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He was standing by the door of the hotel, and looking up he saw Michel Revailloud and a small band of guides, all of whom carried ice-axes and some Rücksacks on their backs, and ropes, come tramping down the street toward him. Michel Revailloud came close to his side and spoke with excitement. "He has been seen, monsieur. It must have been Monsieur Lattery with his one guide.
The walls of the chasm descended smooth and precipitous, changing in gradual shades and color from pale transparent green to the darkest blue, until all color was lost in darkness. He bent his head and shouted into the depths: "Lattery! Lattery!" And only his voice came back to him, cavernous and hollow.
It is a bad place, the Col des Nantillons; it is not a quick way or a good way to anywhere, and it is very dangerous. And yet I am not sure. Monsieur Lattery was very safe on rocks. Ice, that is another thing. But he would be on rock." It was evident that Michel was in doubt, but it seemed that Chayne could not force himself to share it.
"Maunders told me that if I came to see you it might be to my advantage." "I think it will," replied Mr. Jarvice. "Have you seen this morning's paper?" "On'y the 'Sportsman'." "Then you have probably not noticed that your cousin, John Lattery, has been killed in the Alps." He handed his newspaper to Hine, who glanced at it indifferently. "Well, how does that affect me?" he asked.
Kenyon leaned forward and gently took the photograph out of Chayne's hand. He mixed it with the others, not giving to it a single glance himself, and then replaced them all in the drawer from which he had taken them. He came back to the table and at last answered Chayne: "John Lattery was your friend. Some of the best hours of your life were passed in his company. You know that now.
The rock-wall had never been ascended, and the few who had descended it bore ample testimony to its difficulties. But a third night, no! Lattery should have been in Chamonix yesterday, without a doubt. He would not indeed have food for three nights and days. Chayne translated the telegram into French and read it out to Michel Revailloud.
I had been so fascinated by the gentle movement of the boulder that I had forgotten altogether to tell Lattery what was happening; and when it whizzed out over his head, he was so startled that he nearly lost his balance on the little shelf and we were within an ace of following our rock down to the glacier. Those were our early days." And he laughed with a low deep ring of amusement in his voice.
"Gabriel Strood was my John Lattery," and moving round the table he dropped his hand upon Chayne's shoulder. "You will ask me no more questions," he said, with a smile. "I beg your pardon," said Chayne. He had his answer. He knew now that there was something to conceal, that there was a definite reason why Gabriel Strood disappeared.
But it was as though for a second they had spoken. Chayne, however, forgot Sylvia Thesiger. As the train moved on to Le Fayet he was thinking only of the plans which he had made, of the new expeditions which were to be undertaken, of his friend John Lattery and his guide Michel Revailloud who would be waiting for him upon the platform of Chamonix. He had seen neither of them for four years.
"The Col des Nantillons," said Michel, with a shake of the head, and Chayne saw the fear which he felt himself looking out from his guide's eyes. "It is possible," said Michel, "that Monsieur Lattery did not start after all." "He would have telegraphed again." "Yes," Michel agreed. "The weather has been fine too. There have been no fogs. Monsieur Lattery could not have lost his way."
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