noticed his arrival very much. The villagers took him in, put him
to bed, and gave him food and drink, but they did not seem to think that
he was one of "the rich Englishmen" who sometimes visited their village,
and they did not at all realise what he had done. To make the descent
that Brian had done without a guide would have appeared to them little
short of miraculous.

Brian had no opportunity of explaining to them how he had come. He was
carried insensible into the one small inn that the village contained and
put to bed, where he woke up delirious and quite unable to give any
account of himself. When his mind was again clear, he remembered that it
was his duty to tell the story of the accident on the mountain, but as
soon as he uttered a few words on the subject he was met by an animated
and circumstantial account of the affair in all its details. Two
Englishmen, and two guides, and a porter had been crossing the mountain
when the avalanche took place; a guide and a porter had been killed, and
their bodies had been recovered. One Englishman had been killed also,
and the other----

"Yes, the other," began Brian, hurriedly, but the innkeeper stolidly
continued his story. The other had made his way back with the guide to
the nearest town. He was there still, and had been making expeditions
every day upon the mountain to find the dead body of his friend. But he
had given up the search now, and was returning to England on the morrow.
He had done all he could, poor gentleman, and it was more than a week
since the accident took place.

Brian suddenly put his head down on his pillow and lay still. Here was
the chance for which his soul had yearned! If the innkeeper spoke the
truth, he--Brian Luttrell--was already numbered amongst the dead. Why
should he take the trouble to come back to life?

"Were none of the Englishman's clothes or effects found?" he asked,
presently.

"Oh, yes, monsieur. His pocket-book--his hat. They were close to a
dangerous crevasse. A guide was lowered down it for fifty, eighty, feet,
but nothing of the unfortunate Englishman was to be seen. If he did not
fall into the crevasse his body may be recovered in the spring--but
hardly before. Yes, his pocket-book and his hat, monsieur." A sudden
gleam came into the little innkeeper's eyes, and he spoke somewhat
interrogatively--"Monsieur arrived here also without his hat?"

For the first time the possibility occurred to the innkeeper's mind of
his g