of a broken mast, stood a lean, pasty-facedgutter-snipe, with his hands in his pockets, smoking a huge cigar.Simon went up to him, muttering:

  "Very like one of Lord Bakefield's favourite Havanas. . . . Where didyou sneak that cigar?" he asked.

  "I ain't sneaked nuffin, sure as my name's Jim. It was giv' me."

  "Who gave it you?"

  "My old man."

  "Where is he, your old man?"

  "Listen. . . ."

  They listened. A noise echoed beneath their feet in the bowels of thewreck. It sounded like the regular blows of a hammer.

  "That's my old man, smashin' 'er up," said the urchin, grinning.

  "Tell me," said Simon, "have you seen an elderly gentleman and a younglady who came here on horseback?"

  "Dunno," said the boy, carelessly. "Ask my old man."

  Simon drew Antonio to where a companion-ladder led from the deck tothe first-class cabins, as a still legible inscription informed them.They were going down the ladder when Simon, leading the way, struckhis foot against something and nearly fell. By the light of apocket-torch he saw the dead body of a woman. Though the face, whichwas swollen and bloated and half eaten away, was unrecognizable,certain signs, such as the colour and material of clothes, enabledSimon to identify the French lady whom he had seen with her husbandand children. On stooping, he saw that the left hand had been severedat the wrist and that two fingers were lacking on the right hand.

  "Poor woman!" he faltered. "Unable to remove her rings and bracelets,the blackguards mutilated her!" And he added. "To think that Isabelwas here, that night, in this hell!"

  The corridor which they entered as they followed the sound ofhammering led them astern. At a sudden turning a man appeared, holdingin his hand a lump of iron with which he was striking furiously at thepartition-wall of a cabin. Through the ground-glass panes in theceiling filtered a pale white light which fell full upon the mostloathsome face imaginable, a scoundrelly, pallid, cruel face, with apair of bloodshot eyes and an absolutely bald skull dripping withsweat.

  "Keep your distance, mates! Everybody do the best he can in his own!There's plenty of stuff to go round!"

  "The old man ain't much of a talker," said the urchin's shrill voice.

  The boy had accompanied them and stood, with a bantering air, puffinggreat whiffs of smoke. The Indian handed him a fifty-franc note:

  "Jim, you have something to tell us. Out with it."

  "That's all right," said the boy. "I'm beginnin' to twig thisbusiness. Come along 'ere!"

  Guided by the boy, Antonio and Simon passed along other corridorswhere they found the same fury of destruction. Everywherefierce-looking ruffians were forcing locks, tearing, splitting,smashing, looting. Everywhere they were seen creeping into darkcorners, crawling on their hands and knees, sniffing out booty andseeking, in default of gold or silver, bits of leather or scrap-metalthat might prove marketable.

  They were beasts of prey, carrion brutes, like those which prowl abouta battlefield. Mutilated and stripped corpses bore witness to theirferocity. There were no rings left upon the bodies, no bracelets,watches, or pocket-books; no pins in the men's ties; no brooches atthe women's throats.

  From time to time, here and there, in this workyard of death andhideous theft, the sound of a quarrel arose; two bodies rolling on theground; shouts, yells of pain, ending in the death-rattle. Twoplunderers came to grips; and in a moment one of them was a murderer.

  Jim halted in front of a roomy cabin, the lower part of whose slopingfloor was under water; but on the upper part were several cane-deckchairs which were almost dry.

  "That's where they spent the night," he said.

  "Who?" asked Simon.

  "The three what come on horseback. I was the first on the wreck withmy old man. I saw 'em come."

  "But there were four of them."

  "There was one what lay down outside to guard the horses. The otherthree went to get something out of the rug where you didn't findnuffin; and they 'ad their grub and slept in 'ere. This mornin', afterthey left, my old man come to go through the cabin and found the oldgent's cigar-case here.

  "So they went away again?"

  The boy was silent.

  "Answer my question, can't you, boy? They left on horseback, didn'tthey, before the others got here? And they're out of danger?"

  The boy held out his hand:

  "Two notes," he demanded.

  Simon was on the point of flying at him. But he restrained himself,gave the boy the notes and pulled out his revolver:

  "Now then!"

  The boy shrugged his shoulders:

  "It's the notes is making me talk, not that thing! . . . Well, it'slike this: when the old gent wanted to start this mornin', he couldn'tfind the old chap what was guarding the four horses near the stern ofthe vessel, what you got up by."

  "But the horses?"

  "Gone!"

  "You mean, stolen?"

  "'Arf a mo! The old gent, his daughter and the other gent went off tolook for him, following the track of the 'osses alongside the wreck.That took them to the other part of the _Queen Mary_, just to theplace where the starboard lifeboat was stove in. And then--I was ondeck, like I was just now, and I see the whole business as if it wasthe movies--there was five or six devils got up from behind thelifeboat and rushed at 'em; and a great tall bloke a-leadin' of 'emwith a revolver in each fist. I wouldn't say everythink passed offquiet, not on neither side. The old gent, 'e defended himself. Therewas some shootin'; and I see two of 'em fall in the scrimmage."

