‘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.’
