“Why, that’s true,” said Chayne, and as they walked to the post-office he argued more to convince himself than Michel Revailloud.  “It’s very likely—­some quite small accident—­a sprained ankle.”  But the moment after he had sent the telegram, and when he and Michel stood again outside the post-office, the fear which was in him claimed utterance.

“The Col des Nantillons is a bad place, Michel, that’s the truth.  Had Lattery been detained in the hut he would have found means to send us word.  In weather like this, that hut would be crowded every night; every day there would be some one coming from Courmayeur to Chamonix.  No!  I am afraid of the steep slabs of that rock-wall.”

And Michael Revailloud said slowly: 

“I, too, monsieur.  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.

“You had better get quietly together what guides you can, Michel,” he said.  “By the time a rescue party is made up the answer will have come from Courmayeur.”

Chayne walked slowly back to the hotel.  All those eager anticipations which had so shortened his journey this morning, which during the last two years had so often raised before his eyes through the shimmering heat of the Red Sea cool visions of ice-peaks and sharp spires of rock, had crumbled and left him desolate.  Anticipations of disaster had taken their place.  He waited in the garden of the hotel at a spot whence he could command the door and the little street leading down to it.  But for an hour no messenger came from the post-office.  Then, remembering that a long sad work might be before him, he went into the hotel and breakfasted.  It was twelve o’clock and the room was full.  He was shown a place amongst the other newcomers at one of the long tables, and he did not notice that Sylvia Thesiger sat beside him.  He heard her timid request for the salt, and passed it to her; but he did not speak, he did not turn; and when he pushed back his chair and left the room, he had no idea who had sat beside him, nor did he see the shadow of disappointment on her face.  It was not until later in the afternoon when at last the blue envelope was brought to him.  He tore it open and read the answer of the hotel proprietor at Courmayeur: 

“Lattery left four days ago with one guide for Col du Geant.”

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 Ruecksacks 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.  There were two of them,” and Chayne interrupted him quickly.