AN UGLY SCENE
When I looked out of my window next morning it was a different world. There was no sunshine, no sharp contrast between black and white. The sky was grey with falling snow — large flakes that moved slowly downwards in their millions. The ground was a dull blanket of white. The trees were so laden with snow that they scarcely seemed trees at all. The belvedere was no longer a platform of bare boards. It was a square of virgin white, the round table tops bulging with snow like giant mushrooms.
I felt quite all right — just tired and very stiff. I went downstairs and phoned Emilio at the bottom of the slittovia. He told me that the sleigh could make it at the moment, but that if the wind rose and the snow began to drift, it would not be possible. I then phoned the Splendido and left a message for Engles that if he could get through to Tre Croci, the slittovia would be able to bring him up to Col da Varda. Then I told Aldo to prepare the remaining room.
I suppose I should now switch straight to Engles' arrival at Col da Varda, for nothing happened until after he had arrived. But, since everything hinged on that event, I must give some account of the strange air of expectancy that pervaded the bar room that morning.
In the case of Joe and myself it was understandable. Joe was mentally preparing himself for a verbal clash with his director. 'Engles will be full of ideas, damn his eyes,' he grumbled to me. 'But a film's got to have a focal point, and the focal point, as I see it, is this hut and the slittovia. It's a terrific setting. Look at it this morning! Another few hours and we'll be snowbound up here. What a situation for, say, a group of people who hate each other, or whose interests clash!' This was said to me at breakfast, and the others listened to his words with peculiar attention. 'And the slittovia,' he added. 'I've got some fine shots of it. Rig up a dummy sleigh and have it hurtle down with the cable broken. And a ski chase — I've got a wonderful shot of you, Neil, as you came down that pass and collapsed at our feet. If Engles doesn't agree with me — damn it, I'll resign.'
Joe was strung up and marshalling his points. And for myself, I must admit to a sense of excitement. After all that had happened, I felt certain Engles must tell me why he had sent me out here.
But the others — why were they so silent? Mayne had greeted me cheerfully enough when he came in to breakfast. He asked me how I felt with the quiet solicitude of a friend who was glad to see me none the worse for an unfortunate mishap. He was charming and natural, but quieter than usual. Anna's big eyes smiled at him unanswered as she laid the table. And when Joe came down and began to talk of Engles' arrival, he fell strangely silent.
And Valdini, who could have talked out any bill had he been an American senator, said hardly a word. Joe noticed it and said, 'What's on your mind, Valdini? In trouble with that contessa of yours?'
'Always you make the fun of me, Wesson, eh?' snarled the little Sicilian.
'Well, you looked damned worried when she phoned you last night,' Joe replied.
'When was that?' I asked.
'Oh, after you'd finally gone to bed,' Joe answered.
So she had phoned him after Engles had spoken to me. I would have given much to have known what she had said. That it concerned Engles I had no doubt.
And Keramikos. He was always quiet and reserved. But this morning he appeared not so much reserved as watchful. He regarded the breakfast-table with amused detachment. And yet there was a trace of nervousness in his manner. It seems quite natural for him to have been nervous now that I know the whole story. But at the time it was strange, because he always had such an air of confidence.
After breakfast everyone huddled round the stove. And that was strange, too, because normally they all drifted off to their rooms.
Joe talked to me for a time about the film. He wanted my support. He tried to get me to give him a synopsis of the script I was supposed to have planned. Was I using the hut and the slittovia? What snow scenes had I planned? And when he found me uncommunicative, he too fell silent. Finally he confirmed my feeling that the atmosphere was tense. 'Seems this snow has the same effect on people as the mistral or the sirocco. How long is it likely to last, Mayne?'
'A day or two maybe,' Mayne replied.
'My God!' Joe said. 'Are we going to sit as glum as owls round this stove for several days? For the love of God, Mayne, get on that piano and hammer out something cheerful. Can't say I usually like the row you kick up in the mornings. But anything is better than the five of us brooding over this monstrosity of a stove.'
