Was it the mere familiarity of a comrade, or that of a man who wishes, in the presence of another man, to assert his rights or his pretentions to a woman? His tone was not imperious, but Simon surprised the glance that flashed anger on the one side and defiance on the other. However, he paid little attention, being much less anxious to discover the private motives which actuated Dolores and Antonio than to elucidate the problem arising from his meeting with Lord Bakefield's secretary. "Did Williams say anything?" he asked Antonio, who was beside him. "No, he died without speaking." "Oh! He's dead! . . . And you discovered nothing?" "Nothing." "Then what do you think? Were Williams and Charles sent to the _Queen Mary_ by Lord Bakefield and his daughter and were they to find me and help me in my search? Or did they go on their own account?" They soon joined the three pedestrians of the escort, to whom Old Sandstone, with a cluster of shells in his hand, was giving a geological lesson. The three pedestrians were asleep. "I'm going ahead," said Antonio to Simon. "Our horses need a rest. In an hour's time, set out along the track of the white pebbles which I shall drop as I go. You can ride at a trot. My three comrades are good runners." He had already gone some paces, when he returned and, drawing Simon aside, looked him straight in the eyes and said: "Be on your guard with Dolores, M. Dubosc. She is one of these women of whom it is wise to beware. I have seen many a man lose his head over her." Simon smiled and could not refrain from saying: "Perhaps Lynx-Eye is one of them?" The Indian repeated: "Be on your guard, M. Dubosc!" And with these words he went his way. They seemed to sum up all that he thought of Dolores. Simon ate, stretched himself out on the ground and smoked some cigarettes. Sitting on the sand, Dolores unpicked a few seams of the wide trousers which she was wearing and arranged them in such a fashion that they might have been taken for a skirt. An hour later, as Simon was making ready to start, his attention was attracted by a sound of voices. At some little distance, Dolores and one of the three Indians were standing face to face and disputing in a language which Simon did not understand, while the brothers Mazzani were watching them and grinning. Dolores' arms were folded across her breast; she stood motionless and scornful. The man, on the contrary, was gesticulating, with a snarling face and glittering eyes. Suddenly he took both Dolores' arms and, drawing her close to him, sought her lips. Simon leapt to his feet. But there was no need of intervention; the Indian had at once recoiled, pricked at the throat by a dagger which Dolores held before her, the handle pressed against her bosom, the point threatening her adversary.