The Lonely Skier

I told him what Keramikos had said of Mayne, of the meeting in the slittovia machine-room and how the Greek had denied that he had searched my room.

'Anything on Mayne?' he asked after that.

'Only what Keramikos told me, and then that ski trip yesterday.'

He considered for a moment. 'You haven't done badly at all, Neil,' he said with a sudden friendly smile. Again he paused. Then he said, 'Suppose it was Mayne who searched your room that night? Would that have given him grounds for wanting to get rid of you?'

'Hardly,' I said. And then I remembered the sheet of typescript in my typewriter. 'Yes, it might,' I added. 'I'd written a report for you. It was an account of what Keramikos had told me. Whoever it was who searched my rooms had had a look at that.'

He nodded. 'And suppose the man that Keramikos had talked with that night was Mayne? Could it have been Mayne?'

'I don't know,' I replied. 'I didn't really see him. But he was tall enough. It could have been.'

'And if it was, then Mayne would have drawn certain conclusions from the fact that you were not in your room. Yes. I think it must have been our friend Mayne.'

There was a pause then. He seemed to have come to the end of his questions. 'Look,' I said. 'It's about time you gave me some idea of what's going on here.'

He considered the point. Then he said, 'You'll be surprised at this, Neil. I know less than you do really. I know the background of Mayne and the Greek. But I don't know how they fit into the Carla-Valdini set-up. There's tension there, I can see that. But why? No, the only thing I know that you don't is the reason they're all here. And the less you know about that the safer you'll be. I don't think you're in any real danger now that I've arrived. For the rest, I think it will all resolve itself — with a little help. This place is just about snowbound. Everybody who is interested in Col da Varda is cooped up inside this hut.' He laughed and there was a devil of excitement lurking in his dark eyes. 'We'll go down and start stoking up the fires. Whatever I say, or whatever I do, Neil — don't interfere. Just keep in the background and watch the fireworks.' He got up abruptly then and opened the door. 'And don't say anything to old Wesson about this. All his thrills are on celluloid. If he met one in real life, he'd have a fit.'

When we returned to the bar, only Carla and Mayne were there. Carla was still drinking Strega and, judging by the flush on her cheeks, she had had quite a number whilst we had been out of the room. Mayne had recovered his ease of manner on cognac. Aldo was behind the bar. 'Due cognac,' Engles ordered.

'Si, si — subito, signore.'

'Where's Wesson?' Engles asked Mayne.

'Gone to develop some negatives for you.'

'And Valdini and the Greek?'

'They have gone to see him develop,' Carla answered. 'But why Stefan is interested when he knows the pictures are not pornographic, I do not know,' she added with a laugh.

Mayne was watching Engles — watching and waiting for him. The tension between them was uncomfortable. Engles drank in silence for a moment. Carla said nothing. She watched the two of them, and there was a gleam in her eye that I did not understand.

It was Mayne who made the first move. I don't think he could stand that silence. 'Have you thought out why I should want to kill Blair?' he asked. He tried to make his voice sound casual, but the tremor in it betrayed tense nerves.

Engles looked at him. Then he turned to Carla. 'You remember last night, when you told me what Mayne really was — you said he had double-crossed you?'

Carla nodded, and her eyes gleamed like those of a cat in the dark. Mayne set down his drink. His hand clenched as though about to hit out.

'Would it interest you to know,' Engles continued smoothly, 'that he is not content with double-crossing you — he plans to murder you?'

'That's a lie!' Mayne cried. Then with a sneer to cover that too emphatic denial, 'And how was I supposed to be planning to kill Carla?'

Engles smiled. But he still addressed Carla and not Mayne. 'The slittovia. A loosened cog and an accident — and that was to be the end of you, Carla, and Valdini.'

'You must be mad,' Mayne said, his lips white. 'First it's Blair. And now Carla — and Valdini.' Then, in a quieter tone: 'I can't believe you're serious.'

'But I am serious,' Engles replied slowly. Then he suddenly leaned forward. It was as though he had pounced on the man. 'That affair yesterday was as much attempted murder, Mayne, as if you had pulled a knife and tried to slit Blair's throat.'

Mayne laughed. The laugh was pitched a shade too high. 'Try and prove that. My God, Engles, if this were England, I'd sue you for slander.'

'If this were England, my boy,' Engles replied, 'you'd be in a condemned cell awaiting execution.'

Mayne suddenly shrugged his shoulders. 'I think you must be mad,' he said and poured himself another drink. The scene might have ended there, for I think Engles would have regarded it as sufficient stoking of the fires for the time being. But then Carla suddenly stepped in. 'Gilbert,' she said, and her voice was silky soft like a panther padding to the kill, 'why did you wish to keel me?'

Mayne took his drink at a gulp and said, 'How should I know? Ask Engles. It's his fairy tale. Maybe he can tell you.'

'Perhaps I don't need to ask him.' The voice was purring, but I felt it was purring with hate. 'Perhaps I know.' The words came like the final crash of a chord.

Mayne was watchful now, his pale eyes cold and slightly narrowed. 'And why should I want to kill you?' he asked smoothly.

'Because I am no longer of use to you and I know too much.' Her voice was raised now. It was angry and bitter. 'You tried first to blackmail Heinrich. And when he would not tell you where it was hidden, you had him arrested. You dirty little informante! You killed my poor Heinrich.'

'Your poor Heinrich! You hated him. And he despised you.'

'That is not true,' she flared. 'He loved me — always.'

Mayne laughed. 'Loved you! He despised you. He kept you because you were useful to him. He was a fugitive in a foreign country, and you knew how to hide him. And you stayed with him because your greedy little soul was in love with four million in gold.'

'Greed! You talk about greed! You…'

Mayne went on drinking and allowed the flood of Italian invective to pass over his head. His manner was one of studied insolence. Carla suddenly stopped. There was a wild look in her eyes. 'I hate you,' she stormed. 'Do you hear? I hate you.'

'Do you, Carla?' He laughed. 'And it was such a 14.1 short time ago that you were telling me you loved me. Don't you still love me?'

His supercilious, jeering voice seemed to hurt her. 'Why did you leave me, Gilbert?' Her voice was suddenly desperately quiet. 'We might have been very happy. Why did you leave me?'

'Because, as you very rightly guessed, you were no longer useful to me,' he answered coldly. 'You don't even know where the gold is, do you, Carla? Your poor Heinrich, who loved you so much, never told you. He killed a lot of men to get that gold. He shot them and buried them up here. After taking all that trouble, he wasn't going to tell his secret to a little prostitute he'd picked up in a Milan dance hall.'

'You—' With a quick movement of her wrist, Carla broke her tumbler against the brass rim of the bar and slashed at him with the broken edge.

It all happened in a flash. But even so, Mayne was quicker. He caught her wrist as she jabbed at his face and twisted it so that she spun round on her heels. He held her there, with her body arched in agony and her left hand clawing for his face with her blood-red nails.

It was at that moment that Valdini and Keramikos returned to the bar. I do not recall seeing Valdini get that gun out. It was a practised movement and very quick. I saw him come in out of the tail of my eye. He came in behind Keramikos. And, like the Greek, he stopped dead at the strange scene by the bar. Carla called to him something in Italian — or it may have been Sicilian, for I did not understand it. And in the same instant Valdini had that little black automatic in his hand.