The mystery, of course, was what had become of Milton Rhodes and William Carter. Had some fatal accident occurred? Had they, for instance, fallen into a crevasse and perished? Or had they just gone off on some wild mountain hike and would they be returning any day?
As to this last hypothesis, those instructions given to Castleman should have shown its utter untenability.
And so the time passed. And Milton Rhodes and William Carter never came back. Week followed week. Month followed month. All hope was abandoned—had been abandoned long before the Multnomah entered Elliott Bay.
And that mysterious visitor? Why had he not spoken? Why had he not come forward and told what he knew? Where was he? Had he too vanished? Had he joined Rhodes and Carter on the mountain, and had the three vanished together? And what had he told them there in Rhodes' library on that fateful day?
Thus matters stood when one afternoon an automobile came gliding into my place, and there in it were Milton Rhodes and William Carter!
With respect to the mystery of their disappearance, I could for some time elicit from them no enlightenment whatever.
Instead:
"Where is she, Darwin?" asked Milton Rhodes, looking about. "Let me see her! Let me meet her! Quick!"
"So you know about my Sleeping Beauty in the Ice?"
"Of course. The first thing that I did," he told me, "was to get a copy of Zandara[1]. We've just finished reading it. And, if it hadn't been for what has happened to us, to Bill here and me, then I might have been inclined, Darwin old tillicum, to fancy that Bond had been romancing in that book of his instead of setting forth an account of actual adventure and discovery."