Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The Crystal Hunters, by George Manville Fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ A tense tale, such as we expect of George Manville Fenn. A group of English people are in the Swiss Alps. But it is not just the beauties of the scenery they are after, but crystals which may sometimes be found in caves near the top of the glaciers. They manage to find a guide who promises to be discreet about what they do. But someone else is on the mountain, and he is just as interested in what they are up to, and what they find, as they are themselves. Of course, as we expect in a Manville Fenn novel, there are tense moments when people fall down crevasses, when there are avalanches and ice-falls, when icy rocks break off and come tumbling towards them. But what about the unknown person who is making off with their hard-won specimens? There is a surprise ending. It is a good readable book, well worth the effort of making an audio book and listening to it. ________________________________________________________________________ THE CRYSTAL HUNTERS, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. CHAPTER ONE. TWO MEN AND A BOY. "Steady there! Stop! Hold hard!" "What's the matter, Mr Dale?" "Matter, Saxe, my boy? Well, this. I undertook to take you back to your father and mother some day, sound in wind and limb; but if you begin like that, the trip's over, and we shall have to start back for England in less than a week--at least, I shall, with my luggage increased by a case containing broken boy." There was a loud burst of hearty laughter from the manly-looking lad addressed, as he stood, with his hands clinging and his head twisted round, to look back: for he had spread-eagled himself against a nearly perpendicular scarp of rock which he had begun to climb, so as to reach a patch of wild rhododendrons. There was another personage present, in the shape of a sturdy, muscular-looking man, whose swarthy face was sheltered by a wide-brimmed soft felt hat, very much turned up at the sides, and in whose broad band was stuck a tuft of the pale grey, starry-looking, downy plant known as the Edelweiss. His jacket was of dark, exceedingly threadbare velvet; breeches of the same; and he wore gaiters and heavily nailed lace-up boots; his whole aspect having evoked the remarks, when he presented himself at the door of the chalet: "I say, Mr Dale, look here! Where is his organ and his monkey? This chap has been asking for you--for Herr Richard Dale, of London." "Yes, I sent for him. It is the man I am anxious to engage for our guide." For Melchior Staffeln certainly did look a good deal like one of the "musicians" who infest London streets with "kists o' whustles," as the Scottish gentleman dubbed them--or much noisier but less penetrating instruments on wheels.