Denry was wandering, apparently aimless, between
the finish of the tobogganing track and the portals of the Metropole.
The snowfall had repaired the defects of the worn track, but it needed
to be flattened down by use, and a number of conscientious "lugeurs"
were flattening it by frequent descents, which grew faster at each
repetition. Other holiday-makers were idling about in the sunshine. A
page-boy of the Metropole departed in the direction of the Beau-Site
with a note.
At length--the hour was nearing eleven--Captain Deverax, languid, put
his head out of the Metropole and sniffed the air. Finding the air
sufferable, he came forth on to the steps. His left arm was in a sling.
He was wearing the new knickerbockers which he had ordered at Montreux,
and which were of precisely the same vast check as had ornamented
Denry's legs on the previous night.
"Hullo!" said Denry, sympathetically. "What's this?"
The Captain needed sympathy.
"Ski-ing yesterday afternoon," said he, with a little laugh. "Hasn't the
Countess told any of you?"
"No," said Denry, "not a word."
The Captain seemed to pause a moment.
"Yes," said he.
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