CHAPTER VIII
THE HIGH COMMISSIONER FOR THE NEW TERRITORIES
"My fault! . . . Now aren't you convinced, as I am, that this is aramification of my fault, ending in a _cul-de-sac_? So that all theeruptive forces immobilized in the direction of this blind alley havefound a favourable position . . . so that all these forces . . . yougrasp the idea, don't you?"
Simon grasped it all the less inasmuch as Old Sandstone was becomingmore and more entangled in his theory, while he, Simon, was whollyabsorbed in Isabel and had ears for hardly anything but what she wastelling him.
They were all three a little way outside the barricades, among thegroups of tents around which the soldiers, in overalls, andfatigue-caps, were moving to and fro and preparing their meals.Isabel's face was already more peaceful and her eyes less uneasy.Simon gazed at her with infinite tenderness. In the course of themorning the fog had at last dispersed. For the first time since theday when they had travelled together on the deck of the _Queen Mary_,the sun shone in a cloudless sky; and one might almost have thoughtthat nothing had occurred between that day and this to divide them.All evil memories faded away. Isabel's torn dress, her pallor and herbruised wrists were the reminder merely of an adventure alreadyremote, since the glorious future was opening out before them.
Inside the barricades, a few soldiers scurried round the arena,stacking the dead bodies, while others, farther back, stationed on thewreck of the _Ville de Dunkerque_, removed the sinister shapes hangingfrom their gibbets. Near the submarine, in an enclosed space guardedby many sentries, some dozens of prisoners were herded and were joinedat every moment by fresh batches of captives.
"Of course," resumed Old Sandstone, "there are many other obscurepoints; but I shall not leave this until I have studied all the causesof the phenomenon."
"And I," said Simon, laughing, "should very much like to know how youmanaged to get here."
This was a question which possessed little interest for Old Sandstone,who replied, vaguely:
"How do I know! I followed a crowd of good people. . . ."
"Good looters and murderers!"
"Oh, do you think so? Yes, it may be . . . it seemed to me, sometimes.. . . But I was so absorbed! So many observations to make! Besides, Iwas not alone . . . at least, on the last day."
"Really? Who was with you?"
"Dolores. We made the whole of the last stage together; and it was shewho brought me here. She left me when we came in sight of thebarricades. For that matter, it was impossible to enter this enclosureand examine the phenomena more closely. Directly I went forward,pom-pom went the machine-gun! At last, suddenly, the crowd burst thedike. But what puzzles me now is that these eruptions seem already tobe decreasing in violence, so that we can foresee the end of them veryshortly. True, on the other hand. . . ."
But Simon was not listening. He had caught sight, in the arena, of thecaptain commanding the detachment, with whom he had not been able toexchange more than a few words that morning, as the officer had atonce gone in pursuit of the fugitives. Simon led Isabel to the tent,set aside for her, in which Lord Bakefield was resting, and joined thecaptain, who cried:
"We are straightening things out, M. Dubosc. I've sent a few squadsnorth; and all these bands of cut-throats will fall into my hands orinto those of the English troops, who, I'm told, have arrived. Butwhat savages! And how glad I am that I came in time!"
Simon thanked him in the name of Lord Bakefield and his daughter.
"It's not I whom you should thank," he replied, "but that strangewoman, whom I know only by the name of Dolores, and who brought mehere."
The captain related how he had been operating since three o'clock inthe out-posts of Boulogne, where he was garrisoned, when he receivedfrom the newly-appointed military governor an order instructing him tomove towards Hastings, to take possession of the country as far asmid-way between the two coasts and to put down all excessesruthlessly.
"Well, this morning," he said, "when we were patrolling two or threemiles from there, I saw the woman ride up at a gallop. She told me ina few words what was happening inside these barricades, which she hadnot been able to pass, but behind which Simon Dubosc was in danger.Having succeeded in catching a horse, she had come to beg me to go toyour assistance. You can imagine how quickly I marched in thedirection she gave me, as soon as I heard the name of Simon Dubosc.And you will understand also why, when I saw that she in her turn wasin danger, I rushed in pursuit of the man who was carrying her off."
"What then, captain?"
"Well, she returned, quite quietly, all alone on her horse. She hadthrown the Indian, whom my men picked up in the neighbourhood, ratherthe worse for his fall. He says he knows you."
Simon briefly related the part which Antonio had played in thetragedy.
"Good!" cried the officer. "The mystery is clearing up!"
"What mystery, captain?"
"Oh, something quite in keeping with all the horrors that have beencommitted!"
He drew Simon to the wreck and down, the companion-ladder.
The wide gangway was littered with empty bags and baskets. All thegold had disappeared. The doors of the cabins occupied by Rollestonhad been demolished. But, outside the last of these cabins and alittle before the cupboard into which Antonio had locked Rolleston onthe previous evening, Simon, by the light of an electric torchswitched on by the officer, saw a man's body hanging from the ceiling.The knees had been bent back and fastened to keep the feet fromtouching the floor.
