The Lonely Skier

CHAPTER SEVEN THE STORY OF THE GOLD

Keramikes paused and glanced quickly round. Mayne was playing Danse Macabre now. The Contessa and Valdini were still talking together. And the snow streamed past the windows and piled up in great drifts on the belvedere. Then he took an old leather wallet from his pocket and brought out a folded sheet of foolscap. He smoothed it out on the bar and handed it to Engles. That is the statement made by Korporal Holtz of the Panzer Grenadiers,' he said. 'You may read it.'

Engles placed it on the bar so that I could read it over his shoulder. It was typewritten and in German. It was dated 9th October, 1945. I reproduce it here because I happen to have it with me as I write and because it is a good statement. Holtz tells the story with a directness and simplicity of wording often to be found in statements from soldiers. And this, combined with the noise of the wind and Mayne playing, made the scene he described very vivid to me as I read it, there in that bar-room, right over the spot where it had happened. It was, as Keramikos said, not a pretty story and it invested the gold with a peculiarly live quality that must, I think, be possessed by all things which have inspired greed and caused the death of many people.

When we had finished reading the statement, Engles carefully folded the sheet of paper and handed it back to Keramikos. 'It's strange to see it all written down,' he said. 'I was convinced that that was roughly what had happened. But I couldn't prove it. Stelben's statement was that, shortly after passing the Tre Croci Hotel, they were forced to a stop because a lorry was drawn up across the road. His men mutinied and joined the men from the lorry. He and his servant, joined by the guard from the slittovia, attempted to prevent them getting at the gold. There was a fight. The slittovia guard and his servant were killed. He was bound and taken up to the top of the slittovia. He managed to free himself eventually and at seven-thirty in the morning he staggered into the Tre Croci Hotel. That was the statement he made to the Commandant of the anti-aircraft unit at Tre Croci. Later he went on with the remaining nineteen cases of gold to Innsbruck, where he made a similar statement to the Gestapo.'

'Yes, I heard about the statement,' Keramikos said. 'One of my people had seen it. Did the Gestapo arrest him?'

'No. Things were a bit chaotic at the time and he was urgently required in Italy to deal with the threatened Communist risings in the big towns. I interrogated him, you know, when he was first arrested. I could never shake him from that statement. Its weakness was, of course, that they would never have troubled to take him up to the top of the slittovia.' Engles looked at Keramikos with a puzzled frown. 'Just why did you show me Holtz's statement?' he asked.

'Ah — you are thinking that it tells you where the gold is hidden, eh?'

'By the time he had killed those men up here and taken the bodies down to the bottom and then climbed all the way back, it could not have been earlier than, say, four o'clock. He reported to the Commandant at the Tre Croci Hotel at seven-thirty. That gives him barely three hours in which to bury the five remaining bodies and twenty-one cases of gold. He wouldn't have had time to move those boxes to another hiding place.'

Keramikos shrugged his shoulders. 'Perhaps you are right,' he said.

'Then why did you show me the statement?'

'Because, my friend, it only tells you where the gold was. It does not tell you where it is now. Don't forget that Stelben owned this place for a short time. And he had two Germans working for him up here. They were here for over two weeks before they were arrested.'

'Were they alone here?'

'Yes. Aldo and his wife and Anna were given a month's holiday.'

'Strange that the two Germans should have been killed in that riot at the Regina Coeli.'

Keramikos smiled. 'Yes,' he said. 'Very convenient, eh — for someone. But who?'

At that moment Carla interrupted us. 'You have secrets that you talk together so quietly — yes?'

'No secrets from you, Carla,' Engles replied. 'We were just wondering what your little Heinrich did with the bodies of the five German soldiers he buried up here.'

'What do you mean?'

'Don't pretend that you know nothing about it. Where did he put them — and the gold?'

'How should I know?' She was tense and her fingers were tearing at a button on her scarlet suit.

'Weren't you here when he had those two Germans working for him?' Engles asked.

'No. I was in Venice.'

'He did not trust you, eh?' Keramikos said with a sly smile.

She made no answer.

Engles turned to Valdini, who had moved quietly over to join us. 'And where were you?' he asked.

'I also was in Venice,' Valdini replied. He was watching Carla and there was an ugly little grin on his face.

