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Updated: June 23, 2025
The spark was a fire lit by Pierre Delouvain. For Garratt Skinner's party had camped upon those rocks. The morning was cold, and one by one the porters, Garratt Skinner, and Walter Hine, gathered about the blaze. Overhead the stars glittered in a clear, dark sky.
He sat opposite Sylvia and the rest took their places, Hine sidling timidly into his chair and tortured by the thought that he had to amuse this delicate being at his side. "The supper is on the table," said Garratt Skinner. "Parminter, will you cut up this duck? Hine, what have you got in front of you?
Jarvice was not an impressionable man, but his hands grew cold while he imagined Garratt Skinner watching the development of his little scheme the tour abroad with the pleasant companion, the things which were to happen on the tour watching and waiting until the fitting moment had come, when all was over, for him to step in and demand the price of his silence and hold Mr.
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.
"So you went up a mountain? Which one?" "The Aiguille d'Argentière. Do you know it, father?" "I have heard of it," said Garratt Skinner. "Well, somehow that made a difference. It is difficult to explain. But I felt the difference. I felt something had happened to me which I had to recognize a new thing.
"Had it happened?" he asked himself. "How was it to happen?" What kind of an accident was it to be which could take place with a guide however worthless, and which would leave no suspicion resting on Garratt Skinner? There would be no cutting of the rope. Of that he felt sure. That method might do very well for a melodrama, but actually no! Garratt Skinner would have a better plan than that.
But her father was already gone. She heard his step upon the stairs. Chayne, however, followed her father from the room and caught him up as he was leaving the hotel. "I want to say," he began with some difficulty, "that, if you are pressed at all for money " Garratt Skinner stopped him. He pulled some sovereigns out of one pocket and some banknotes out of another.
Then he turned to Chayne. "You wished to speak to me? I am at your service." "Yes," replied Chayne. "We and I speak for Sylvia we wish to suggest to you that your acquaintanceship with Walter Hine should end altogether that it should already have ended." "Really!" said Garratt Skinner, with an air of surprise.
"Yes," she said, with satisfaction. Garratt Skinner laughed. "Oh, you know that?" "Yes," she replied, nodding her head at him. He led the way down the passage toward the back of the house, and throwing open a door introduced her to his friends. "Captain Barstow," he said, and Sylvia found herself shaking hands with a little middle-aged man with a shiny bald head and a black square beard.
Above the three men the stars came out very clear and bright; the tiny lights in the chalets far below disappeared one by one; the cold became intense. At times Garratt Skinner roused his companions, and holding each other by the arm, they rose simultaneously to their feet and stamped upon the ledge. But every movement hurt them, and after a while Walter Hine would not. "Leave me alone," he said.
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