United States or Greenland ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
You have spoken with her, monsieur, and thanked her for them?" "No," said Chayne, and there was much indifference in his voice. Women had, as yet, not played a great part in Chayne's life.
For I have heard little of such friendships and I have seen still less." Chayne's thoughts were suddenly turned from his dead friend to this, the living companion at his side. There was something rather sad and pitiful in the tone of her voice, no less than in the words she used. She spoke with so much humility. He was aware with a kind of shock, that here was a woman, not a child.
In the little square one of the musicians with a very clear sweet voice was singing a plaintive song, and above the hum of the crowd, the melody, haunting in its wistfulness, floated to Chayne's ears, and troubled him with many memories.
And beyond yes, beyond, to the Jardin." Chayne broke in upon his bitter humor. "I want the best guide in Chamonix. I want him at once. I must start by daylight." Michel glanced up in surprise. But what he saw in Chayne's face stopped all remonstrance. "For what ascent, monsieur?" he asked. "The Brenva route." "Madame will not go!" "No, I go alone. I must go quickly. There is very much at stake.
Quentin's Mansions, and after consultation with the porter, who, knowing me to be a friend of Mr. Chayne's, assured me that I need not have burdened myself with the horrible key, I entered Jaffery's chambers. I found the small sitting-room in very much the same state of litter as when Jaffery left it. He enjoyed litter and hated the devastating tidiness of housemaids.
Garratt Skinner had laid his plans for the Brenva route. Somewhere on that long and difficult climb the accident was to take place. The very choice of a guide was in itself a confirmation of Chayne's fears. It was a piece of subtlety altogether in keeping with Garratt Skinner. He had taken a bad and untrustworthy guide on one of the most difficult expeditions in the range of Mont Blanc.
Barbara and myself, who, alone of mortals, knew the strange history of the two books, did not agree with the press. In sober truth "The Greater Glory" was not a work of genius; for, after all, the only hallmark of a work of genius that you can put your finger on is its haunting quality. That quality Tom Castleton's work possessed; Jaffery Chayne's did not.
Moreover, how in the world should he know that those slabs of black granite on the top of the Grépon were veined with red splashed with red as he described them? Unless he had ascended them, or the Aiguille des Charmoz opposite how should he know? The philosophy of his guide Michel Revailloud flashed across Chayne's mind. "One needs some one with whom to exchange one's memories."
He wanted to lay his hands upon the money for which Hine's life was insured." Garratt Skinner leaned back in his chair. His eyes never left Chayne's face, his face grew set and stern. He had a dangerous look, the look of a desperate man at bay. "Then there is a certain incident to be considered which took place in the house near Weymouth.
Suddenly it rose into the colorless light, pallid and wax-like, with open, sightless eyes and a dropped jaw, and one horrid splash of color on the left forehead, where blood had frozen. It was the face of Chayne's friend, John Lattery; and in a way most grotesque and horrible it bobbed and nodded at him, as though the neck was broken and the man yet lived. When François just below cried, "Gently!
Word Of The Day