"Is this the place?" asked Baptiste, as, half an hour later, they stood on the fatal cliff.

"This is the place," said Sharpley.

"Let me look over," said Henry, advancing to the edge.

"Are you mad?" exclaimed his father, drawing him back hastily.

"I will look, gentlemen," said the guide. "It will be safest for me."

He threw himself flat upon his stomach, and thus in safety peeped into the chasm.

"Do you see anything?" asked Sharpley, agitated.

"Wait till I look earnestly," and after a breathless pause, he answered slowly:

"No, I see nothing; but the cliff is not so steep or so high as I thought. There are some bushes growing in parts. He might be stopped by these."

"You can't see any traces of him, can you?"

Another pause.

"No. The snow seems disturbed in one place, but if he had fallen there, he would be there still."

"Might he not have fallen there and rolled to the bottom?"

"Perhaps so. I cannot tell."

"Let me look," said Sharpley.

The suggestion of the possibility that Frank might have escaped was fraught to him with danger. All his hopes of safety and success depended upon the boy's death. He wanted to see for himself.

The guide rose, and Sharpley, imitating his posture, threw himself on the ground and looked over, borrowing the glass. But such a sense of horror, brought on by his own criminality, overcame him as he lay there that his vision was blurred, and he came near dropping the glass. He rose, trembling.

"I can see nothing of him," he said. "He is certainly dead. Poor boy! He could not possibly have escaped."

"Let me look," said Abercrombie.

But he also could see no trace of the body.

"I think," he said, rising, "that our best course will be to descend and explore at the bottom of the cliff."

"It will be of no use," said Sharpley.

"We can at least find the body and give it decent burial. Baptiste, is there no way of descending?"

"Yes," said Baptiste, "but we shall need to go a long distance around."

"How long will it take?"

"An hour; perhaps more."

"I am ready to go, for one," said Mr. Abercrombie. "Will you go, Mr. Sharpley?"

"I do not feel equal to the exertion. I am too agitated."

Glances of pity were directed toward him.

"Baptiste," said Abercrombie, "if you will guide me, and any one else who chooses to join the expedition, I will pay you double price."

"Monsieur," said Baptiste, who had feelings, though not indifferent to money, "I will guide you for nothing, out of regard for the poor boy."

"You are an honest fellow," said Mr. Abercrombie, grasping his hand warmly. "You shall not lose by it."

"May I go, father?" asked Henry.

"No, my son. The exertion will be too great for you. Go home with the rest of the party."

In silence the party returned to the Hotel du Glacier. Most were appalled by the sad fate of Frank Hunter, but Sharpley was moved by another feeling. There was not much chance of Frank's being found alive, or in a condition to expose his murderous attempt, but, of course, there was a slight possibility. While that existed he felt ill at ease. He would gladly have left the place at once, but this he could not do without exciting suspicion. He must wait till the return of the party.

It was not till nightfall that the party were seen returning. Sharpley waited for their report in great suspense.

"Have you found him?" he demanded, pale with excitement.

Baptiste shook his head.

He gave a sigh of quiet relief, which was interpreted to be a sigh of sorrow. "I thought you would not," he said.

The next day he left the hotel.

"I must go to America," he said, "to tell Frank's mother the terrible truth. I cannot trust it to a letter."

"But suppose the body is found," said Baptiste.

"Bury it decently and write instantly to me, and I will transmit the necessary sum. Or, hold, here are a hundred and fifty francs. If he is not found, keep them yourself."

An hour later he was on his way to Paris.