He moved along the edge of the crevasse, in the direction of the rocks. I went along after him, my right hand near that pocket which held my revolver.
"They could," said Rhodes at length, stopping within a few yards of the wall of rock, "have gone into the crevasse at this point."
"But where could they have gone? There is no break in the wall here, not even a crack."
"Don't forget, Bill, that ice moves."
"If that is the explanation, we shall go back no wiser than we came."
"Let us hope," he returned, "that it doesn't prove the explanation. I have no knowledge as to the rate of the ice-movement here. The Nisqually moves a foot or more a day in summer. The movement here may be very similar, though, on the other hand, there are certain considerations which suggest the possibility that it may be only a few inches per diem."
"It may be so."
"However, Bill, this speculation or surmise will avail us nothing now. So let's give our attention to this other crevasse. And, if it too should reveal nothing—well, there are plenty of others."
"Yes," said I rather dubiously; "there are plenty of others."
"The unusual size of these two," he went on, "and this being the scene of the tragedy, led me to think that it would not be a bad idea to start the examination at this point. The great Boileau—and I learned this with not a little satisfaction, Bill, though I may say 'twas with no colossal surprize—the great Boileau did not give even the slightest attention to any crevasse. He knew before ever he came up here, of course, that the girl's death had been a purely accidental one. However, let us see what we are to find in this other fissure."
We found it even wider than the one which we had just quitted. And scarcely had we come to a pause there on the edge of it, and within a few yards of the rock, when I started and gave a low exclamation for silence.
For some moments we stood listening intently, but all was silent, save for the low, ghostly whisper of the mountain wind.
"What was it?" Rhodes asked in a low voice.
"I don't know. I thought I heard something."
"Where?"
"I can't say. It seemed to come from out of the rock itself or—from this."
And I indicated the crevasse at our feet.
Chapter 14
The Way to Drome
The depth of the fissure here was twelve or fifteen feet. A short distance out, however, it narrowed, and at that point it was almost completely filled with snow. I noticed even then, in that moment of tense uncertainty, that it would be very easy for a person to make his way down that snow to the bottom. A few steps then, and he would be at the real base of that wall of rock. Yes, that would explain it!
A strange excitement possessed me, though I endeavored to suppress every sign of it. Yes, the angel and the demon—if the angel had been out upon the ice at the moment of the tragedy—could have disappeared easily enough. 'Tis true, no tracks had been noticed there. That, however, was no proof positive that there had been none. And perhaps, forsooth, there had been no tracks there to discover. The angel might not have been out upon the glacier at all, and the thing might not have left a
(Continued on page 140)