'You were in Cortina.' Carla's voice sounded startled.

'No,' he said, still with that evil grin. 'I was in Venice.'

'But I told you to go to Cortina. You said you were at Cortina.' She was very agitated.

'I was in Venice,' he repeated, and his eyes watched her coldly, like a snake.

'Ah,' said Keramikos. 'You were told to keep an eye on Stelben and his two friends. Yet you remained in Venice. I wonder why.'

'There was no need to go to Cortina. The two Germans were friends of Mayne's. They were looking after her interests — and Mayne's.'

I heard Mayne miss a note, and I glanced towards the piano. He was watching us and, as I looked at him, he stopped playing and got up. The others had not noticed. They were watching Valdini. And the little Sicilian was watching Carla.

'So you stayed in Venice?' Keramikos said. 'Why in Venice?'

'I wished to keep an eye on Mayne,' Valdini replied slowly.

'You were spying on me,' Carla snarled in Italian. 'Why were you spying on me?'

The corners of his eyes crinkled and his neat little figure was swelled out. He was enjoying himself. 'You think you can make the fool of me,' he said to her in English. His tone was violent. 'You think I have no pride. Once you were glad to say, Si, si, Signor Valdini. That was when I owned you and fifty girls like you. And when I permitted you to call me Stefan — how you were overcome with delight! I did not mind Stelben and all those others. That was business. But this is different. I do not trust you now.'

'You say Mayne was in Venice,' Engles said. 'What was he doing there?'

'Making love to Carla,' Valdini replied, and his lips were drawn back from his discoloured teeth in an expression of disgust.

Carla hit him then. She hit him with the back of her hand, and the big diamond ring blazed a trail of blood across his cheek.

But he caught her wrist and, with a quick stoop of his body, threw her over his shoulder. Her head hit the bar rail with a sickening thud. He rushed over to where she lay groaning and began to hack at her ribs with the pointed toe of his shoe. 'You leave me for a dirty little English deserter who does not care for anything but the gold,' he screamed at her in Italian. He was beside himself with rage, literally crying with anger. 'Why didn't you trust me? I would have found it for you. But now—'

Before any of us had begun to move, Mayne had crossed the room. He caught Valdini by the collar of his jacket, swung him round and hit him with his fist between the eyes. The Sicilian was flung back against the wall, where he slowly subsided like a sack. Mayne turned and faced us. His eyes were watchful and he had his right hand in the pocket of his jacket.

'Be careful now,' Engles whispered in my ear. 'The pot has boiled over and he's got a gun.' His voice was excited. He turned to Mayne. 'Those two Germans,' he said. 'Would their names be — Wilhelm Muller and Friedrich Mann?' He shot the names out like a prosecuting counsel making his final point in a murder trial.

And the effect on Mayne was noticeable. His face looked pinched and grey in that cold light and he kept nervous watch on the whole room.

'You put Carla in touch with those two,' Engles continued. His voice was cold and matter-of-fact. 'She introduced them to Stelben. And Stelben was glad to use them because they were gangsters and there would be no questions when they disappeared. He did not know they were your men. When they had found out what you wanted to know, you had them arrested with Stelben.'

'And I suppose I arranged for them to be shot in that prison riot?' he sneered.

'You were in Rome at the time,' Carla suddenly said. She had struggled on to one elbow and was watching him malevolently.

'It could have been arranged,' Engles said, 'if you had known the right people. And I think you did know the right people.'

'And why do you think that?' Mayne was watching only Engles now. He was not sure of himself. I wished Engles would leave it at that. The situation was getting ugly.

'Because,' Engles said slowly, 'you are not Gilbert Mayne.'

'And who am I, then?' Mayne's left hand was clenched.

'You're a murderer and a gangster,' Engles snapped back. 'We nearly caught you in Naples in 1944. You had deserted during the Salerno landing and were running a gang in the dock area of Naples. You were wanted for murder and robbery. You were also wanted for smuggling German prisoners through the lines. That was why I became interested in your activities. We got you in Rome three months after the city fell. You and your girl were picked up in a trattoria. That's where you got that bullet scar. I interrogated you. You recognised me when I arrived here, but you thought I might not recognise you because your head was bandaged when I last saw you.'