But Mayne said he did not feel in the mood. And nobody supported Joe in his demand for music. In the end, he went and got a book. But even with one of his inevitable Westerns, his mind did not seem able to settle down. Valdini sat picking his teeth with a match. Mayne and Keramikos seemed lost in thought.
So we waited. And at last, about ten-thirty, the drone of the cable told us that the sleigh was coming up. Nobody moved. But the atmosphere quickened to interest. I got up and went over to the window that looked out on to the sleigh track. 'Who's coming up — your director?' Mayne asked.
'Can't see yet,' I told him. Visibility was very poor.
The sleigh track lost itself in the grey murk of falling snow.
Mayne came over and stood beside me. The cable jerked clear of the snow. And then, like a ghost ship, the sleigh emerged from the snow. 'Looks as though there are two passengers on it,' he said. 'Who else would want to come up on a day like this?' He swung round. 'Do you know who the other passenger is, Valdini?'
The little man looked up from the contemplation of his fingernails. He was dressed in a suit of sky blue with a dark-blue shirt and a crimson tie. He looked like the leader of a hot rhythm outfit. His rubber face grinned. But the grin did not extend to the eyes, which were watchful and narrowed. He sucked at his teeth. 'It is possible,' he said.
The sleigh was nearing the top now. It was thick with snow. I recognised the two passengers seated behind Emilio — they were Engles and the Contessa.
The sleigh stopped at the little wooden platform, which was almost under the window. Engles looked up, saw me and nodded a brief greeting. Mayne took a quick breath and then walked casually back to the stove. Carla was talking gaily to Engles as they got their skis off the rack on the sleigh. Anna went out and took Engles' two suitcases.
I turned back into the room. The others were seated exactly as they had been before. Nobody spoke. The ticking of the cuckoo clock was quite loud. I went over to the bar and got out a bottle of cognac and some glasses. There was a clatter of skis being placed against the wooden walls of the hut. Then the door opened and the Contessa came in, followed by Engles. Joe got up and said, 'Hallo, Engles. Glad to see you. Had a good trip?' That was the only movement from the group by the stove. Mayne and Keramikos were watching Engles, and Valdini was watching the Contessa.
Joe sensed the silence and tried to talk it down. 'Here, I'll put your coat on the table. Need a drink, I expect, old man. Ah, I see Neil has already had the same idea. Well, better introduce you since you're staving here. We're all present. Can't get out in this damned snow.'
Engles nodded briefly at the group by the stove as Joe introduced him. Then he said, 'Come and have a drink, Joe. I want to hear what sort of shots you've got for me. You need a drink, too, Carla. What are you having?'
She removed her heavy fur-lined jacket. She was dressed in her scarlet ski-suit. It was a pleasant splash of colour in that drab room. 'I' would like a Strega, please, Derek.' And she took his arm as though he were the one man in the world.
Engles gave me a quick, secret smile. I poured the drinks. Joe began talking about his focal point. Engles was only half-listening. His attention kept wandering to a battered mirror that hung on the wall at the end of the bar. At first I thought he was checking up on his appearance. He was always meticulous about his toilet when women were around. But then I realised that he could not possibly see himself in it. What he could see was the little group by the fire.
I switched my attention and saw that Mayne, too, was watching that little mirror. Joe rambled on about the importance of the slittovia from the camera point of view. Engles did not even pretend to be interested. He was watching Mayne and there was something between amusement and excitement in his dark eyes.
At last Mayne got up and came over to the bar. His movements were casual enough, but it was a deliberate casualness. He and Engles were much of a height when they stood together, though Engles seemed shorter because of the slight stoop of his shoulders. Joe paused for breath and Mayne said, 'As you're joining us in this hermit's existence up here, Mr Engles, perhaps you will have a drink with me?'
'I'd like to,' Engles replied.
Mayne poured the drinks, chalked himself up for the round, brought Keramikos and Valdini in and, in short, became a most charming and natural host, talking pleasantly and easily of the advantages of peacetime air travel as compared with conditions in wartime. 'But peace or war,' he said, 'I can never reconcile myself to the take-off — that uninsurable half-minute when your eyes won't focus on your book and you feel hot and there is that rattling roar of the engines as the ground rushes past the window faster and faster and then suddenly recedes.'
