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Simpson started down the slope a little unsteadily. For one moment I feared that there might be an accident before the real accident, but he recovered himself nobly and sped to the bottom. Then a cloud of snow shot up, and for quite a long time there was no Simpson.

“I knew he wouldn’t disappoint us,” gurgled Myra.

We slid down to him and helped him up.

“You see the idea,” he said. “I’m afraid I spoilt it a little at that end, but—-“

“My dear Samuel, you improved it out of all knowledge.”

“But that actually is the Christiania Turn.”

“Oh, why don’t we live in Christiania?” exclaimed Myra to me. “Couldn’t we possibly afford it?”

“It must be a happy town,” I agreed. “How the old streets must ring and ring again with jovial laughter.”

“Shall I do it once more?”

“Can you?” said Myra, clasping her hands eagerly.

“Wait here,” said Samuel, “and I’ll do it quite close to you.”

Myra unstrapped her camera.

Half an hour later, with several excellent films of the scene of the catastrophe, we started for home. It was more than a little steep, but the run down was accomplished without any serious trouble. Simpson went first to discover any hidden ditches (and to his credit be it said that he invariably discovered them); Myra, in the position of safety in the middle, profited by Samuel’s frequent object-lessons; while I, at the back, was ready to help Myra up, if need arose, or to repel any avalanche which descended on us from above. On the level snow at the bottom we became more companionable.

“We still haven’t settled the great Thomas question,” said Myra. “What about to-morrow?”

“Why bother about to-morrow? Carpe diem. Latin.”

“But the great tailing expedition is for to-morrow. The horses are ordered; everything is prepared. Only one thing remains to settle. Shall we have with us a grumpy but Aylwynless Thomas, or shall we let him bring her and spoil the party?”

“She can’t spoil the party. I’m here to enjoy myself, and all Thomas’s fiancees can’t stop me. Let’s have Thomas happy, anyway.”

“She’s really quite a nice girl,” said Simpson. “I danced with her once.”

“Right-o, then. I’ll tell Dahlia to invite her.”

We hurried on to the hotel; but as we passed the rink the President stopped me for a chat. He wanted me to recite at a concert that evening. Basely deserted by Myra and Samuel, I told him that I did not recite; and I took the opportunity of adding that personally I didn’t think anybody else ought to. I had just persuaded him to my point of view when I noticed Thomas cutting remarkable figures on the ice. He picked himself up and skated to the side.

“Hallo!” he said. “Had a good day?”

“Splendid. What have you been doing?”

“Oh–skating.”

“I say, about this tailing expedition to-morrow—-“

“Er–yes, I was just going to talk about that.”

“Well, it’s all right. Myra is getting Dahlia to ask her to come with us.”

“Good!” said Thomas, brightening up.

“You see, we shall only be seven, even with Miss Aylwyn, and—-“

“Miss Aylwyn?” said Thomas in a hollow voice.

“Yes, isn’t that the name of your friend in red?”

“Oh, that one. Oh, but that’s quite–I mean,” he went on hurriedly, “Miss Aylwyn is probably booked up for to-morrow. It’s Miss Cardew who is so keen on tailing. That girl in green, you know.”

For a moment I stared at him blankly. Then I left him and dashed after Myra.

V.–A TAILING PARTY

The procession prepared to start in the following order:–

(1) A brace of sinister-looking horses.

(2) Gaspard, the Last of the Bandits; or “Why cause a lot of talk by pushing your rich uncle over the cliff, when you can have him stabbed quietly for one franc fifty?” (If ever I were in any vendetta business I should pick Gaspard first.)

(3) A sleigh full of lunch.

(4) A few well-known ladies and gentlemen (being the cream of the Hotel des Angeliques) on luges; namely, reading from left to right (which is really the best method–unless you are translating Hebrew), Simpson, Archie, Dahlia, Myra, me, Miss Cardew, and Thomas.