As he sat there, taking those last five minutes of rest, it seemed to him that there was some other slight sound breaking the stillness of the night, something else besides the occasional cracking noise made by the glacier below and the subdued roar of the torrents in the valley. A light, regular sound, that nowhere else but in a solitude like this would, perhaps, be heard, but that here was perfectly distinct. It came nearer and nearer, and once, as it approached, some small stones were dislodged and rattled down from above, and fell with a plunge on to the glacier below: and then, as it came closer, he knew that it was made by the footsteps of a man. And, looking up, he saw a human figure descending the path to the plateau by which he had come, and standing out clearly defined against the moonlight. "It is some guide going home," he said to himself, "or starting out upon an early ascent. How firmly he descends the path." The man advanced, and he watched him curiously, noticing the easy way in which he came down the rough-hewn steps, scarcely touching the handrail or using the heavy-pointed stick he carried in place of the usual alpenstock. And he noticed that, besides his knapsack, he carried the heavy coil of rope that guides use in their ascents. At last the new comer reached the plateau, and, as he took the last two or three steps that led on to it, he saw that there was another man upon it, and stopped. Stopped to gaze for one moment at the previous occupant, and then to advance towards him and to stand towering above him as he sat upon the boulder-stone. "You are Philip Smerdon," he said in a voice that sounded deep and hollow in the other's ear. Utterly astonished, and with another feeling that was not all astonishment, Smerdon rose and stood before him and said: "I do not know of what importance my name can be to you." "Your name is of no importance, but you are of the greatest to me. When I tell you _my_ name you will understand why. It is Miguel Guffanta." "Guffanta!" Smerdon exclaimed, "Guffanta!" "Yes! the friend of Walter Cundall." "What do you want with me?" the other asked, but as he asked he knew the answer that would come from the man before him. "But one thing now, though ten minutes ago I wanted more. I wanted to see, then, if the man whom I sought for in London and at Occleve Chase, whom I have followed from place to place till I have found him here, was the same man I saw stab my friend to death in----" "You saw it?" "Yes, I saw it. And you are the man who did it!" "It is false!" "It is true! Do you dare to tell me I lie, you, a---- Bah! Why should I cross words with a murderer--a thief!" "I am no thief!" Smerdon said, his anger rising at this opprobrious term, even as he felt his guilt proclaimed.