Joe, who had been content to pause for another drink, now dived back into the original conversation. 'There's one point at any rate, Engles,' he said, 'that I'd like to get settled before I take any more shots. Do we or do we not—?'
'I don't think you'll be doing much camera work for some little time,' Mayne interrupted him. 'Look at know!'
He was pointing at the window and we all turned. Outside, it had suddenly become even darker. The snow was lifting up before it reached the ground and swirling round in eddies. Then, suddenly, all those millions of little jostling snowflakes seemed to fall into order of battle and charge against the trees on the far side of the slittovia. The whole hut shook with that first gust of wind. It whined and ramped round the gables as though intent upon plucking the hut off Col da Varda and whirling it away into space. It took hold of the trees and shook them like a terrier shakes a rat. The snow fell in great slabs from their whipping branches. A wave of snow swept up from the ground and flung itself across the sleigh track. Then the wind steadied down to a hard blow, driving the snowflakes almost horizontal to the ground.
'Looks as though you'll have to spend the night up here, Carla,' Engles said.
She smiled. 'Will you be a nice man, then, and give up your room for me?'
'Do not be afraid, Mr Engles,' Valdini said with a horrid leer. 'She has so kind a nature — she will not insist that you sleep down here.'
There was an awkward silence which Carla broke with a laugh. 'Do not mind Stefan,' she said to Engles. 'He is jealous, that is all.'
'Jealous!' Valdini's eyes hardened and he looked at Mayne. 'Yes, I am jealous. Do you know what it is like to be jealous, Mr Mayne?' His voice was dangerously suave and once again I had that feeling of unpleasant emotions kept just below the surface.
The hut shook to a renewed onslaught of the wind. It thrashed through the tops of the firs, tearing from them their last remnants of snow so that they stood up, black and bare, in that grey, white-speckled world.
'Lucky we're not on that glacier now, eh, Blair?' Mayne said to me. Then to Engles: 'You know you nearly lost your script writer yesterday?'
'I heard he'd had an accident skiing,' Engles replied. 'What happened?'
Mayne gave his version. He told it well and I listened with some admiration. Engles could hear what really happened later. 'It was just one of those things,' Mayne concluded. 'My fault, really. I should have kept closer touch.'
'What happened to you?' Engles asked, turning to me. 'You had a spill in soft snow, I suppose. Did you get back on your own?'
I told him how a freak change in the weather had enabled me to get back across the glacier and how a search-party had picked me up half-way down the pass.
'I've got a shot of him collapsing as he reached us,' Joe said. 'It's a real beauty. You want a scene like that in the script. It'll grip any audience. His companion telephoning from an hotel, search-parties starting out, the man himself struggling out of the soft snow, trekking back over the pass, and finally collapsing. Have his girl with the rescue party.'
Engles seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then his eyes lighted up with that infectious enthusiasm. 'That's wasting it, Joe. You can get more drama into it than that. And to hell with the girl. Listen — suppose Mayne here wanted to murder Blair. He's a good skier. Blair isn't. A snowstorm comes up. Mayne's leading. He bears right after crossing the glacier — not by mistake, but by design.' I scarcely heard what he said after that. I was watching Mayne. At the mention of 'murder' he had stiffened. He glanced quickly at Keramikos. His eyes were blank and he passed his tongue once or twice across his lips.
'A night out there in a storm, and he's bound to freeze to death,' I heard Engles saying. 'The perfect murder. Can't be proved. But, by a freak chance, Blair comes back. It's a lovely situation. We'll write that into the script, Neil,' he added, turning to me.
Keramikos thrust his head forward. 'This hypothetical case,' he said. 'It is most interesting. But why should Mayne wish to kill Blair?'
'Ah! That is what we have to work out,' Engles said. Then he turned to me. 'Come on, Neil,' he said. 'We'll get this down whilst the idea is clear in our minds. Where can we go? What about your room? Any heating?'