  "And then? And then?" Simon rapped out, breathlessly.

  "I don't know nuffin about then. A change of pickshers, like at themovies. The old man wanted me for somefink; he took me by the scruffo' the neck and I lost the end o' the film like."

  It was now Simon's turn to seize the young hooligan by the scruff ofthe neck. He dragged him up the companion-ladder and, having reached apart 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 t
o thelifeboat which had been torn from the _Queen Mary's_ deck and cast onthe sands some twenty yards from the wreck. It was here that theattack had taken place. Traces of it remained. The body of one ofthose whom the boy had described as "devils" was half-hidden in ahollow.

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

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

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

  Nevertheless Simon hesitated, profoundly troubled by the sight of hisfriend. Fearing an outburst of anger on the Indian's part, he seizedhim by the arm:

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

  For some seconds, neither stirred. Simon was thinking thatRolleston's presence on the battle-field was the most convincing proofof 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, Icould 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 theskull 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 aneffort. "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 wewere set upon here, by the gang. We were retreating, when I dropped.Lord Bakefield and Isabel fell back on the _Queen Mary_, where itwould have been easier for them to defend themselves. Rolleston andhis men were not firing at them, however."

  "Rolleston?" echoed Simon.

  "A cousin of mine . . . Wilfred Rolleston, a damned brute, capable ofanything . . . a scoundrel . . . a crook . . . oh, a madman! A realmadman . . . a dipsomaniac. . . ."

  "And he's like you in appearance isn't he?" asked Simon, understandingthe mistake that had been made.

  "I suppose so."

  "And it was to steal the miniature and the pearls that he attackedyou?"

  "That . . . and something else that he's even more keen on."

  "What?"

  "He's in love with Isabel. He asked her to marry him at a time when hehadn't fallen so low. Then Bakefield kicked him out."

  "Oh, it would be too awful," stammered Simon, "if that man hadsucceeded in kidnapping Isabel!"

  He stood up. Rolleston, exhausted, said:

  "Save her, Simon."

  "But you, Ted? We can't leave you. . . ."

  "She comes first. He has sworn to have his revenge; he has sworn thatIsabel shall be his wife."

  "But what are we to do? Where are we to look for her?" cried Simon, indespair.

  At that moment Jim came up, all out of breath. He was followed by aman whom Simon at once recognized as a groom in Lord Bakefield'sservice.

  "The bloke!" cried Jim. "The one what looked after the horses. . . . Ifound him among the rocks . . . d'you see? Over there? They'd tied himup and the horses were tied up in a sort of cave like. . . ."

  Simon lost no time:

  "Miss Bakefield?"

  "Carried off," replied the man. "Carried off . . . and his lordship aswell."

  "Ah!" cried Simon, overwhelmed.

  The man continued:

  "Rolleston is their leader, Wilfred Rolleston. He came up to me thismorning at sunrise, as I was seeing to the horses, and asked me ifLord Bakefield was still there. Then, without waiting for an answer,he knocked me flat, with the help of his men, and had me carried here,where they laid an ambush for his lordship. They didn't mind what theysaid before me; and I learnt that Mr. Williams, the secretary, andCharles, my fellow-servant, who were to have joined us and increasedthe escort, had been attacked by them and, most likely, killed. Ilearnt too that Rolleston's idea was to keep Miss Bakefield as ahostage and to send his lordship to his Paris banker's to get theransom. Later on, they left me alone. Then I heard two shots and, alittle after, they returned with his lordship and Miss Bakefield. Bothof them had their hands and feet tied."

  "At what time did all this happen?" asked Simon, quivering withimpatience.

  "Nine o'clock, sir, or thereabouts."

  "Then they have a day's start of us?"

  "Oh, no! There were provisions in the saddle-bags. They sat eating anddrinking and then went to sleep. It was at least two o'clock in theafternoon when they strapped his lordship and Miss Bakefield to acouple of horses and started."

  "In what direction?"

  "That way," said the man-servant, pointing.

  "Antonio," cried Simon, "we must catch them before night! Theruffian's escort is on foot. Three hours' gallop will be enough.. . ."

  "Our horses are badly done up," objected the Indian.

  "They've got to get there, if it kills them."

  Simon Dubosc gave the servant his instructions:

  "Get Mr. Rolleston under shelter in the wreck, look after him anddon't leave him for a second. Jim, can I count on you?"

  "Yes."

  "And on your father?"

  "All depends."

  "Fifty pounds for him if the wounded man is in Brighton, safe andsound, in two days' time."

  "Make it a hundred," said Jim. "Not a penny less."

  "Very well, a hundred."

  At six o'clock in the evening, Simon and Antonio returned to theIndians' camp. They quickly bridled and saddled their horses, whileOld Sandstone, who was strolling around, ran up to them shouting:

  "My fault, Simon! I swear we are over my fault, the fault in the Parisbasin, which I traced to Maromme and near the Ridin de Dieppe . . .the one whose fracture caused the whole upheaval. Get on your horse,so that I may give you my proofs. There's a regular Eocene andPliocene mixture over there which is really typical. . . . Heavens,man, listen to me, can't you?"

