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“There is no sign of McDonald, Pons,” I observed as we stumbled the last few yards across the boulder-littered ground.

“I would not expect there to be, Parker. Unless I miss my guess he is up on the skirt of the mountain there, where the ravine runs, watching us through glasses. That would be a perfect vantage-point.”

“Good heavens, Pons!”

“There is no danger for the moment, Parker. The Colonel will not make his move until he is absolutely certain.”

We were within the shadow of the rock now and scrambled, by means of broad ledges to a position just below the top. As Pons had hinted the place was empty and there was no sign of the Colonel. It was bitterly cold here in the shadow and the surface of the granite was damp and slippery. I put down the case and busied myself in unstrapping it and removing the rifle. Pons had his back to me as he knelt and rummaged in the canvas bag he had brought.

When I turned I was amazed to see what appeared to be a dummy, dressed in old tweeds. Pons produced a crumpled deer-stalker and jammed it on the figure’s head. He surveyed it critically.

“I think that will do nicely, Parker.”

“But what are you doing, Pons?”

“With the aid of a few bolsters borrowed from Mrs McRae and an old suit of her husband’s I am making a passable facsimile of myself. I think it will pass muster, even through the Colonel’s glasses, if I pull the hat well down.”

Pons put the finishing touches to his creation and then carried it to a position a few feet below the ridge of the rock. Then he cautiously hoisted it there, with its back to the mountain, and pinned it with a dead branch he had broken from a stunted tree which projected from the rocks just below the sky-line. It stood up well and the silhouette so presented must have been visible for miles around. Pons dusted his hands in satisfaction and then came back to me.

“It is almost half-past two, Parker. I do not think we shall have long to wait.”

He took the rifle from me and went cautiously back. In a niche in the rock below the summit, where I joined him a few moments later, I found I could see right up the glen to where the purple-brown mass of Ben Affric was becoming slowly rinsed with haze. Nothing moved in all the vast expanse of the glen before us.

“You see, Parker,” said Pons calmly. “Colonel McDonald never had the slightest intention of keeping this appointment. At least in the way we intended.”

No sooner had he spoken than there came a bright flash from the sombre darkness of the mountain before us and a moment later the echoing crash of a high-powered rifle which thundered about the glen. At almost the same instant the tweed-clad figure which sat on the summit of the rock above us somersaulted in the air and landed some yards from us. Feathers floated down after it. I ran across and was stupefied to see the large hole torn in the material of McRae’s jacket.

“It would have been right through the heart, Pons!”

“Would it not, Parker.

Solar Pons was lying in the niche of the rock, his keen right eye sighting along the rifle, his cheek close in to the stock.

“The flash came from the head of the ravine. Ah, there he is!”

He squeezed the trigger gently and the rifle cracked, the stock jerking against his cheek while blue smoke curled from the breech and barrel.

“You have not killed him, Pons!”

My friend looked at me with a grim smile.

“Hardly, Parker. I have no wish to appear as the principal figure in a murder trial. I fired to frighten him. As near as I can judge the bullet struck the rocks a dozen feet away from him.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than the most dreadful cry sounded from the head of the glen and went echoing round the heights. Pons started to his feet but I put my hand on his arm.

“Careful, Pons! It may be a trap to lure us out. He cannot be wounded and we shall be at his mercy in the open.”

Solar Pons smiled.

“His rifle is useless now, Parker. The weather is closing in. I relied on it in my calculations of the risk involved.”

I soon saw what he meant. Already, as we had moved off The Sentinel heavy banks of mist were gathering around the skirts of the mountain.

“So that was why you asked Mackintosh about the weather, Pons?”

“Naturally, Parker. I do not believe in taking unnecessary chances in face of such an enemy. It is no bad thing to enlist the help of nature when possible.”

Pons was scrambling down the base of the rock now and I followed, carrying the rifle, which he had cast aside. As I gained the ground I could see Pons striding away at a great pace among the scree and boulders. By dint of great effort I caught up with him and we went forward side by side through the rapidly thickening mist.

As we mounted up the flank of Ben Affric the air grew ever more raw and dank. The mist was breast-high now and Pons guided us over toward the right of the mountain.

“Be careful, Pons. We are coming near the area of the ravine.”

“I am well aware of that, Parker. I am endeavouring to memorise the salient features of the terrain before the weather closes down completely.”

Even as he spoke we seemed to walk into an impenetrable white wall. A few yards behind us the sun had been shining; now, it was almost as though we were in the middle of the night, as the great fog-bank rolled on, borne inexorably forward from the heights above by the wind at its tail. Instinctively I had faltered, but Pons’ hand was on my elbow, guiding me on as though all were daylight and absolutely clear to him.

“It is only a few yards now, Parker. Please be extremely careful. Ah, here we are!”

A few seconds later I saw what his keen eyes had already noted; the matching rifle to the one I carried was lying on the damp rock floor of the gully we had been mounting. On top of a flat boulder from which McDonald had obviously fired, were four spare cartridges.

“At least the Colonel kept his word in one respect,” said Pons grudgingly. “Keep behind me and mind your footing.”

He went forward slowly and I followed, anxious not to lose him for the mist had grown remarkably thick. Our journey did not take long. After only a few yards the terrain shelved steeply on to slippery rock. Pons stopped and held up his hand.

“We can go no farther, Parker. This is the edge of the ravine.”

As he spoke there came a terrible groan from the chasm before us; the sound was so unexpected that I felt an indescribable thrill of horror run through me. Pons’ reaction filled me with alarm. He went forward on the steep slope and lay down, supporting himself by a small nodule of rock which rose from the precipitous surface.

“For heaven’s sake be careful, Pons!”

“If you would come here and hold my legs, Parker, I would be obliged,” he said in a low, almost gentle voice. “And pass me the rifle if you would be so good.”

I did as he bade and came forward, lying down in a flat place by a boulder and leaning forward to grasp his ankles. Pons was slowly extending the rifle and its sling before him.

“My shot startled him and he obviously slipped into the ravine,” he said musingly.

At that moment there was a sudden breeze and the mist parted briefly. I think I shall never forget the sight it revealed. The Colonel’s gaunt face with the burning yellow eyes glaring savagely over the iron-grey moustache was suspended in the blackness. He did not see me, for his intense, malevolent gaze was fixed entirely on Pons. I could see only his head and the upper part of his shoulders; his body must have been hanging almost vertically in space.

His fingers were frenziedly locked in a clump of heather which was growing from a crevice in the rocks in front of him. I could see now where his heels had scored a distinct passage in the damp, mossy surface of the gorge. Inch by inch Pons advanced the rifle toward him. Pons’ arms were extended to the limit in front of him and I felt his ankles vibrate beneath my hands.