"You are! You stole his watch and money because you thought to make his murder appear a common one. And so it was! You slew him because you feared he would dispossess your master of what he unrighteously held, because you thought that you would lose your place." "Again I say it is false! I had no thought of self! I killed him--yes, I!--because I loved my friend, my master as you term him, because he threatened to come between him and the woman he loved. Had I known of Walter Cundall's noble nature, as I knew of it afterwards, no power on earth could have induced me to do such a deed." "It is infamy for such as you to speak of his nobility--but enough! Are you armed to-night, as you were on that night?" "I have no arms about me. Why do you ask?" "To tell you that no arms can avail you now. You must come with me." "To where?" "To the village prison at St. Christoph. There I will leave you until you can be taken to England." For the first time since he had seen the avenger of Walter Cundall standing before him, Smerdon smiled bitterly. "Señor Guffanta," he said, "you are very big and strong--it may well be stronger than I am. But you overrate your strength strangely if you think that any power you possess can make me go with you. I am a murderer--God help and pardon me! It is probable I shall be a double one before this night is over." "You threaten me--you! You defy me!" Guffanta exclaimed, while his dark eyes gleamed ominously. "Yes, I defy you! If my sin is to be punished, it shall not be by you, at least. Here, in this lonely place where for miles no other human creature is near, I defy you to do your worst. We are man to man; do you think I fear you?" In a moment Guffanta had sprung at him, had seized him by the throat, and with the other arm had encircled his body. "So be it," he hissed in Smerdon's ear, "it suits me better than a prolonged punishment of your crime would do." For a moment they struggled locked together, and in that moment Smerdon knew that he was doomed; that he was about to expiate his crime. The long, sinewy hand of the Spaniard that was round his throat was choking him; his own blows fell upon the other's body harmlessly. And he was being dragged towards the edge of the moraine, already his back was against the wooden railing that alone stood between the plateau and destruction. He could, even at this moment, hear it creaking with his weight; it would break in another instant! "Will you yield, assassin, villain?" Guffanta muttered. "Never! Do your worst." He felt one hand tighten round his throat more strongly, he felt the other arm of the Spaniard driving him back; in that moment of supreme agony he heard the breaking of the railing and felt it give under him, and then Guffanta's hands had loosed him, and, striking the moraine with his head, he fell down and down till he lay a senseless mass upon the white bosom of the glacier.