“The cleft seems to end there. I suppose you just flew the rest of the way?”
Ørlygur explained how he had made his way round the ledge. “It’s easy enough,” he declared. “You could drive a caravan round.”
“But why on earth did you leave the rope behind?”
“Oh, I thought it would be more fun to get along hanging by my arms, with the rest of me in mid-air. Neater, you understand.”
“I see. You’re pleased to make a jest of your own infernal wickedness—for it’s wicked, nothing less, to play the fool with life and death like that.”
But Ørlygur only laughed and went on with his meal. The doctor continued his study of the rock, as if imagining himself making the ascent, and shuddered. Then, abandoning his ill-humoured tone, he turned to Ørlygur with tears in his eyes.
“Oh, you young fool!” he said. “Can nothing content you but roads that were meant for the eagles?”
“I’m going another road tomorrow,” said Ørlygur, with a laugh.
The doctor looked at him doubtfully.
“Well, don’t count on me this time,” he said. “I’ll not go dangling at your heels with an ambulance train every time you’ve a fancy to risk your neck.”