For the first time since they landed, Nasmyth laughed—he felt that something was needed to relieve the tension.
“If people never talked unless they had something useful to say, there would be a marvelous change,” he declared.
Lisle disregarded this, but he was a little less grave when he resumed:
“There’s another point to bear in mind. Two of Gladwyne’s party left him; and of those two which would be the more likely to succumb to extreme exertion, exposure, and insufficient food?”
“Against the answer you expect, there’s the fact that Vernon made the longer journey,” Nasmyth objected.
“It doesn’t count for much. Was Clarence Gladwyne accustomed to roughing it and going without his dinner? Would you expect him to survive where you would perish, even if you had a little more to bear?”
“No,” confessed Nasmyth; “he’s rather a self-indulgent person.”
“Then, for example, could you march through a rough, snow-covered country on as little food as I could?”
“No, again,” answered Nasmyth. “You would probably hold out two or three days longer than I could.”
“Vernon was a stronger and tougher man than I am,” Lisle went on. “Now, without finding definite proof, which I hardly expected, there is, I think, strong presumptive evidence that Vernon’s story is correct.”