"There's the wretched Rolleston," said the captain. "Obviously he hasgot no more than his deserts. But, all the same. . . . Look closely.. . ."
He threw the rays of the lamp over the upper part of the victim'sbody. The face, covered with black clotted blood, was unrecognizable.The drooping head displayed the most hideous wound: the skull wasstripped of its skin and hair.
"It was Antonio who did that," said Simon, remembering the Indian'ssmile when he, Simon, had expressed the fear that the ruffians mightsucceed in finding and releasing their chief. "After the fashion ofhis ancestors, he has scalped the man whom he wished to punish. Itell you, we're living in the midst of savagery."
A few minutes later, on leaving the wreck, they saw Antonio who wastalking to Dolores near the spot where the submarine strengthened theformer line of defence. Dolores was holding her horse by the bridle.The Indian was making gestures and seemed to be greatly excited.
"She's going away," said the officer. "I've signed a safe-conduct forher."
Simon crossed the arena and went up to her:
"You're going, Dolores?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Where my horse chooses to take me . . . and as far as he can carryme."
"Won't you wait a few minutes?"
"No."
"I should have liked to thank you. . . . So would Miss Bakefield.. . ."
"Miss Bakefield has my best wishes!"
She mounted. Antonio snatched at the bridle, as though determined todetain her, and began to speak to her in a choking voice and in alanguage which Simon did not understand.
She did not move. Her beautiful, austere face did not change. Shewaited, with her eyes on the horizon, until the Indian, discouraged,released the bridle. Then she rode away. Not once had her eyes metSimon's.
She rode away, mysterious and secretive to the last. Simon's refusal,his conduct during the night which they had passed in the prehistoricdwelling must have humiliated her profoundly; and the best proof wasthis departure without farewell. But, on the other hand, what miraclesof dogged heroism she must have wrought to cross this sinister regionby herself and to save not only the man who had spurned her but thewoman whom that man loved above all things in this world!
A hand rested on Simon's shoulder:
"You, Isabel!" he said.
"Yes. . . . I was over there, a little farther on. . . . I saw Doloresgo."
The girl seemed to hesitate. At length, she murmured, watching himattentively:
"You didn't tell me she was so strikingly beautiful, Simon."
He felt slightly embarrassed. Looking her straight in the eyes, hereplied:
"I had no occasion to tell you, Isabel."
At five o'clock that afternoon, the French and British troops beingnow in touch, it was decided that Lord Bakefield and his daughtershould make part of an English convoy which was returning to Hastingsand which had a motor-ambulance at its disposal. Simon took leave ofthem, after asking Lord Bakefield's permission to call on him at anearly date.
Simon considered that his mission was not yet completed in these daysof confusion. Indeed, before the afternoon was over, an aeroplanealighted in sight of the camp and the captain was asked to sendimmediately reinforcements, as a conflict appeared inevitable betweenthe French and a British detachment, both of which had planted theircolours on a ridge overlooking the whole country. Simon did nothesitate for a moment. He took his place between the two airmen.
It is needless to describe in all its details the part which he playedin this incident, which might have had deplorable results: the way inwhich he threw himself between the adversaries, his entreaties, histhreats and, at last, the order to withdraw which he gave to theFrench with such authority and such persuasive force. All this ishistory; and it is enough to recall the words uttered two days laterby the British prime minister in the House of Commons:
"I have to thank M. Simon Dubosc. But for him, there would have been astain upon our country's honour; French blood would have been shed byEnglish hands. M. Simon Dubosc, the wonderful man who crossed what wasonce the Channel at one stride, understood that it would be necessary,at least for a few hours, to exercise a little patience towards agreat nation which for so many centuries has been accustomed to feelthat it was protected by the seas and which suddenly found itselfdisarmed, defenceless, deprived of its natural ramparts. Let us notforget that Germany, that very morning, with her customary effrontery,offered France an alliance and proposed the immediate invasion ofGreat Britain by the whole of the united forces of the two countries._Britannia delenda est!_ Mr. Speaker, it was Simon Dubosc who gave thereply, by achieving the miracle of a French retreat! All honour toSimon Dubosc!"
France at once recognized Simon's action by appointing the young manhigh commissioner for the new French territories. For four days longerhe was ubiquitous, flying over the province which he had conquered,restoring order, enforcing harmony, discipline and security. Pursuedand captured, all the bands of pillagers and spoilers were dulybrought to trial. Aeroplanes sailed the heavens. Provision-lorries ranin all directions, assuring travellers the means of transport. Chaoswas becoming organized.
At last one day, Simon called at Lord Bakefield's country-house nearBattle. Here too tranquillity had returned. The servants had resumedtheir duties. Only a few cracks in the walls, a few gaps in the lawnsreminded them of the hours of terror.
