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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Who is it?" "An English gentleman I once climbed with for a whole season many years ago. A great climber, mademoiselle! Captain Chayne will know his name. Gabriel Strood." "Gabriel Strood!" she cried, and then she laughed. "I too know his name. You are flattering me, Jean." But Jean would not admit it. "I am not, mademoiselle," he insisted. "I do not say you have his skill how should you?
"Yes," said Michel. "Three men are needed for that climb," and Chayne left him to believe that it was merely for the climb that he needed another guide. "But there is André Droz already at Courmayeur," he continued. "His patron was to leave him there to-day. A telegram can be sent to him to-morrow bidding him wait. If he has started, we shall meet him to-morrow on the Col du Géant.
My father obtained it in sufficient quantity, withheld it at times, gave it at other times, played with him, tantalized him, gratified him. You can understand there was only one possible result. Walter Hine became my father's slave, his dog. I no longer counted in his thoughts at all. I was nothing." "Yes," said Chayne. The device was subtle, diabolically subtle.
"Monsieur," he said, and Chayne looked at him with dull eyes like a man dazed. "There is something which François noticed, which he wished me to tell you. François is a good lad. He wishes you to know that your friend died at once there was no sign of a movement. He lay in the bottom of the crevasse in some snow which was quite smooth.
He went to his writing-desk and opening a drawer took out a number of photographs. He brought them back, and moving the green-shaded lamp so that the light fell clear and strong upon the little table, laid them down. Chayne bent over them with a beating heart. Was his suspicion to be confirmed or disproved?
There was a kind of resemblance; running water was, in a way, an image of her. She seemed in her nature to be as clear and fresh; yet she was as elusive; and when she laughed, her laugh had a music as light and free. She went into the chalet. Through the window Chayne saw her strike a match and hold it to the candle.
Then it had been night; now it was day. Then she had been used to seek respite from her life in the shelter of her dreams. Now the dreams were of no use, since what was real made them by comparison so pale and thin. The blood ran strong and joyous in her veins to-day; and looking at her, Chayne sent up his prayers that they might not arrive in Chamonix too late.
"I think there may be wind to-morrow," he replied, raising his face and judging by signs unappreciable to other than the trained eyes of a guide. "But we will try, eh, monsieur?" he cried, recovering his spirits. "We will try. We will be the first on the Brenva ridge for two years." But there Chayne knew him to be wrong. There was another party somewhere on the great ridge at this moment.
I thought of you, Hilary, while I was saying what I had to say. I tried to hear your voice speaking again outside the Chalet de Lognan. 'What you know, that you must do. I warned my father that if any harm came to Walter Hine from taking the drug again, any harm at all which I traced to my father, I would not keep silent." Chayne leaned back in his seat.
I remember the words, for I did not know whether there was not something which needed attention. It ran like this: 'What are you waiting for? Hurry up." "Was it signed?" asked Chayne. "Yes. 'Jarvice," replied Sylvia. "Jarvice," Chayne repeated; and he spoke it yet again, as though in some vague way it was familiar to him. "What was the date of the telegram?"
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