Meantime, Lord Glenarvan, having made the acquaintance of the surveyor-general, was conversing with him and the police-officer. The latter was a tall, thin man, of imperturbable coolness, who, if he had any feeling, betrayed no sign of it on his impassible features. He was like a mathematician engaged upon a problem; he was seeking to elucidate the mystery of the disaster. To Glenarvan's first words, "This is a great calamity!" he replied, calmly, "It is more than that."
"More than that!" cried Glenarvan; "and what can be more than that?"
"It is a crime!" replied the officer, coolly.
Glenarvan turned to Mr. Mitchell, the surveyor-general, with a questioning look.
"That is correct," said the latter; "our examination has convinced us that the catastrophe is the result of a crime. The last baggage-wagon was robbed. The surviving travelers were attacked by a party of five or six malefactors. The bridge was opened intentionally; and, taking into account this fact with the disappearance of the guard, I cannot but come to the conclusion that the miserable man was the accomplice of the criminals."
The police-officer, at these words, slowly shook his head.
"You are not of my opinion?" inquired Mr. Mitchell.
"Not as regards the complicity of the guard."
"At any rate, this assumed complicity," continued the surveyor-general, "enables us to attribute the crime to the natives who wander about the country. Without the guard's assistance these natives could not have opened the draw-bridge, for they do not understand its working."
"Exactly," replied the officer.