“I have looked for an accident through that telescope,” said the jocose judge, “fifteen Augusts running.  They usually have one the day after I go.”

“Good morning, sir!” was Quinby’s greeting; and I was instantly introduced to Sir John Sankey, with such a parade of my military history as made me wince and Sir John’s eye twinkle.  I fancied he had formed an unkind estimate of my rather overpowering friend, and lived to hear my impression confirmed in unjudicial language.  But our first conversation was about the war, and it lasted until the judge’s turn came for the telescope.

“Black with people!” he ejaculated.  “They ought to have a constable up there to regulate the traffic.”

But when I looked it was long enough before my inexperienced eye could discern the three midges strung on the single strand of cobweb against the sloping snow.

“They are coming down,” explained the obliging Quinby.  “That’s one of the most difficult places, the lower edge of the top slope.  It’s just a little way along to the right where the first accident was....  By the way, your friend Evers says he’s going to do the Matterhorn before he goes.”

It was unwelcome hearing, for Quinby had paused to regale me with a lightning sketch of the first accident, and no one had contradicted his gruesome details.

“Is young Evers a friend of yours?” inquired the judge.

“He is.”

The judge did not say another word.  But Quinby availed himself of the first opportunity of playing Ancient Mariner to my Wedding Guest.

“I saw you talking to them,” he told me confidentially, “last night, you know!”

“Indeed.”

He took me by the sleeve.

“Of course I don’t know what you said, but it’s evidently had an effect.  Evers has gone off alone for the first time since he has been here.”

I shifted my position.

“You evidently keep an eye on him, Mr. Quinby.”

“I do, Clephane.  I find him a diverting study.  He is not the only one in this hotel.  There’s old Teale on his balcony at the present minute, if you look up.  He has the best room in the hotel; the only trouble is that it doesn’t face the sun all day; he’s not used to being in the shade, and you’ll hear him damn the limelight-man in heaps one of these fine mornings.  But your enterprising young friend is a more amusing person than Belgrave Teale.”

I had heard enough of my enterprising young friend from this quarter.

“Do you never make any expeditions yourself, Mr. Quinby?”

“Sometimes.”  Quinby looked puzzled.  “Why do you ask?” he was constrained to add.

“You should have volunteered instead of Mrs. Lascelles to-day.  It would have been an excellent opportunity for prosecuting your own rather enterprising studies.”

One would have thought that one’s displeasure was plain enough at last; but not a bit of it.  So far from resenting the rebuff, the fellow plucked my sleeve, and I saw at a glance that he had not even listened to my too elaborate sarcasm.