te. There were no fir-trees on the sides of the abrupt snow
slopes, and it took Winn some time to rediscover a faint pathway half
blotted out by recent snow.

A few minutes later the road behind them vanished, everything dropped
away from them but the snow, and the low gray skies. A tiny wind slipped
along the valley; it was strange not to see it, for it felt like the
push of a Presence, in the breathless solitude. A long way off Lionel
could hear a faint noise like the sound of some one choking.

It reminded him of the sound behind the green baize doors in the hotel.
It was just such a sound, suppressed, faint, but quite audible, that he
heard along the passages at night. He looked questioningly at Winn.

"That's a waterfall," said Winn; "most of it's frozen up but it leaks
through a little. There's a story about this place--I didn't mention it
to you before, did I?"

Lionel shook his head. Winn was not in the habit of telling him stories
about places. He had informed Lionel on one occasion some years ago,
that he thought legends too fanciful, unless they were in the Bible,
which was probably true, and none of our business. But Lionel had
already wondered if this change in Winn wasn't on the whole making him
more fanciful.

"I dare say," Winn began, "there's not a word of truth in it, and it's
perfectly pointless besides; still it's a queer place, this valley, and
what's particularly odd is, that though you can find it easily enough
sometimes, there are days when I'm blessed if it's there at all! Anyhow
I've gone wrong times out of number when I've looked for it, and you
know I don't usually go wrong about finding places. This is the middle
one of three valleys, count 'em backwards or forwards, whichever way you
like--but I give you my word, after you've passed the first, and take
the second turn, you'll find yourself in the third valley--or take it
the other way, you'll be in the first. It's made me jumpy before now,
looking for it. However, that hasn't anything to do with the story, such
as it is.

"They say that on New Year's eve, all the dead that have died in Davos
(there must be a jolly lot of 'em when you come to think of it) process
through the valley to the Waterfall. What their object is, of course,
the story doesn't mention--ghosts, as far as I can see, never have much
object, except to make you sit up; but they set out anyhow, scores and
scores of 'em.

"If it happens to be moonlight, you can see th