t tempted
to quote the only line of Moliere ever heard beyond the shores of
France.

Like every visitor to the Maloja, he was acquainted with each of
its roads and footpaths except the identical one that these three
descended. Where did it lead to? Before he quite realized what he was
doing, he was walking up the hill. In places where the sun had not yet
caught the snow there was a significant trail. Bower had come and gone
once, Stampa, or some man wearing village-made boots, twice; but
the single track left by Millicent's smart footwear added another
perplexing item to the puzzle. So he pressed on, and soon was gazing
at the forlorn cemetery, with its signs of a furious struggle between
the gateposts, the uncovered grave space, and Millicent's track round
two corners of the square built wall.

It was part of his life's training to read signs. The mining engineer
who would hit on a six-inch lode in a mountain of granite must combine
imagination with knowledge, and Spencer quickly made out something of
the silent story,--something, not all, but enough to send him in
haste to the hotel by the way Millicent had arrived on the scene.

"Guess there's going to be a heap of trouble round here," he said to
himself. "Helen must be recalled to London. It's up to me to make the
cable hot to Mackenzie."

He had yet to learn that the storm which brought about a good deal of
the preceding twenty-four hours' excitement had not acted in any
niggardly fashion. It had laid low whole sections of the telegraph
system on both sides of the pass during the night. Gangs of men were
busy repairing the wires. Later in the day, said a civil spoken
attendant at the _bureau des postes_, a notice would be exhibited
stating the probable hour of the resumption of service.

"Are the wires down beyond St. Moritz?" asked Spencer.

"I cannot give an assurance," said the clerk; "but these southwest
gales usually do not affect the Albula Pass. The road to St. Moritz is
practicable, as this morning's mail was only forty minutes behind
time."

Spencer ordered a carriage, wrote a telegram, and gave it to the
driver, with orders to forward it from St. Moritz if possible. And
this was the text:

"MACKENZIE, 'FIREFLY' OFFICE, FLEET-ST., LONDON. Wire Miss
Wynton positive instructions to return to England
immediately. Say she is wanted at office. I shall arrange
matters before she arrives. This is urgent. SPENCER."

A heavy weight