The frenzy was so violent and unbridled that Simon was jostled, carried off his feet, swept into the crowd and lost among the very people who were looking for him. His only thought was to go into the first hotel that offered and throw himself down on a bed. A hand seized his; and a voice said: "Come with me; I will show you the way." He recognized the young woman whom he had released from her bonds. Her face likewise was transfigured with emotion. "You have done a splendid thing," she said. "I don't believe any other man could have done it. . . . You are above all other men. . . ." An eddy in the crowd tore them apart, although the stranger's hand clutched his. He fell to the floor among the overturned chairs, picked himself up again and was feeling at the end of his tether as he neared one of the exits, when suddenly he stood to attention. Strength returned to his limbs. Lord Bakefield and Isabel were standing before him. Eagerly Isabel held out her hand: "We were there, Simon. We saw you. I'm proud of you, Simon." He was astonished and confused. "Isabel! Is it really you?" She smiled, happy to see him so much moved in her presence. "It really is; and it's quite natural, since we live at Battle, a mile away. The catastrophe has spared the house but we came to Hastings to help the sufferers and in that way heard of your arrival . . . of your triumph, Simon." Lord Bakefield did not budge. He pretended to be looking in another direction. Simon addressed him. "May I take it, Lord Bakefield, that you will regard this day's work as a first step towards the goal for which I am making?" The old nobleman, stiff with pride and resentment, vouchsafed no reply. "Of course," Simon continued, "I haven't conquered England. But all the same there seem to be a series of circumstances in my favour which permit me at least to ask you whether you consider that the first of your conditions has been fulfilled." This time Lord Bakefield seemed to be making up his mind. But, just as he was going to reply--and his features expressed no great amount of good-will--Isabel intervened: "Don't ask my father any questions, Simon . . . He appreciates the wonderful thing that you have done at its true value. But you and I have offended him too seriously for him to be able to forgive you just yet. We must let time wipe out the unpleasant memory." "Time!" echoed Simon, with a laugh. "Time! The trouble is that I have only twelve days left in which to triumph over all the labours put upon me. After conquering England, I have still to win the laurels of Hercules . . . or of Don Quixote." "Well," she said, "in the meantime hurry off and go to bed. That's the best thing you can do for the moment." And she drew Lord Bakefield away with her. CHAPTER VII LYNX-EYE