"He did not, of course, care to tell everything, Mr. Rhodes, for fear he would not be believed. And little wonder. He was cautious, very guarded in his story; but, at that, not a single soul believed him. Perhaps, indeed, his very fear of distrust and suspicion and his consequent caution and vagueness, hastened and enhanced those dark and sinister thoughts and suspicions of his neighbors, and, indeed, of every one else who heard the story. There was talk of insanity, of murder even. This was the cruelest wound of all, and my grandfather carried the scar of it to his grave." "Probably it would have been better," said Rhodes, "had he given them the whole of the story, down to the minutest detail." "I do not see how. When they did not believe the little that he did tell, how on earth could they have believed the wild, the fantastic, the horrible thing itself?" "Well, you may be right, Mr. Scranton. And here is a strange thing, too. It is inexplicable, a mystery indeed. For many years now, thousands of sightseers have every summer visited the mountain--this mountain that your grandfather found so mysterious, so hellish--and yet nothing has ever happened." "That is true, Mr. Rhodes." "They have found Rainier," said Milton Rhodes, "beautiful, majestic, a sight to delight the hearts of the gods; but no man has ever found anything having even the remotest resemblance to what your grandfather saw--has ever even found strange footprints in the snow. I ask you: where has the mystery been hiding all these years?" "That is a question I shall not try to answer, Mr. Rhodes. It is my belief, however, that the mystery has never been _hiding_--using the word, that is, in its literal signification." "Of course," Milton said. "But you know what I mean." The other nodded. "And now, Mr. Rhodes, I am going to tell you why I this day so suddenly found myself so anxious to come to you and give you this story." Milton Rhodes leaned forward, and the look which he fixed on the face of Scranton was eager and keen. "I believe, Mr. Rhodes, I at one point said enough to give you an idea of what--" "Yes, yes!" Milton interrupted. "And now tell me!" "The angel," said Scranton, "has come again!" "Alone?" "No; the demon is with her." Chapter 8 "DROME" AGAIN Scranton produced a clipping from a newspaper. "This," he told us, "is from today's noon edition of _The Herald_. The account, you observe, is a short one; but it is my belief that it will prove to have been (at any rate, the pre-cursor of) the most extraordinary piece of news that this paper has ever printed." He looked from one to the other of us as if challenging us to doubt it. "What," asked Rhodes, "is it about?"