"You might be at Locarno to-morrow night," he suggested, and bethought him in the same breath that the trains would be running through the tunnel from the point where the accident had happened. This suggested another course. Why not take the train to Brigue, and learn just what had happened? To which Benny responded in his quiet way that it was neck or nothing. Either Philip knew, or he did not know. If he knew, Sir Luton would be in a prison before nightfall, and England would have the story to-morrow! "Unless a man can buy a magic carpet," he remarked with a shrug, "there’s nothing further to be said. I’d drive across the pass willingly if I thought it would do any good. You know that it won’t. Doctor, and that’s the end of it." "Then there is no other way?" "None at all, unless I run out my machine, and get there over the mountains." "You could do it, Benson; I think you would do it if your own wife or sister were concerned. Have you thought about it? I see the wind has dropped. It would not take you very long, would it now? Well, I must leave it to you. It’s for you to decide, and you know what can be done so much better than I do. If I see Lady Delayne, I shall not forget to tell her how much trouble you took. She is the kind of woman who remembers." Benny said he thought that she was, but they had no other chance to speak of it, for the Rider girls came galloping into the conservatory at that moment and carried off the doctor triumphantly. It was about three o’clock then, and already growing dark. Benny perceived that the wind had fallen, and that a dead calm had come down. There would be an interval merely of hours, he thought, before it began to blow again. He must make up his mind immediately. The weather would have nothing to do with argument. He must go and warn Luton Delayne, and must warn him for Lily’s sake. If he did not go, she might be a free woman before the summer came, and it might lie no longer against his conscience that he loved her. Permitting his thoughts to run on, he would say that by such a woman’s love would his future be assured. He saw himself working for her, devoting all his genius to her service and raising himself above the class into which he had been born. The world knew his name already; but that was merely the beginning of things. He had worshipped the very ground this woman trod, and she must be the guiding star of his life to the end. What then carried him to Locarno—what paradox of duty or service? He could not answer the question, but the vision remained and haunted him. To cross the Simplon Valley and descend to Italy. It was a child’s task for a man who had circled the great Pennine chain. True, the storm might come down again, and if it did come down, the unfortunate who was caught aloft in it would lose his life! Well, and what had life in store on this side? Again, the voice said, she will be a free woman.