The rope chafed his fingers but he remained
absolutely steady. Once he trusted for a moment to a yew tree, growing
out of a fissure in the rock, which came out by the roots and went
hurtling down into space. From overhead he heard Robert's terrified
cry. The rope stood the strain of his sudden clutch, however, and all
was well. A little lower down, holding on with one hand, he took his
torch from his pocket and examined the surface of the cliff. Nothing
apparently had been disturbed, nor was there any sign of any heavy body
having been dashed through the undergrowth. Soon he went on again,
and, working a little to the left, stood for a moment upon a green,
turf-covered crag, a tiny plateau covered with the refuse of seagulls
and a few stunted trees, from amongst which a startled hawk rose with a
wild cry. He waited here until the moon shone once more and he could
see the little strip of shingle below. Nowhere could he find any trace
of the thing he sought.
At the end of half an hour's climbing, he reached the end of the rope.
The little cove, filled with tumbled rocks and a narrow strip of beach,
was still about eighty feet below.
Pages:
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63