Lord Bakefield, who appeared to be in excellent health, received Simonin the library and gave him the same cordial welcome as on theBrighton golf-links:
"Well, young man, where do we stand now?"
"On the twentieth day after my request for your daughter's hand," saidSimon, smiling, "and as you gave me twenty days in which to perform acertain number of exploits, I come to ask you, on the appointed date,whether I have, in your opinion, fulfilled the conditions settledbetween us."
Lord Bakefield offered him a cigar and handed him a light.
He made no further reply. Simon's exploits and his rescue of LordBakefield when at the point of death, these obviously were interestingthings, deserving the reward of a good cigar, with Isabel's handperhaps thrown into the bargain. But it was asking too much to expectthanks as well and praise and endless effusions. Lord Bakefieldremained Lord Bakefield and Simon Dubosc a nobody.
"Well, see you later, young man . . . Oh, by the way! I have had themarriage annulled which that reptile Rolleston forced upon Isabel.. . . The marriage wasn't valid of course; but I've done what wasnecessary just as though it had been. Isabel will tell you all aboutit. You'll find her in the park."
She was not in the park. She had heard that Simon had called and waswaiting for him on the terrace.
He told her of his interview with Lord Bakefield.
"Yes," she said, "my father accepts the position. He considers thatyou have satisfied the ordeal."
"And you, Isabel?"
She smiled:
"I have no right to be more difficult than my father. But rememberthat there were not only his conditions: there was one added bymyself."
"Which condition was that, Isabel?"
"Have you forgotten? . . . On the deck of the _Queen Mary_?"
"Then, Isabel, you doubt me?"
She took both his hands and said:
"Simon, it sometimes makes me rather sad to think that in this greatadventure it was not I but another who was your companion in danger,the one whom you defended and who protected you."
He shook his head:
"No, Isabel, I never had but one companion, you, Isabel, and youalone. You were my only aim and my only thought, my one hope and myone desire."
After a moment's reflection, she said:
"I talked of her a good deal with Antonio, on the way home. Do youknow, Simon, that girl is not only very beautiful, but capable of thenoblest, loftiest feelings? I know nothing of her past; according toAntonio, it had its unsettled moments. But since then . . . sincethen . . . in spite of her present mode of life, in spite of all theadmiration which she attracts, she leads an existence apart. You alonehave really stirred her feelings. For you, from what I can see formyself and from what Antonio told me--and he, after all, is only arejected and embittered lover--for you Dolores would have laid downher life and that from the first day. Did you know that, Simon?"
He was silent.
"You are right," she said. "You can't answer. However, there is onepoint, Simon, on which I ask you to tell me the absolute truth. I canlook you straight in the face, can I not? There is not in the depthsof your being a single memory that comes between us? . . . Not aweakness? . . . Not a disloyal thought?"
He pressed her to him and, with his lips on hers, said:
"There's you, Isabel, and you alone: you in the past and you in thefuture."
"I believe you, Simon," she declared.
The wedding took place a month later; and they went to live in thewreck of the _Ville de Dunkerque_, the official residence of theFrench high commissioner of the new territories.
It was here that the draft agreement was signed, in accordance withSimon Dubosc's proposal and his preliminary investigations, for thegreat canal which was to bisect the Isthmus of Normandy, allotting toeach country, right and left, an almost equal portion of land.
Here too was signed the solemn covenant by which Great Britain andFrance declared eternal friendship and laid the foundations of theUnited States of Europe.
And it was here that four children were born to Isabel and Simon.
In after years, Simon often went on horseback or by aeroplane,accompanied by his wife, to visit his friend Edward Rolleston. When hehad recovered from his wounds, Rolleston set to work and became themanager of a large fishing-industry on the new English coast, in whichhe employed Antonio. Rolleston married. The Indian lived alone for along time, waiting for her who never came and of whom no one everspoke. But one day he received a letter and went away. Some monthslater, he wrote from Mexico announcing his marriage to Dolores.
But Isabel and Simon's favourite walk led them to Old Sandstone'shouse. He lived in a little bungalow, close to the prehistoricdwelling by the lake, where he pursued his researches into the newland. The showers of gold, now exhausted, no longer interested him;moreover, the problem had been solved. But what an indecipherableriddle was this building, standing on a site of the Eocene period!
"There were apes in those days," Old Sandstone declared. "There's nodoubt of that. But men! And men capable of building, of ornamentingtheir dwellings of carving stone! No, I confess this is
a phenomenonwhich unsettles all one's ideas. What do you make of it, Simon?"
Simon made no reply. A boat was rocking on the lake. He took his placein it with Isabel and rowed with a care-free mind; nor did Dolores'image ever rise from this limpid water, in which she had bathed on acertain voluptuous evening. Simon was the husband of one alone andthis was the woman whom he had won.
THE END
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