'This is ridiculous,' Mayne said. He was struggling to regain his habitual ease of manner. 'You are mistaking me for someone else. My military career was quite straightforward. I was a captain in the Artillery. I was taken prisoner and after my escape I joined UNRRA. You can check the War Office records.'

'I did that before I left England,' Engles said quietly. 'Captain Gilbert Mayne was reported missing in January, 1944. He was believed killed in action near Cassino. Two months later he is recorded as having escaped from a German prison camp. You pretended to be suffering from shock when you reported for duty as Captain Mayne, and were allowed to join UNRRA. You applied to be sent to Greece, where there was little likelihood of your meeting up with any of the officers of Gilbert Mayne's ack-ack regiment. I suggest that Gilbert Mayne was, in fact, killed in action. Your name is Stuart Ross — and Muller and Mann were members of your Naples gang.'

Mayne laughed. It was a wild laugh. He was white and very tense. 'First you accuse me of trying to 164.

murder Blair and planning to murder Carla. Now you—'

'It is true,' Carla interrupted him hoarsely. 'Everything he has said is true. I know it is true.' She had struggled to her feet. Her face was grey under her make-up and she was very close to tears. 'You wished to keel me. You said you would find out where the gold was. You said you loved me. You said we would discover the gold and then we would marry and share it. But you lied.' Her voice trembled on the edge of hysteria. 'All the time you lie to me. It was you who bought Col da Varda at the auction. I discovered that yesterday. And — it is you who know where the gold is. You — you,' she screamed. 'May it do you the good it has done the others.'

Mayne went across to her. There was no doubt of his intentions. He was livid with anger. He was going to hit her, but as he took his hand out of his pocket, Valdini, who had recovered consciousness, went for his gun. It was in an armpit holster and because he was still dazed he fumbled the draw. Mayne was quicker. He shot him before he had even got his gun out of its holster. He shot him in the chest. A little black mark appeared suddenly on the brilliant blue of Valdini's jacket, and he gave a grunt and rolled over.

Nobody moved for a moment. The smoke curled up blue from Mayne's gun. The shattering sound of the shot seemed to have immobilised us all. Valdini began to whimper and cough up blood.

Carla was the first to move. She gave a little cry and knelt down beside Valdini. We watched her lift his head and wipe the blood from his mouth with the yellow silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. 'Carla — car a mia.' He tried to smile at her and then his head fell back, loose and relaxed.

'Stefan!' she cried out. 'Stefan! Don't leave me.'

But he was dead.

She looked up then, still holding his body in her arms. And she was crying. I think that was the most shocking part of the whole business — that she should be crying because Stefan Valdini was dead.

'Why did you have to kill him?' Her voice sounded tired. 'He loved me. My poor Stefan! He was all I had really. All I've ever had. He was mine. He was the only one who really loved me. He was like a puppy. Why did you have to kill him?'

She seemed to take a grip on herself then. She laid Valdini's body back on the floor and got to her feet. Then she went slowly towards Mayne. He was watching her and at the same time trying to watch us, the gun still in his hand. When she was close to him, she stopped. Her eyes were big and wild-looking. 'You fool!' she said. 'We might have killed Heinrich quietly and shared all that gold between the two of us. We might have been very happy for all of our lives. Why did you have to have Heinrich arrested? And those two friends of yours? It was all so public.'

'The sight of that gold was too much for my two friends,' Mayne replied harshly.

Carla sighed. 'All my life I have lived with men who cheated and killed. But I thought you were honest. I thought you really loved me. In Venice — I was so happy at the thought that we should be rich and be able to live well and without danger. Then you went away and Heinrich and your two friends were arrested. I became suspicious then. I had Stefan follow you. Then I knew that it was all over, that it was not me you loved — only the gold. You bid against me for this place. You planned to murder Stefan and myself. You are a dirty lying cheat." She said these words without emotion. But her voice rose as she went on, 'Now you have killed Stefan. Why don't you kill me too? You have a gun. You should not be afraid with a gun in your hand. Go on, kill me, why don't you?' She laughed. 'You fool, Gilbert! You should kill me now — and all these others. Think of all that gold — and then remember that you are the only person left who knows where it is.' She smiled bitterly. 'It will do you no good. Arrivederci, Gilbert.'

