Arrived at the Hotel du Glacier, Mr. Tarbox immediately instituted inquiries about the fate of Frank, and soon learned all that was known by the people at the inn. Being a decidedly straightforward person, he did not fail to insinuate, or rather to make direct charges, against Sharpley, but these found no credence. Sharpley's hypocritical sorrow, and his plausible explanation, had imposed upon them, and they informed Mr. Tarbox that Colonel Sharpley was an excellent gentleman, and was deeply affected by the accident which had befallen Monsieur Frank.

"Deeply affected—in a horn!" returned the disgusted Jonathan.

"In a horn!" repeated the landlord, with a perplexed expression. "What is it to be deeply affected in a horn?"

"Over the left, then," amended Mr. Tarbox, impatiently.

"I do not understand over the left," said the other.

"Look here, my friend. Where was you raised?" demanded Mr. Tarbox.

"Raised?"

"Yes; brought up—born."

"I was born here, among these mountains, monsieur."

"Did you ever go to school?"

"To school—a l'cole? Certainement. I am not one ignorant person," said the landlord, beginning to get angry.

"And you never learned 'in a horn,' or 'over the left?'"

"Non, monsieur."

"Then," said Mr. Tarbox, "it is high time the schools in Switzerland were reorganized. I should like to speak to your school committee."

"School committee?"

"Yes. You have a school committee, haven't you?"

"Non, monsieur."

"That accounts for it. You need a smart school committee to see that the right things are taught in your schools. But about Frank—has his body been found?"

"Non, monsieur."

"Not been found! Why not?"

"We have looked for it, but we cannot find it."

"Poor boy!" said Mr. Tarbox, wiping away a tear. "So he has been left all the time lying dead in some hole in the mountains."

"We have looked for him."

"Then you didn't look sharp. I'll look for him myself, and when I've found the poor boy I'll give him decent burial. I'd rather bury that skunk Sharpley a darned sight. I'd bury him with pleasure, and I wouldn't grudge the expense of the coffin. Now tell me where the poor boy fell."

"My son Baptiste shall go and show monsieur the way."

"All right. It don't make any difference to me if he is a Baptist. I'm a Methodist myself, and there ain't much difference, I guess. So just tell the Baptist to hurry up and we'll set out. What's his name?"

"My son's name?"

"Yes."

"Did I not say it was Baptiste?"

"Oh, that's his name, is it? I thought it was his religion. Funny name, ain't it? But that makes no difference."

Baptiste was soon ready, and the two set out together. The guide found it rather difficult to follow Mr. Tarbox in his eccentric remarks, but they got on very well together, and after a time stood on the fatal ledge.

"Here it was the poor boy fell off," said Baptiste.

"I don't believe it," said Mr. Tarbox. "The boy wasn't a fool, and he couldn't have fell unless he was—it was that skunk, Sharpley, that pushed him off."

"Monsieur Sharpley was deeply grieved. How could he push him off?"

It will be remembered that Sharpley left a sum of money in the hands of the guide to defray the burial expenses in case Frank's body was found. This naturally made an impression in his favor on Baptiste's mind, particularly as the money had not been required, and the probability was that he would be free to convert it to his own use. Accordingly, both he and his father were ready to defend the absent Sharpley against the accusations of Mr. Tarbox.

"How could he push him off? Jest as easy as winking," replied Jonathan. "Jest as easy as I could push you off," and Mr. Tarbox placed his hand on the guide's shoulder.

Baptiste jumped back in affright.

"Why, you didn't think I was goin' to do it, you jackass!" said the Yankee. "You're scared before you're hurt. I only wanted to show you how it could be done. Now, jest hold on to my coat-tail while I look over."

"Monsieur had better lie down and look over. It is more safe."

"I don't know but you're right, Baptiste," and Mr. Tarbox proceeded to follow his advice.

"It's a pesky ways to fall," he said, after a pause. "Poor Frank! it don't seem as if there was much chance of his bein' alive."

"No, monsieur. He is doubtless dead!"

"Then, where is his body? It is strange that it is not found."

"Yes, it is strange."

"I mean to look for it myself. Is there any way to get down here?"

"Yes, but it is a long way."

"Never mind that. We will try it. I've got a good pair of legs, and I can hold out if you can."

"Very well, monsieur."

They accordingly descended and explored the chasm beneath, climbing part way up, looking everywhere for the remains of our hero, but, as we know, there was a very good reason why they were not found. Frank was, at that very moment, eating a hearty breakfast with his friends, the Grosvenors, in Coblentz, preparatory to crossing the river and ascending the heights of Ehrenbreitstein. He little dreamed that his Yankee friend was at that moment looking for his body. Had Mr. Tarbox been able to see the said body, he would have been relieved from all apprehensions.

After continuing his search for the greater part of a day, Mr. Tarbox was obliged to give it up. Though possessed of a considerable share of physical strength, obtained by working on his father's farm from the age of ten, he was obliged to own that he was about "tuckered out." He was surprised to find that the guide appeared comparatively fresh.

"Ain't you tired, Baptiste?" he asked.

"Non, monsieur."

"Well, that's strange. You're a little feller, compared with me. I could swaller you almost, and I'm as tired as a dog—clean tuckered out."

"I was born among these mountains, monsieur. I have always been accustomed to climbing among them; and that is the reason."

"I guess you're right, Baptiste. I don't think I shall take up the business of an Alpine guide jest yet. What sort of plows do you have in Switzerland, Baptiste?"

"I will show monsieur when we go back."

"All right. You see, Baptiste, I've invented a plow that goes ahead of all your old-fashioned concerns, and I'd like to introduce it into Switzerland."

"You can speak to my father, monsieur, I have nothing to do with the plowing."

Mr. Tarbox did speak to the landlord, after first expressing his disgust at the manner in which agricultural operations were carried on in Switzerland; but he soon found that the Swiss mind is not one that yearns for new inventions, and that the prospect of selling his patent in Switzerland for a good round sum was very small.

As he had failed in his search for Frank, and as there seemed no business inducements for remaining, he decided to leave the Hotel du Glacier and return at once to Paris. He did so with a heavy heart, for he really felt attached to Frank, and was grieved by his unhappy fate.