And killing is a game that more than one can play at! If I have to sell my life, I will make it cost the French King dear." "Right, Tom; but that will not give back a gallant servant to Her Majesty of England!" "I am not dead yet," answered Tom, with a grim laugh.

"Tell me the plan which you have worked out in your head, my lord; for your wits are seven-fold keener than mine." Then Lord Claud unfolded the plan which had been working in his busy brain during the day that Tom had been sleeping, after he had heard news which made him sure that his mission was suspected, and that he would be stopped and robbed if possible.
Higher up the mountain side, just where the snow line lay, above which there was everlasting ice and snow, was a little rough hostel, where travellers rested and slept before they tried the pass itself.

An old half-witted man and his goitred wife kept the place, and provided rough food and bedding for travellers, though interesting themselves in no wise with their concerns.

In that rude place several men were now stopping, and had been stopping for some days.
That fact in itself was almost sufficient for Lord Claud; but somebody had found a scrap of torn paper with some French words upon it, and this had made assurance doubly sure.

Moreover, Lord Claud believed it to be the writing of the man he had duelled with beneath Barns Elms.
To this inn (if such it could be called) he and Tom must journey, with a peasant for a guide to take them across the pass.