“Very well, I’ll do that. Sure you’re well enough to be left alone?”
Draco, his eyes large and bloodshot, glanced at his companion and laughed.
“Of course. This is not the first time I’ve been left alone in the mountains.”
Sylvester disappeared round the corner, and Draco, closing his eyes, soon fell asleep. He breathed heavily, and for two hours he did not move. The air grew cooler, and the sun was lurching fantastically behind the mountain-tops when he awoke. The pain had gone, but he awoke with an acute feeling of apprehension. For a moment or two, he could not remember where he was or how he came to be there. Then, remembering Sylvester,
“It’s time he was back,” he said to himself.
He looked at the sun: in an hour it would be dark.
Scrambling to his feet, he hastened up the mountain, his heart beating rapidly with a fear that he had never felt for himself. He blamed himself for allowing Sylvester to go alone, for, after all, it was a job for two men. Increasing his pace every minute, he reached the place, breathless and alarmed.
The rope was there. One end of it was securely fastened round a boulder. Lying down at the edge of the cliff, Draco peered over and saw the other end of the rope resting on the ledge; by its side was the camera. But there was no sign of Sylvester.
Seized by panic, Draco shouted into the chasm below.
“Dr. Sylvester! Dr. Sylvester!”