'There's an electric stove,' I said.
'Good!'
As soon as we were outside the door I said, 'Whatever induced you to produce that murder idea?'
'Well, it wasn't a bad idea,' he said, grinning up at me as we mounted the stairs.
'No,' I said. 'It wasn't at all a bad idea. In fact, it's exactly what happened. Mayne tried to murder me.'
'Yes, I guessed as much.'
'How could you?' I said. We were in my room now.
'Your unwillingness to talk on the phone. And what I know of Mayne.'
I shut the door and switched on the electric heater. It was very cold and the snow was piling up against the window, so that it was almost impossible to see out.
'What do you know of Mayne?' I asked.
He gave me a quick glance as he seated himself on the bed and produced a packet of cigarettes. 'That can wait for the moment, Neil. Let's hear what's been happening up here. The last message I got from you was the cable giving details of the auction. It was that and the photograph of the bunch downstairs that brought me over here. Let's start with the auction.'
When I had given him a full description, of the sale, he asked me to give him all the information on Mayne, Keramikos, Valdini and Carla. I started with Carla. I told him all that she had told me about herself. 'And you believed her?' he cut in.
'I saw no reason not to,' I replied. 'She's pretty sensual, but that's no reason why she shouldn't really have been in love with Stelben.'
He gave a cynical laugh. 'That woman in love! She's never loved any one but herself. She's clever and she can handle men. She's twisted you round her little finger, Neil.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' I said angrily. 'It's a perfectly reasonable story.'
'Reasonable!' He laughed outright. 'It's about as reasonable as a tiger migrating to the Antarctic. What use would that woman have for a secluded villa on top of Col da Varda? She has two interests only in life — and money is the chief one. The trouble with you, Neil, is that you know nothing about women and are as gullible as any man I have ever met.'
I shrugged my shoulders. 'Have it your own way,' I said. 'But do you expect me to have second sight? How should I know whether she's telling the truth or not? Suppose you give me all the information you have about these people. Then I'd have something to go on.'
He smiled. 'All right, Neil — a fair point. That's Carla and Valdini. What about Keramikos?'
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.
'Keep very still, please, gentlemen,' he said, and his suave voice had an authoritative snap in it that went with the gun. 'I am a very good shot. Nobody move, please. Release the Contessa, Mr Mayne!'
Mayne let Carla's wrist go and she fell to the floor. She got to her feet in a single quick movement and picked up the broken tumbler. As her hands closed on the jagged remnant, she looked at Mayne. Her face was disfigured with rage. Her teeth were literally bared and her eyes smouldered. There was no doubt in our minds what she intended to do with that broken tumbler. She went slowly towards Mayne, her movements deliberate and sinuous. Mayne's jaw, where the scar showed, twitched nervously and he swallowed twice. There was nothing any of us could do. There had been something about Valdini's manner that had convinced us that he would not hesitate to shoot.
And it was at that moment that Joe came quietly in. He was looking at some negatives he had in his hand. The first he saw of the scene was the gun in Valdini's hand. 'Good God!' he said. 'You shouldn't point a gun at people like that. Might go off. Let's see if it's loaded.' And he stretched out his big hand and took the gun away from Valdini.
We did not move. We were so surprised. And the most surprised of all was Valdini. I know it sounds incredible. But that, I assure you, is exactly what happened. Joe Wesson walked in and took the gun out of Valdini's hand. And Valdini let him. The only explanation is that Joe had no fear. It never occurred to him that Valdini was prepared to shoot. And because he had no fear, Valdini lost his confidence.
Joe pulled out the magazine and then looked quite angrily at Valdini. 'Do you realise this thing is loaded?' He shook his head, muttered something about 'Damn fool thing to do,' and handed the gun and the magazine separately back to Valdini.
His complete unawareness of anything serious behind the gun in Valdini's hand acted like a douche of cold water. The tension eased. Mayne picked up his drink again. Carla relaxed. We all began to move and talk naturally again. It was as though a group of puppets had suddenly come to life. The room itself seemed to sigh with relief. 'Just in time, Joe,' Engles said. 'Valdini was showing us how a Sicilian gangster draws a gun. What are you having?' he added, ignoring the black look Valdini gave him.