  Simon stepped up to him and, with drawn features, shouted:

  "This is no time to listen to your nonsense!"

  "What do you mean?" stammered the old fellow, utterly bewildered.

  "Mean? Why, shut up!"

  And the young man leapt into the saddle:

  "Are you coming, Antonio?"

  "Yes. My mates will follow our trail. I shall leave a mark from spotto spot; and I hope we shall all be united again to-morrow."

  As they were starting, Dolores, on horseback, brought up her mountalongside theirs.

  "No!" said Antonio. "You come on with the others. The professor can'twalk all the time."

  She made no reply.

  "I insist on your keeping with the others," repeated the half-breed,more severely.

  But she set her horse at a trot and caught up with Simon.

  For more than an hour they followed a direction which Simon took to besouth by south-east, that is to say, the direction of France. Thehalf-breed thought the same:

  "The main thing," he said, "is to get near the coast, as our beastshave only enough food to last them till to-morrow evening. The waterquestion also might become troublesome."

  "I don't care what happens to-morrow," Simon rejoined.

  They made much slower progress than they had hoped to do. Their mountswere poor, spiritless stuff. Moreover, they ha
d to stop at intervalsto decipher the tracks which crossed one another in the wet sand or topick them up on rocky ground. Simon became incensed at each of thesehalts.

  All around them the scene was like that which they had observed earlyin the afternoon; the land rose and fell in scarcely perceptibleundulations; it was a dismal, monotonous world, with its graveyards ofships and skeleton steamers. Prowling figures crossed it in alldirections. Antonio shouted questions to them as he passed. One ofthem said that he had met two horsemen and four pedestrians leading acouple of horses on which were bound a man and a woman whose fair hairswept the ground.

  "How long ago was this?" asked Simon, in a hoarse voice.

  "Forty minutes, or fifty at the most."

  He dug his heels into his horse's flanks and set off at a gallop,stooping over the animal's neck in order not to lose the scoundrel'strack. Antonio found it difficult to follow him, while Dolores erectin her saddle, with a serious face and eyes fixed on the distanthorizon, kept up with him without an effort.

  Meanwhile the light was failing, and the riders felt as though thedarkness were about to swoop down on them from the heavy clouds inwhich it was gathering.

  "We shall get there . . . we must," repeated Simon. "I feel certain weshall see them in ten minutes. . . ."

  He told Dolores in a few words what he had heard of Isabel'sabduction. The thought that she was in pain caused unendurabletorture. His overwrought mind pictured her a captive among savagestorturing her for their amusement, while her blood-bedabbled head wasgashed by the stones along the track. He followed in imagination allthe stages of her last agony; and he had such a keen impression ofspeed contending with death, he searched the horizon with so eager agaze, that he scarcely heeded a strident call from the half-breed, ahundred yards in the rear.

  Dolores turned and calmly observed:

  "Antonio's horse has fallen."

  "Antonio can follow us," said Simon.

  For a few moments, they had been riding through a rather more uneventract of land, covered with a sort of downs with precipitous sides,like cliffs. A fairly steep incline led to a long valley, filled withwater, on the brink of which the bandits' trail was plainly visible.They entered the water, making for a place on the opposite edge whichseemed to them, at a distance, to be trampled in the same way.

  The water, which barely reached the horses' hocks, flowed in a gentlecurrent from left to right. But, when they had covered a third of thedistance, Dolores struck Simon's horse with her long reins:

  "Hurry!" she commanded. "Look . . . on the left. . . ."

  On the left the whole width of the valley was blocked by a lofty wavewhich was gathering at either end into a long, foaming breaker. It wasmerely a natural phenomenon; as a result of the great upheaval, thewaters were seeking their level and invading the lower tracts.Moreover, the flow was so gradual that there was no reason to fear itseffects. The horses, however, seemed to be gradually sinking. Draggedby the current, they were forced to sheer off to the right; and at thesame time the opposite bank was moving away from them, changing itsaspect, shifting back as the new stream rose. And, when they hadreached it, they were still obliged, in order to escape the water,which pursued them incessantly, to quicken their pace and trot alongthe narrow lane enclosed between two little cliffs of dried mud, inwhich thousands upon thousands of shells were encrusted like the cubesof a mosaic.

  Only after half an hour's riding were they able to clamber to atable-land where they were out of reach. It was as well, for theirhorses refused to go any farther.

  The darkness was increasing. How were they to recover the tracks ofIsabel and her kidnappers? And how could their own tracks, buriedbeneath this enormous sheet of water, be recovered by Antonio and hismen?

  "We are separated from the others," said Simon, "and I don't see howour party can be got together again."

  "Not before to-morrow, at all events," said Dolores.

  "Not before. . . ."

  And so these two were alone in the night, in the depths of thismysterious land.

  Simon strode to and fro on the plateau, like a man who does not knowon what course to decide and who knows, moreover, that there is nocourse on which he can decide. But Dolores unsaddled the horses,unbuckled the saddle-bags and said:

  "Our food will hold out, but we have nothing to drink. The sparewater-bottles were strapped to Antonio's saddle."

  And she added, after spreading out the two horse-rugs:

  "We will sleep here, Simon."