Lucy listened.  She had forgotten the train for the last few minutes, and it seemed to be going fast.  The sharp snorting of the mountain engine and rhythmic clang of wheels seemed to indicate that its long climb had not been interrupted.  The Montreal express did not stop at the flag station unless the conductor was warned.  She felt daunted as she realized that Foster might not have come, and she had not told her mother she had telegraphed for him.

A few minutes later she heard steps outside; then the door opened, and she felt a thrill of satisfaction as Foster came in with Pete.  He looked grave and rather hot, as if he had been walking fast, but it was strangely comforting to see him.  Besides, she liked his big companion, who waited with Scottish calm.

Foster bowed to Mrs. Stephen and then turned to Lucy.

“Is Lawrence all right?”

“Yes.  He overtired himself this morning, but is better now.”

Foster looked relieved.  “Is Walters here?”

“He goes to-morrow.”

“Ah!” said Foster, as if he thought this important.  “I should have arrived yesterday if your message had come earlier.  I got it just after the train started in the morning.”

Mrs. Stephen looked at her daughter, but Lucy offered no explanation.  Foster’s abruptness disturbed her.  He obviously wanted to understand the situation, but seemed to think he had no time to lose.

“I sent the telegram half an hour before the office closed and as the agent goes early you ought to have got it in the evening,” she said.

“Then it must have been kept back.  Where’s Lawrence now?”

“He went to his room with Walters about ten minutes since.”

Foster beckoned Pete.  “Then I’ll go straight up; I know the number.”

They went out and Lucy sat down, feeling disturbed but somewhat comforted.  It was plain that Foster shared her fears and knew more than she did, but in another minute or two he would join his comrade, and Lawrence would be safe when he was there.

In the meantime, Walters lighted a cigarette Lawrence gave him in his room and sat down to examine the photographs.  There were a number of views of the mountains and a group of figures occupied the foreground of several.  A guest at the hotel with some talent for photography had taken the pictures, and after a time Walters picked out two in which Lucy and Lawrence appeared.

“I’ll take these, if I’m not robbing you,” he said and waited until Lawrence put on a Tuxedo jacket, when he resumed:  “Well, I suppose we had better go down.  Are you coming?”

He went out and as Lawrence crossed the floor to turn off the light, called back:  “I forgot the pictures; they’re on the bureau.  The elevator’s coming up and I’ll keep it when it’s here.”

Lawrence told him to do so.  The lift had stopped between the floors on their ascent, and the electric light inside it had gone out, while the boy said something about his not being able to run it much longer.  The photographs, however, were not on the bureau and Lawrence searched the room before he found them on the bed.  Then he turned off the light and went into the passage, which was rather dark.  The lamp at the shaft was not burning, but he could see Walters beckoning at the gate.