'I'll have a cognac,' Joe grunted. He had a puzzled frown on his face. 'Why ever did you let that little bastard play around with that gun?' he whispered as he pushed his way between Engles and myself. 'I suppose everybody carries a gun in this damned country. But they ought to know better than to fool around with them.'
He handed Engles two rolls of film. 'A few shots I did of the slittovia and also some interior shots of this room. Take a look at them." They're not bad.' A third roll he passed across to me. 'Want to see yourself in a state of collapse? It wants more light. But it's a good action shot. It grips, even though you do play it down a bit.' He drank his cognac. When he had set his glass down he said, 'Well, may as well go and develop some of the other rolls. Can't do anything else in this weather. Wish I'd a camera with me when I came in just now. I'd like to have got a shot of little Valdini with that gun. Somehow, it all looked so real. Might let me know what you think of those shots, old man.'
'I will,' Engles said. And Joe heaved himself out of the room.
I glanced round the room. It all looked quite peaceful now. Mayne had gone over to the piano and was quietly drifting through a piece I did not recognise. Carla was talking excitedly to Valdini. Keramikos was sipping an anisette at the other end of the bar. A chord crashed out from the piano and Mayne switched with a malicious sense of humour into La donna e mobile. 'The pot is boiling all right,' Engles said quietly. 'One more scene like that and there really will be some shooting. Valdini is not the only one who has a gun, I'm pretty certain about that.'
'What's all this about four million in gold?' I asked. Our conversation was masked by the sound of the piano.
'Remember those cuttings from the Corriere delta Venezia you sent me? One of them has a reference to it. It was the consignment from the bank at Venice. Part of it disappeared en route. The actual spot where it disappeared was the Tre Croci Pass. This bunch of carrion are here because of it. Mayne, Keramikos, the Contessa and Valdini — they all know about it. They all think it's somewhere up here. The interesting point is — who actually knows where it is?'
'Do you know?' I asked.
He shook his head. 'No. As far as I am concerned, it was just a hunch, based on the news that Stelben owned Col da Varda. You see, when Stelben was originally arrested, I interrogated him in Milan. It was this story of the missing gold that interested us. I spent a lot of time on the case. I even went to Berlin and saw—' At that moment Mayne stopped playing. There was a sudden silence. The howl of the wind outside invaded the room. It was a dismal, nerve-racking sound. Beyond the windows, the snowflakes sped by in a never-ending stream. 'Better go on playing,' Engles said to Mayne, 'or everybody will start screaming at each other again.'
Mayne nodded quite cheerfully. He seemed perfectly at ease again. He settled himself on the stool and plunged into Symphonic Fantastique. Keramikos sidled along the bar. 'Will you please tell me, Mr Engles, what was the cause of the trouble between the Contessa Forelli and Mayne?' he asked.
Engles gave him a quick resume of what had occurred. When he had finished, Keramikos nodded. 'Ah! It is the thought of all that gold that made her mad. She will have been called worse things than a prostitute in her life. So she does not know where it is, eh?' He thrust his head forward suddenly. 'Do you know where it is, Mr Engles?'
'If I did, you would hardly expect me to tell you,' Engles replied.
Keramikos gave a short laugh that was more like a grunt. 'Of course not, my friend. But we should help each other a little, you and I. These people here' — and he nodded in the direction of the Contessa and Mayne — 'they are only interested for themselves. With them it is self-interest. Whereas you and I, we have a mission. We do not work for ourselves.'
'And who are you working for now, Keramikos?' Engles asked.
'For my country,' he replied. 'Always for my country.' He peered more closely at Engles. 'You remember that we have met before, eh?'
'Of course I do,' Engles replied. 'It was at Piraeus. You had some ELAS guerillas with you and were attempting to mine the harbour at night.'