She turned and walked slowly out of the room.

We watched her go. I don't know about the others, but my nails bit deeply into the palms of my hands as I waited, tensed, for Mayne to fire. His face was white and sullen and I could feel the pressure of his finger on the trigger of that pistol as he slowly lifted it. Then suddenly he relaxed and let the gun fall to his side. Carla's ski boots sounded on the bare boards of the passage outside and then climbed slowly up the stairs.

He turned to us with a smile. It was meant to be an easy, confident smile. But all he achieved was a deathly grin. His face looked drawn and hollow. His skin had a grey pallor that was not entirely due to the dim, snow-whitened light that came through the windows from the bleak world outside. And I suddenly realised that he was afraid.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment. I think he was debating whether to shoot us down there and then. I had an unpleasant sensation in the pit of my stomach. 'If he raises that gun, dive for the table,' Engles whispered to me. His voice was tense. I glanced at the big pine table. It offered very little cover. I felt helpless and' I think I was frightened. My mouth felt dry and every movement, every sound in that room was magnified so that the scene is still quite vivid in my mind.

I remember I could hear the ticking of the cuckoo clock above the noise of the wind. I believe the sound of the snow falling was actually audible, a dull blanketed murmur that was like a sigh. And there was a strange chattering noise, which I traced to Aldo's teeth. The blood was moving in a dark trickle from below Valdini's mouth, which was open and resting close against the scrubbed pine boards of the floor. One of us had spilled a glass of cognac on the bar. The little pool of liquor dripped steadily on to the floor.

It seemed ages that we stood there like that — quite still — the three of us bunched against the bar, Aldo with a cloth in one hand and a glass in the other and his teeth chattering in his bald shiny head, and Mayne standing out there in the middle of the room, the gun slack in his hand. But I suppose it was only for a matter of seconds really. A door shut and Carla's boots sounded overhead. She was in Valdini's room.

Mayne glanced up. He too, was listening to the sound of those footsteps, and I think he must have been wishing that he had killed her whilst he had the chance. Then he pulled himself together. And it was with something of his old manner that he turned to us and said, 'I am afraid, gentlemen, I shall have to ask you to hand over your weapons, if any. You first, Keramikos! Step over to the table where I can see you clearly.' And he motioned him to move with the point of his gun. 'You needn't be afraid,' he added as the Greek hesitated. 'I won't shoot you. I'll need your help in digging up the gold.'

I think Keramikos was in two minds. By a quick movement he could get behind Engles. But Engles had turned and was watching him.

'You'd better do it before he gets frightened again.' Engles said.

Keramikos suddenly smiled. 'Yes, perhaps it is better,' he said and went over to the table. He glanced enquiringly at Mayne.

'Take your gun out by the muzzle and lay it on the table,' Mayne told him.

Keramikos did this.

'Now turn round!'

I half braced myself for the shot. But Mayne walked over to him and searched him quickly with practised hands.

It was Engles' turn next. He, too, had a gun.

'Now you, Blair.'

'I haven't got a gun,' I said as I went over to the table.

He laughed at that. 'Bit of a sheep among the wolves, aren't you?' he said. But he searched me all the same. He even ordered Aldo out from behind the bar and searched him. The Italian was practically beside himself with fear, and, as he came out from behind the bar, his eyes were starting in his head so that he looked like some grotesque doll out of a Russian ballet. 'Now get that body out of here,' Mayne told Aldo in Italian. 'Bury it in the snow and wash those boards.'

'No, no, signore. Mamma mia! E non possibile.' I don't know which he was more terrified of — Mayne's gun or the body huddled against the wall in its pool of blood. He was gibbering and quite beyond reason.

Mayne turned to us. 'There's no sense in this animal,' he said. 'Perhaps you'd be good enough to dump it outside in the snow somewhere so that it doesn't show and get this cretino to swab the floor.' He was quite master of himself again. He dealt with the disposal of Valdini's body as though it were a glass that had been smashed. 'Do not try to go to your rooms yet,' he added. 'I want to search them first.' He glanced up. Carla's boots were moving about almost directly above his head. 'Now I must go up and attend to Carla,' he said. But first he went to the telephone and wrenched it out of the wall.

