Алистер Маклин - Bear Island

From their expressions and the profound silence that greeted this last question it was apparent that no one was prepared to express any such certainty. When I came to consider it myself, instead of just asking them to do so, I realized that the question of continued existence applied more particularly and more strongly to myself than to any of the others, for if the killer were no wayward psycho who struck out as the fancy took him but was an ice-cold and calculating murderer with a definite objective in view, then I was convinced that I was first on his calling list. I didn’t for a moment think that any attempt to dispose of me would be because that was any part of the killer’s preconceived plans but solely because I represented a threat to those plans.

‘And how are we going to comport ourselves from now on?’ I said. ‘Do we now polarize into two groups, the nine acknowledged innocent giving a very wide berth and a leery eye to the thirteen potentially guilty even although this is going to be a mite hard on, say, twelve of the latter? Shall we be like oil and water and resolutely refuse to mix? Or about your shooting plans for tomorrow. Mr Gerran and the Count, I believe, are heading for the fells tomorrow, a goodie and a potential baddie – Mr Gerran is going to make sure that he has at least another goodie along with him to watch his back? Heissman is taking the work-boat to reconnoitre possible locations along the Sor-hamna and perhaps a bit farther south. I believe Jungbeck and Heyter here have volunteered to go along with him. Three of those, you note, whose innocence is not proved. Any white sheep going to go along with black wolf or wolves who may come back and sorrowfully explain that the poor sheep fell over the side and that in spite of their heroic efforts the poor fellow perished miserably? And those splendid precipices at the south of the island – one little well-timed nudge, a deft clicking together of the ankles – well, sixteen hundred feet is a considerable drop, especially when you bear in mind that it’s straight down all the way. A perplexing and difficult problem, isn’t it, gentlemen?’

‘This is preposterous,’ Otto said loudly. ‘Absolutely preposterous.’

‘Isn’t it?’ I said. ‘A pity we can’t ask Stryker his opinion about that. Or the opinions of Antonio and Halliday and Moxen and Scott. When your pale ghost looks down from Limbo, Mr Gerran, and watches you being lowered into a hole in the frozen snow – do you think it will still look preposterous?’

Otto shuddered and reached for the bottle. ‘What in God’s name are we going to do?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘You heard what I just said to Mr Goin. I have reverted to the position of employee. I haven’t got my shirt on this film as I heard Mr Goin say to Captain Imrie that you had, I’m afraid this is a decision to arrive at at directorial level – well, the three directors that are still capable of making decisions.’

‘Would our employee mind telling us what he means?’ Goin tried to smile but it didn’t come off, his heart wasn’t in it.

‘Do you want to go ahead with shooting all your scenes up here or don’t you? It’s up to you. If we all stay here in the cabin permanently, at least half a dozen awake at any given time, looking with all their eyes and listening with all their ears, then the chances are high that we’ll all still be in relatively mint condition by the time the twenty-two days are up. On the other hand, of course, that means that you won’t get any of your film shot and you’ll lose all your investment. It’s a problem I wouldn’t like to have to face. That’s excellent scotch you have there, Mr Gerran.’

‘I can see that you appreciate it.’ Otto would have liked a touch of asperity in his voice, but all he managed to do was to sound worried.

‘Don’t be so mean.’ I helped myself. ‘These are times that try men’s souls.’ I wasn’t really listening to Otto, I was barely listening to myself. Once before, since leaving Wick, on the occasion when the Count had said something about a surfeit of horseradish, certain words had had the effect of a touch-paper being applied to a trail of gun-powder, triggering off a succession of thoughts that came tumbling in one after the other almost faster than my mind could register them, and now the same thing had happened again, only this time the words had been triggered off by something I’d said myself. I became aware that the Count was speaking, presumably to me. I said: ‘Sorry, mind on other things, you know.’

‘I can see that.’ The Count was looking at me in a thoughtful fashion. ‘All very well to opt out of responsibility, but what would you do?’ He smiled. ‘If I were to co-opt you again as a temporary unpaid director?’

‘Easy,’ I said, and the answer did come easily – as the result of the past thirty seconds’ thinking. ‘I’d watch my back and get on with the ruddy film.’

‘So.’ Otto nodded, and he, the Count and Goin looked at one another in apparent satisfaction. ‘But now, this moment, what would you do?’

‘When do we have supper?’

‘Supper?’ Otto blinked. ‘Oh, about eight, say.’

‘And it’s now five. About to have three hours’ kip, that’s what I’m going to do. And I wouldn’t advise anyone to come near me, either for an aspirin or with a knife in their hand, for I’m feeling very nervous indeed.’

Smithy cleared his throat. ‘Would I get clobbered if I asked for an aspirin now? Or something a bit more powerful to make a man sleep? I feel as if my head has been on a butcher’s block.’

‘I can have you asleep in ten minutes. Mind you, you’ll probably feel a damn sight worse when you wake up.’

‘Impossible. Lead me to the knock-out drops.’

Inside my cubicle I gripped the handle of the small square double-plate-glazed window and opened it with some difficulty. ‘Can you do that with yours?’

‘You do have things on your mind. No mangers allocated for uninvited guests.’

‘All the better. Bring a cot in here. You can borrow one from Judith Haynes’s room.’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘There’s a spare one there.’

Five minutes later, wrapped to the eyes against the bitter cold, the driving snow and that wind that was now howling, not moaning, across the frozen face of the island, Smithy and I stood in the lee of the cabin, by my window which I’d wedged shut against a wad of paper: there was no handle on the outside to pull it open again, but I had with me a multi-tooled Swiss army knife that could pry open just about anything. We looked at the vaguely seen bulk of the cabin, at the bright light – Coleman lamps have an intensely white flame – streaming from one of the windows in the central section and the pale glimmer of smaller lights from a few of the cubicles.

‘No night for an honest citizen to be taking a constitutional,’ Smithy said in my ear. ‘But how about bumping into one of the less honest ones?’

‘Too soon for him or them to be stirring abroad,’ I said. ‘For the moment the flame of suspicion burns too high for anyone even to clear his throat at the wrong moment. Later, perhaps. But not now.’

We went directly to the provisions store, closed the door behind us and, since the hut was window-less, switched on both our torches. We searched through all the bags, crates, cartons and packages of food and found nothing untoward.

‘What are we supposed to be looking for?’ Smithy asked.

‘I’ve no idea. Anything, shall we say, that shouldn’t be here.’

‘A gun? A big black ribbed bottle marked “Deadly Poison”?’

‘Something like that.’ I lifted a bottle of Haig from a crate and stuck it in my parka pocket. ‘Medicinal use only,’ I explained.