I looked at the clock; it was eleven. I had been watching the peak through my field glasses from the moment I got up, but there was nothing to be seen. It was five hours since the two men had left.
At half-past eleven Solem came running back; he was drenched in sweat and exhausted.
"Come and help us!" he called excitedly to the group of guests.
"What's happened?" somebody asked.
"He fell off."
How tired Solem was and drenched to the skin! But what could we do? Rush up the mountainside and look at the accident too?
"Can't he walk?" somebody asked.
"No, he's dead," said Solem, looking from one to another of us as though to read in our faces whether his message seemed credible. "He fell off; he didn't want me to help him."
A few more questions and answers. Josephine was already halfway across the field; she was going to the village to telephone for the doctor.
"We shall have to get him down," said the Danish mountaineer.