He himself was afraid of what was being planned there.

It might help him if he knew something more of Garratt Skinner than he knew at present.

And it seemed to him that there was just a chance of acquiring that knowledge.
He dined at his club, and at ten o'clock walked up St.James' Street.
The street was empty.

It was a hot starlit night of the first week in August, and there came upon him a swift homesickness for the world above the snow-line.

How many of his friends were sleeping that night in mountain huts high up on the shoulders of the mountains or in bivouacs open to the stars with a rock-cliff at their backs and a fire of pine wood blazing at their feet.