e met her there in
the dusk, and she drove straight to St. Moritz station. Leaving her
baggage in the parcels office, she sought a quiet hotel for the night,
registering her room under her mother's maiden name of Trenholme. She
meant to return to England by the earliest train in the morning; but
her new-born terror of encountering Spencer set in motion a scheme for
evading pursuit either by him or Bower.

By going up the Roseg Valley, and carrying the barest necessaries for
a few days' travel, she could cross the Bernina range into Italy,
reach the rail at Sondrio, and go round by Como to Lucerne and thence
to Basle, whither the excellent Swiss system of delivering passengers'
luggage would convey her bulky packages long before she was ready to
claim them.

With a sense of equity that was creditable, she made up her mind to
expend every farthing of the money received from "The Firefly." She
had kept her contract faithfully: Mackenzie, therefore, or Spencer,
must abide by it to the last letter. The third article of the series
was already written and in the post. The fourth she wrote quietly in
her room at the St. Moritz hotel, nor did she stir out during the
next day until it was dark, when she walked a few yards up the main
street to buy a rucksack and an alpenstock.

Early next morning, close wrapped and veiled, she took a carriage to
the Restaurant du Glacier. Here she met an unforeseen check. The local
guides were absent in the Bernina, and the hotel proprietor--good,
careful man!--would not hear of intrusting the pretty English girl to
inexperienced villagers, but persuaded her to await the coming of a
party from Italy, whose rooms were bespoke. Their guides, in all
probability, would be returning over the Sella Pass, and would charge
far less for the journey.

He was right. On the afternoon of the following day, three tired
Englishmen arrived at the restaurant, and their hardy Italian pilots
were only too glad to find a _voyageur_ ready to start at once for the
Mortel hut, whence a nine hours' climb would take them back to the Val
Malenco, provided they crossed the dangerous neve on the upper part of
the glacier soon after daybreak.

Pietro, the leader, was a cheery soul. Like others of his type in the
Bernina region, he spoke a good deal of German, and his fund of
pleasant anecdote and reminiscence kept Helen from brooding on her own
troubles during the long evening in the hut.

And now, while she was fini