'Ah — I thought you had not forgotten. It was cold that night. The harbour water was black and full of oil and dirt. It tasted very unpleasant. I did not enjoy that swim.' He smiled. 'And now we drink together. Do you not find that strange?'
'It's not always possible to choose one's drinking company,' Engles replied blandly.
Keramikos gave a fat chuckle and his little eyes twinkled behind the thick lenses. 'That is life,' he said. 'You serve your Government. I serve mine. Our meetings should be dramatic moments — with pistols, like Valdini. Instead, we drink.'
'Don't be absurd, Keramikos,' Engles said. 'You have no government left to serve.'
Keramikos sighed. 'That is true. That is very true. For the moment there is nothing left — just a loose organisation under the ground. But there are many Germans working, like myself, all over the world. We work without direction and without funds. That will change in time. At the moment our energy is wasted in the search for money. That is why I am here. I have an organisation in Greece. It must be paid, if it is to continue. Four million dollars in gold would help. But it will not always be like this. Some day Germany will begin to organise again. And next time — the third time — perhaps we shall not fail. Already you are saying that Germany must be prosperous so that she can take her place in the economic plan of Europe. We have no national debt like you. Each war has been paid for in the ruins of defeat. We starve now, and that means that the old people die. And that again is good for a nation. Our industry is destroyed. That, too, is good. Our industry, when we rebuild it, will be new and up-to-date, not old works adjusted to meet the changing needs, like yours. It will be the same with our armed forces. You will see. Last time it was twenty years. Twenty years is a long time. There will be a new generation then who will not remember that war is horrible.'
'You're very frank about it,' Engles said.
'And why not? You are a Colonel in the British Intelligence.'
'Was,' Engles corrected him. 'I'm a civilian now.'
Keramikos shrugged his shoulders. 'What does it matter what you call yourself? I call myself a shipping agent. But you remain of the Intelligence, and you must know that your people are aware that we exist. But what can they do? For example, what can they do about me? I am a Greek national. Greece is a free country. They cannot arrest me. And I shall do nothing foolish here in Italy. I shall get the gold. But I shall be careful. I shall not kill any one — if it can be avoided. Mayne and Valdini are different. They are both gangsters, and dangerous. Mayne is a deserter, as I told Blair.'
'Yes, I know all about Mayne,' Engles said. 'What I am interested in is how you found out about this gold. You couldn't have learned about it in Greece.'
'I could not, eh?' He seemed amused. 'Yet this is the first time I have been out of Greece since I went to Alexandria. And that was a long time ago — just before the Greek mutiny. No, I heard about it in Greece. It was luck. The one man who escaped out of the wretched guard that brought the gold up from Venice sought the help of my people in Salonika. They asked him to account for himself. And he broke down under questioning. But you know the story of how Stelben got that gold, eh?'
'Only by deduction,' Engles replied. 'Not from evidence. Stelben kept his mouth shut. And I certainly didn't know any of the guard escaped. He even murdered his personal servant who had been with him for nearly six years. I'd like to know what your man had to tell. And Blair here knows nothing of the story as yet.'
'Ah! Then you shall read the statement of the Korporal who escaped. And we will have a drink to fortify ourselves, eh?' He ordered the drinks and I leaned closer, for Mayne had gone into something loud and sonorous, which, with the noise of the wind outside, made it difficult to hear.
When Aldo had put the drinks in front of us, Keramikos said, 'This does not reflect well on the Gestapo. But all organisations, you understand, have their bad servants. You must remember it was near the end. And Stelben had killed many people before he shot down those nine soldiers. The gold was at a bank in Venice. It was the property of one of the Rome banking houses and had been transported to Venice for greater safety after your troops landed at Anzio. When we fell back to the line of the Po River, Heinrich Stelben was instructed to convey the gold to the Reichsbank at Munich. He was to take it by road, for you were bombarding the railways from the air, and the route chosen was through Cortina and Bolzano to Innsbruck. You must picture to yourselves that little convoy. There was the truck containing the gold. It was closed and sealed. And two Volkswagens. And there were seven honest German soldaten and Stelben — and gold to the value of over eight million dollars.'