The expedition so gaily launched, in which Simon saw merely a picturesque adventure, such as one reads of in novels, had suddenly become the most formidable tragedy. It was no longer a matter of cinema Indians and circus cow-boys, nor of droll discoveries in fabled lands, but of real dangers, of ruthless brigands operating in regions where no organized force could thwart their enterprises. What could Isabel and her father do, beset by criminals of the worst type? "Good God!" exclaimed Simon. "How could Lord Bakefield be so rash as to risk this journey? Look here, Antonio, the lady's-maid told you that Lord Bakefield had gone to London by train, with his wife and daughter. . . ." "A misunderstanding," declared the Indian. "He must have seen the duchess to the station and arranged the expedition with Miss Bakefield." "Then they're alone, those two?" "No, they have two men-servants with them. It's the four riders whose tracks we picked up." "What imprudence!" "Imprudence, yes. Miss Bakefield told you of it in the intercepted letter, 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 poor fellows were put out of action on the road by Rolleston and his six accomplices." "Those are the men I'm afraid of," said Simon, hoarsely. "Have Lord Bakefield and his daughter escaped them? Did the departure of which Miss Bakefield speaks take place before their arrival? How can we find out? 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-faced gutter-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 did you 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 the wreck. 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 young lady who came here on horseback?" "Dunno," said the boy, carelessly. "Ask my old man."