“No, thanks. The discussion might prove interesting, but we can adjourn it to the coffee and cigar period after dinner.”
His eyes fell under Spencer’s contemptuous glance. Yet he carried himself bravely. Though the man he meant to kill, and another man who had read his inmost thought in time to prevent a tragedy, were looking at him fixedly, he turned away with a laugh on his lips.
“I am afraid, Miss Wynton, you will regard me in future as a broken reed where Alpine excursions are concerned,” he said.
“You were mistaken—that is obvious,” said Helen frankly. “But so was Barth. He agreed that the storm would be only a passing affair. Don’t you think we are very deeply indebted to Mr. Spencer and Stampa for coming to our assistance?”
“I do, indeed. Stampa, one can reward in kind. This sort of thing used to be his business, I hear. As for Mr. Spencer, a smile from you will repay him tenfold.”
“Herr Spencer,” broke in Stampa, “you go on with the sigñorina and see that she does not slip. She is tired. Marcus Bauer and I have matters to discuss.”
The old man’s unwonted harshness appealed to the girl as did the host of other queer happenings on that memorable day. Bower moved uneasily. A vindictive gleam shot from his eyes. Helen missed none of this. But she was fatigued, and her feet were cold and wet, while the sleet encountered on the upper glacier had almost soaked her to the skin. Nevertheless, she strove bravely to lighten the cloud that seemed to have settled on the men.
“That means a wordy warfare,” she said gayly. “I pity you, Mr. Bower. You cannot wriggle out of your difficulty. The snow will soon be a foot deep in the valley. Goodness only knows what would have become of us up there in the hut!”
He bowed gracefully, with a hint of the foreign air she had noted once before. “I would have brought you safely out of greater perils,” he said; “but every dog has his day, and this is Stampa’s.”
“En route!” cried the guide impatiently. He loathed the sight of Bower standing there, smiling and courteous, in the presence of one whom he regarded as a Heaven-sent friend and protectress. Spencer attributed his surliness to its true cause. It supplied another bit of the mosaic he was slowly piecing together. Greatly as he preferred Helen’s company, he was willing to sacrifice at least ten minutes of it, could he but listen to the “discussion” between Stampa and Bower.