"That girl is becoming a nuisance to me," the old man said. "I shall have to send her to England to work, as her sisters are doing. It is the loneliness of the mountains, Monsieur; even I suffer from that sometimes. You English people stay here such a little while; you do not know what it is to see those great white walls shutting out the world always. Well, well, Susette will be better in England; and I, perhaps, may go to Paris and remember that I have been young." He laughed, and looked at the paper in his hand. The trains to Italy—had he not been sent to inquire about them? Well, there were no trains. There had been an accident beyond Brigue, and it was doubtful when the line would be cleared. "I am quite sure about it, Monsieur, for the chief answered me himself. You cannot go to-night; it is out of the question." Benny stood for an instant rocking upon his heels. His cheeks had flushed suddenly, and his fists were clenched almost convulsively. "When did this accident happen?" "At midday, I think." "Do you know if the morning train got through to Milan?" "I am able to say so; it was mentioned by the superintendent, and the last train to reach Italy, I believe." "Ah, then, that is all, Maître Rousset. Thank you very much. I shall see you later on." He waited for no reply, but hurried from the café like one possessed. So swiftly did he walk, that he had almost passed the door of the Palace Hotel before he remembered his promise to the doctor and the necessity of keeping it. The hour was favourable to that, for the players were out on the mountains again, and the doctor entertained a little company in the drawing-room, where he played one of Chopin’s nocturnes with an exquisite touch and a feeling for the music of it quite beyond ordinary. Nor would Benny interrupt him. The haunting melody lingered as a memory of children’s voices; the pathos of life stood expressed in it; the hope, and fear, and dread which afflicted his mind at this very moment. Such chords were struck by the Master of human destiny when the souls of men were offered upon the altars of life. Benny trembled while he heard them, and, trembling, he saw the woman’s face as in a vision. Dr. Orange came out presently and heard his news with interest. The story of the mishap at Brigue had not entered into his calculations. It seemed to say that nothing could be done to further their ends, unless they sent a telegram to the shanty in the hope that it would be in time. On the other hand, there was a possibility that Susette might not have been correctly informed, and that the gendarme, Philip, had but a vague idea of Delayne’s whereabouts. If this were the case, it would be madness to employ the telegraph, open as it was to the scrutiny of the police. In the end the doctor agreed that it would be wiser to wait; and then he asked if it would not be possible to drive across the pass?