"Let me look," said Sharpley.
The suggestion of the possibility that Frank might have escaped was fraught to him with danger. All his hopes of safety and success depended upon the boy's death. He wanted to see for himself.
The guide rose, and Sharpley, imitating his posture, threw himself on the ground and looked over, borrowing the glass. But such a sense of horror, brought on by his own criminality, overcame him as he lay there that his vision was blurred, and he came near dropping the glass. He rose, trembling.
"I can see nothing of him," he said. "He is certainly dead. Poor boy! He could not possibly have escaped."
"Let me look," said Abercrombie.
But he also could see no trace of the body.
"I think," he said, rising, "that our best course will be to descend and explore at the bottom of the cliff."
"It will be of no use," said Sharpley.
"We can at least find the body and give it decent burial. Baptiste, is there no way of descending?"
"Yes," said Baptiste, "but we shall need to go a long distance around."