Rolleston! The man whom all accused! The man who had planned the whole affair and recruited the Hastings blackguards in order to make a dash for the wreck and steal the miniature! Rolleston, the murderer of Dolores' uncle, the murderer of William and Charles! Rolleston, Isabel's persecutor!
Nevertheless Simon hesitated, profoundly troubled by the sight of his friend. Fearing an outburst of anger on the Indian's part, he seized him by the arm:
"Wait a moment, Antonio! . . . First, are you really certain?"
For some seconds, neither stirred. Simon was thinking that Rolleston's presence on the battle-field was the most convincing proof of his guilt. But Antonio declared:
"This is not the man I met in the corridor of the hotel."
"Ah!" cried Simon. "I was sure of it! In spite of all appearances, I could not admit. . . ."
And he rushed up to his friend, saying:
"Wounded, Ted? It's not serious, is it, old man?"
The Englishman murmured:
"Is that you, Simon? I didn't recognize you. My eyes are all misty."