'What are you going to do to her?' Engles asked as he made for the door.

He turned in the doorway and smiled. 'Make love to her,' he said. And we heard his boots on the boards outside and then on the stairs. There was a crash of a door being kicked open and then a scream that was instantly stifled. It became a moaning sound that was gradually lost in the noise of the wind.

'Mein Gott! He has killed her,' Keramikos said.

We stood listening. Whatever a woman may be, it is not pleasant to hear her scream with pain and to think that she has been killed without any attempt being made to prevent it. I felt suddenly very sick. That scream and Valdini's body lying there like a stuck pig in his own blood — it was too much. Footsteps sounded on the stairs again. Mayne was coming back. He entered the room and stopped as he saw that none of us had moved. 'What's the matter with you people?' he asked. He had put his gun away and seemed almost cheerful.

'Have you killed her?' Engles asked.

'Good God, no! Just tied her up, that's all. She couldn't find another gun in Valdini's room.' He nodded at the body. 'Engles! Will you and Blair remove that. Keramikos — you come with me.'

Valdini's body was not heavy. We opened the window by the bar and pitched it out. There was a deep drift and Valdini sank into it as though it were a feather bed. I leaned out of the window and looked down at him. He was sprawled on his back, his clothes very bright against the white background of the snow and the blood from his mouth making a red stain round his head. He looked like a rag doll with a ridiculous scarlet hat set at a jaunty angle on his head. Then the snow began to drift across him and his body became indistinct. The wind was very cold on my face and rapidly crusted my head with driven snow. I stepped back and closed the window. Engles was standing over Aldo. The Italian was on his knees, swabbing up the blood with a bar cloth. 'I think I need a drink,' I said.

'Pour me one, will you?' He came over to the bar. 'Must be near lunch time.'

I glanced at the cuckoo clock, which was still ticking away merrily as though nothing had happened. It was twelve-thirty. 'I have never felt less like food,' I said.

'Good God! You've seen worse than this,' he said as he took the drink I handed him.

'I know,' I said. 'But that was war. I suppose one gets used to the idea of death during one's battle training. But killing a margin cold blood, that's different. I thought he was going to shoot her.'

'Don't worry — he will. And he'll shoot us, too, if we don't do something about it.' He raised his glass. 'Cheers!' he said. He was quite cool. 'It's a funny thing,' he said, 'the effect that gold or jewels, or any form of concentrated wealth, has on men. Take our friend Stelben; he slaughtered nine men, as casually as you or I would cut a film script. It's the same with Mayne. Already he's killed three men and caused another to commit suicide. That's the straightforward killer for you — the gangster, the man who kills without thought or feeling. He's, a pretty dull fellow really, no emotions. It's only what he does that's exciting.'

'Why the devil did you want to get involved in this business?' I said.

He gave me a quick glance. 'Yes, I was afraid you'd ask that sooner or later.' He hesitated. 'You know, I've been wondering about it myself during the past few minutes. Pride, I suppose, and my insatiable desire for excitement. I had a good record as an Intelligence officer, you know. I didn't fall down on many things. But I did fall down on the matter of Stelben and his gold. And when I read of his arrest and how he had become the owner of Col da Varda, something told me the scent was hot again. I just had to do something about it. And then, when you sent me that photograph, I knew I was right. I recognised Mayne and I thought I recognised Keramikos. I just had to come over and see what was going on. But when I talked this morning about stoking up the fires, it never occurred to me that things would move so swiftly.' He patted me on the shoulder. 'Sorry!' he added. 'I didn't mean to land you in a mess like this. Make no mistake about it, Neil — we're in a pretty tight spot.'

'Well, let's get out of it,' I said.

'How?'

'Surely we could make Tre Croci on skis?'

'Yes, on skis. But Mayne is no fool. He will have thought of that, and of the snow-shoes. However, let's investigate.'

He was quite right. Mayne was standing by the open door of the ski room and the clatter of skis told us that he had Keramikos at work tying them up. 'Disposed of the body?' he asked. 'Then come and give a hand with these.' He kept well clear of us as we entered the little room and his eyes were watchful. There were several pairs of skis there besides our own. We tied them in bundles of three and then he had us carry them out on to the belvedere.

