He wrote to me from Zermatt that he would be here." Revailloud shook his head.
"He is not in Chamonix, monsieur." Chayne experienced his second disappointment that morning, and it quite chilled him.

He had come prepared to walk the heights like a god in the perfection of enjoyment for just six weeks.

And here was his guide grown old; and his friend, the comrade of so many climbs, so many bivouacs above the snow-line, had failed to keep his tryst.
"Perhaps there will be a letter from him at Couttet's," said Chayne, and the two men walked through the streets to the hotel.

There was no letter, but on the other hand there was a telegram.

Chayne tore it open.
"Yes it's from Lattery," he said, as he glanced first at the signature.
Then he read the telegram and his face grew very grave.