“Well, it took me quite some time to pry myself out of the chair,” Du Barnstoker said. “Shall we? To be honest, I’m ravenously hungry.”
I put the note in my pocket, and we made our way to the dining room, having picked up the kid along the way, though without succeeding in persuading it to wash its hands.
“You have a sort of worried look about you, Inspector,” Du Barnstoker remarked, when we’d gotten to the dining room.
Looking into his bright old eyes, it occurred to me suddenly that he was behind this entire story about the notes. For a second I was seized by a cold fury; I wanted to stamp my feet and scream: “Leave me alone! Let me ski in peace and quiet!” But of course, I kept a hold on myself.
We entered the dining room. Apparently everyone was already there. Mrs. Moses was serving Mr. Moses, Simone and Olaf were puttering around the appetizers, the manager was pouring the liqueur. Du Barnstoker and the kid headed for their usual place at the table, and I joined the other men. Simone was lecturing Olaf, in an evil-sounding whisper, on the effects that edelweiss liqueur had on the human organs. He listed them: leukemia, jaundice, duodenal cancer. Olaf hemmed and hawed good-naturedly as he ate his caviar. Then Kaisa came in and proceeded to prattle away to the owner:
“He doesn’t want to go, he says if we’re not all here, then he won’t show up. And when everyone shows up, he’ll come too. That’s what he said… Two empty bottles…”
“So then go and tell him that everyone’s here already,” the owner told her.
“He won’t believe me, I told him that already, that everyone’s here, and he…”
“Who are we talking about?” Mr. Moses asked abruptly.
“We’re talking about Mr. Hinkus,” the owner responded. “He’s still on the roof, and I would like…”
“What do you mean ‘on the roof’?” the kid said in a husky bass. “He’s right there—Hinkus!” It thrust a fork with a pickle on it at Olaf.
“My child, you are mistaken,” Du Barnstoker said softly, as Olaf offered a friendly grin and boomed, “Olaf Andvarafors, at your service, little one. You can call me Olaf.”
“Well, then what does he…?” The child thrust the pickle and fork in my direction.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” the owner said. “There’s no need to argue. All of this is simple foolishness. Mr. Hinkus is taking advantage of a freedom that we allow all our guests—to be up on the roof—and Kaisa is now going to bring him down here.”
“But he won’t come…”
“What the devil, Snevar!” Moses said. “If he doesn’t want to come down, then let him freeze up there.”
“My esteemed Mr. Moses,” the manager said with dignity, “It is my deepest wish that we all be together at this point. I have some very good news to announce to my esteemed guests. Kaisa, quickly!”
“But he won’t come…”
I set my plate of appetizers on the table.
“Hold on a second,” I said. “I’ll get him.”
As I left the room I heard Simone say, “Excellent! Let the police do their job, finally,” and then burst into spooky laughter, which followed me up the attic stairs.
I climbed the stairs, pushed open an unfinished wooden door and found myself in a sort of circular pavilion with windows all around and narrow benches for resting lining the walls. It was cold in here, with a strange smell of snow and dust; there was a mountain of stacked deck chairs. A plywood door, leading outside, had been left ajar.
The flat roof was covered with a thick layer of snow, which was packed hard around the pavilion; further along there was a walkway leading out to the inn’s crooked radio antenna. At the end of this walkway, a fur-coated Hinkus was sitting silently in a deck chair. His left hand held a bottle on his knee; his right was hidden against his chest, no doubt to keep it warm. His face was barely even visible, it was covered by his coat collar and the brim of his fur hat, from between which his watchful eyes shone out like a tarantula peering out of its burrow.
“Come on, Hinkus,” I said. “Everyone’s down there.”
“Everyone?” he asked hoarsely.
I exhaled a puff of steam, walked closer and stuffed my hands in my pockets.
“Every single one. We’re waiting for you.”
“So, everyone…” Hinkus repeated.
I nodded and looked around. The sun had hidden itself behind the ridge, the snow in the valley looked purple, in the dark sky a pale moon was rising.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Hinkus was watching me closely.
“Well, why wait for me?” he said. “They should have just started… Why all the fuss?”
“The owner has some sort of surprise, and he needs all of us together.”
“A surprise,” Hinkus said, and coughed. “I’ve got tuberculosis,” he said suddenly. “The doctors say I need to spend as much time as possible in the fresh air… And eat chicken. Dark meat,” he added, after a second of silence.
I was starting to feel sorry for him.
“That’s too bad. Damn,” I said. “But all the same, you need to eat…”
“Of course,” he said and stood up. “I’ll eat some dinner and then come back out here.” He placed the bottle in the snow. “Do you think the doctors are lying? I mean, as far as the fresh air goes…”
“I don’t think so,” I said. I remembered how pale and greenish he’d looked when he came downstairs that afternoon, and asked, “Listen, why are you drinking so much vodka? It can’t be good for you.”
“Oooh!” he said, in quiet desperation. “How am I supposed to make it without vodka?” He was silent. We went downstairs. “Without vodka, I wouldn’t have anything,” he said resolutely. “It would be terrible. I’d go out of my mind without vodka.”
“There there, Hinkus,” I said. “Tuberculosis is treatable now. This isn’t the nineteenth century.”
“You’re right,” he agreed slowly. We turned down the hallway. In the dining room, dishes were ringing out, voices were humming. “Go on ahead, I’m going to get rid of my fur coat,” he said, stopping outside his door.
I nodded and went into the dining room.
“Where’s the suspect?” Simone asked loudly.
“I told you he wouldn’t come,” Kaisa squealed.
“Everything’s fine,” I said. “He’s coming.”
I sat in my old place; then, remembering the way things went here, I got up and went to get soup. Du Barnstoker was talking about magic numbers. Mrs. Moses was gasping. Simone laughed abruptly. “Bardel, Dubert, stop this…” Mr. Moses grumbled. “Medieval nonsense, all of it.” I was pouring myself some soup when Hinkus appeared in the dining room. His lips were trembling, and he looked green again for some reason. He was greeted by an explosion of cheers, but he hastily looked around the table, making his way uncertainly to his place between me and Olaf.
“No, no, no!” the owner cried, running up to him with a glass of liqueur in hand. “Baptism by fire!”
Hinkus stopped, looked at the glass and said something that I couldn’t hear over the noise.
“No, no, no!” the owner said. “This is the best medicine. The cure for all your sorrows! A panacea, in other words. Please!”
Hinkus didn’t argue. He poured the liquid into his mouth, put the glass on the tray and took his seat at the table.
“Now there’s a man!” Mrs. Moses called out admiringly. “Gentlemen: here is a true specimen!”
I went back to my place and proceeded to tuck in. Hinkus hadn’t gotten any soup, he’d only taken a little bit of the roast. He didn’t look so bad now—he seemed to be thinking intensely about something. I had just started listening to Du Barnstoker’s rant when the manager clinked a knife against his plate.