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up to the Glacier des Nantillons."

He went up to his room, fetched his ice-ax and a new club-rope with the
twist of red in its strands, and came down again. The rumor of an
accident had spread. A throng of tourists stood about the door and
surrounded the group of guides, plying them with questions. One or two
asked Chayne as he came out on what peak the accident had happened. He
did not reply. He turned to Michel Revailloud and forgetful for the
moment that he was in Chamonix, he uttered the word so familiar in the
High Alps, so welcome in its sound.

"_Vorwärts_, Michel," he said, and the word was the Open Sesame to a
chamber which he would gladly have kept locked. There was work to do
now; there would be time afterward to remember--too long a time. But in
spite of himself his recollections rushed tumultuously upon him. Up to
these last four years, on some day in each July his friend and he had
been wont to foregather at some village in the Alps, Lattery coming from
a Government Office in Whitehall, Chayne now from some garrison town in
England, now from Malta or from Alexandria, and sometimes from a still


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