Mayne directed us to the concrete machine-room at the top of the slittovia. The snow was very deep, in places over our knees. He unlocked the door for us and we filed in, glad to get out of that biting, snow-laden wind. The place felt chill and damp, and it had that musty smell that all unused concrete buildings have. The machinery was covered with a grey film of concrete dust so that it looked old and disused. But it was well oiled. The snow clung like a white veil to the windows, which were heavily barred. The wind whistled through the slit by which the cable entered. I glanced at the opposite wall. That was where Stelben had shot down those German soldiers, according to the statement of Korporal Holtz. But there were no bullet marks. The concrete presented a smooth, grey, uninteresting front. Engles must have noticed my interest, for he whispered, 'Looks as though Stelben had that re-cemented.'

We stacked the skis and the two pairs of snow-shoes in the corner by the switchboard. Then we went out into the snow again and Mayne locked the door. We fought our way back in the teeth of the wind to the belvedere. Mayne paused at the entrance to the hut. 'We'll start work this afternoon,' he said. 'In the meantime, I'd be glad if you'd stick around the bar as far as possible, so that I can keep an eye on you.'

We went in then. The big room seemed warm. We shook the snow off our clothes and it melted in pools on the floor. Joe was at the bar. 'Where the hell have you all been?' he asked us. 'And what's the matter with Aldo? He's even more stupid than usual. He's broken two glasses and fumbled a bottle of cognac.' Anna was laying the table. She gave us a scared look. The colour had drained out of her face and it no longer looked bright and cheerful. Joe ordered drinks and produced several rolls of film. 'Some skiing shots,' he grunted as we moved over to the bar. 'Gives you some idea of the possibilities of the place.' He handed them to Engles.

'Where have you been doing your developing?' Engles asked.

'Out at the back, in the scullery,' he said. 'Cold as charity. But it's got running water.'

Apparently he had heard nothing. Engles began running through the negatives. Mayne stood apart from us. It was strange, standing there drinking with someone who had heard nothing and was completely unaware that anything out of the ordinary had happened.

Engles suddenly stopped half-way through the second roll of film. 'What's this shot, Joe?' he asked.

Joe leaned over and glanced at the celluloid. 'Oh, that's a picture I took the night we arrived. Good moonlight shot. Went out and took it from the trees at the edge of the slittovia. Good spooky stuff, isn't it?'

'Ye-es — it is.' Engles was peering at it closely. 'What's he doing?' He pointed to one of the negatives with his finger.

Joe looked at it over his shoulder. 'Dunno,' he said. 'Seemed to be measuring something. Gives a bit of action to it. Matter of fact, that was why I went out.

ITS Wanted to get somebody moving around the place to give it a little life.'

'Did he know you were taking pictures?'

'Good Lord, no! Would have spoilt it. He wouldn't have moved naturally.'

'Good point.' Engles passed the film across to me. 'Nice shot there, Neil. Might give you an idea or two. Ought to have a moonlight episode in the script. Film very effectively.'

I took the length of film from his hands. His thumb was placed on one of the shots to indicate a figure bending down. I held the celluloid up to the light. It showed the whole front of the rifugio with its high snow-crusted gables, the great pine supports and, in the centre, the concrete housing of the slittovia machinery over which the hut had been built. The moonlight reflected white in the windows of the machine-room and outlined against them, was the figure of a man. It was not difficult to recognise that small, neat figure. It was Valdini.

I ran quickly down the strip of celluloid. He had his arms stretched out and made the motions of a man measuring the outside of the concrete housing. I could even see what appeared to be a measuring tape in his hands. Then he got to his feet and went round to the side of the building. The outside edge of the door suddenly appeared in the film and Valdini disappeared.

'Not bad, eh?' Engles said. 'Might run through the rest of it. There are one or two good skiing shots on that one.' He was looking through the third roll. I took the hint and ran through the rest of the film. Then I handed it back to Joe. 'You've got some nice shots there,' I said. 'Have you finished with the other one?' I asked Engles.

He handed it across to me. As he did so, he caught my eye. He was clearly excited. But he masked it by turning to Joe and beginning a long technical discussion on the merits of certain lighting and angles. And I was left wondering why a film shot of Valdini measuring a concrete wall should have aroused his interest.