Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/309

 “Suppose we go down, sir,” suggested Eddie. “We might come across him—he might not be dead; he might need assistance.”

“Right, Eddie,” assented Val.

Jessica and the old man, her father, were by now regaining coherence. “He told me you were dead, father,” she said. “I’ve been laying flowers before an urn supposed to contain your ashes for over a year.”

The old man smiled grimly. “I deny that I’m dead, Jessica,” he said. “Though I’ve been as good as dead all that time. It’s rather too long a yarn to spin here—let it wait till we get back to the house. We’d better go down with these young men to see if we can find Ignace.”

So they made their way down the mountainside, Val and Eddie in the van, the officers with their prisoners following next, and Jessica and her father bringing up the rear. It was a pale Jessica who walked the down trail with her father; a pale one, and a weak one. The shock had been great, and she was still feeling it.

On a ledge near the bottom they found the body of Teck. Looking curiously smaller than he looked when he stood erect, sallow, his ugly scar a streak of lurid color across his face, he lay staring up at the sun, motionless. Only his eyes moved—played within his range of vision unceasingly.

Val felt his heart—it was still fluttering gently, but it was plain that he would not last long. They grouped around him and eyed him—not triumphantly, not gloatingly, but pityingly; pity that at the last he should be so broken and so helpless. And then, surprisingly, his lips moved and he spoke. He spoke in