Desmond Bagley - The Snow Tiger

Warrick said, ‘It was slippery, I know. I tried to get up there during the rain myself. After the third try I gave up.’

‘What am I? Some kind of public enemy?’ demanded Eric. ‘Who the hell is this joker to come with his accusations?’

‘I’m not accusing anyone of anything except maybe short-sightedness,’ said McGill. ‘The first sign of potentially dangerous terrain is a mountain with snow on it; and you have one right on your doorstep but none of you seems to have seen it.’

‘Dr McGill is right,’ said Ballard.

Eric Peterson lunged to his feet. ‘Anyone called Ballard is the last person to accuse me of anything at all,’ he said with a jagged edge to his voice. ‘Anyone with a yellow...’

‘That’s enough,’ cut in Mrs Samson sharply. ‘What’s past is gone.’

‘What’s this about?’ asked Warrick, looking from Ballard to Eric Peterson. He wore a baffled look, as of a man who feels he is missing the obvious.

Matt Houghton looked bleak. ‘It’s old history and nothing to do with the subject here.’

McGill stood up. ‘Gentlemen, you have my report. It’s there on the table before you written up in technical language, and I’ve explained what it means in words of one syllable. I can do nothing more. I shall leave you to your deliberations.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Houghton.

‘To do some work.’

‘Where can we get hold of you if we need further information?’

‘At Mr Ballard’s house,’ said McGill. ‘Or up on the west slope — it needs further investigation. But don’t send anyone up there to find me. In fact, no one should be allowed on that slope from now on. It’s damned dangerous.’

He left the meeting.

Ian Ballard swam another length of the pool and then climbed out. He walked to the canvas chair where he had left his towel and began to rub himself down. It was good to relax after spending all day at the Inquiry. He poured himself a beer and checked his watch before slipping it on to his wrist.

Mike McGill came sauntering across the lawn and held out an envelope. ‘Business as usual. Old Harrison must have got over his tantrum. This will be your notification to attend; I’ve had mine.’

Ballard opened the envelope. McGill was right; the letter was from Reed, the Secretary to the Commission. He dropped it on the grass next to his chair, and said, ‘So we go on. What comes next in the evidence?’

‘The first avalanche, I suppose.’ McGill grinned and spread a newspaper before Ballard. ‘Eric has got his name in print.’

Ballard looked at the black headline bannered across the front page:

He shook his head. ‘He’s not going to like that.’

McGill chuckled. ‘Think he’ll come after me with a gun?’

‘Eric won’t — but Charlie might,’ said Ballard soberly. ‘He’s crazy enough to do it.’

McGill laughed and sat down on the grass. ‘Got yourself a lawyer yet?’

‘No.’

‘You’d better start looking.’

‘I’ve discovered I have an unsuspected talent,’ said Ballard. ‘I can defend myself very well.’

‘You did all right with Turi, and you got Lyall to walk out on a limb before you sawed it off. Not bad going for a novice.’

‘Mr Ballard?’ Ballard looked up and saw the young man from the hotel office. ‘A telegram just came. I thought it might be important so I brought it right out.’

‘Thanks.’ Ballard ripped open the envelope. ‘It’s a cablegram from England.’ He scanned it rapidly and frowned. ‘Now why should...?’

‘Trouble?’

‘Not really.’ Ballard handed the cable to McGill. ‘Why should a man suddenly fly half way across the world to see me?’

‘Who is Stenning?’

‘A friend of my grandfather.’ Ballard looked at the pool abstractedly.

McGill began calculating. ‘He says he’s leaving on the night flight. It doesn’t really matter whether he comes east or west, it’s still about forty hours to Auckland. Then he’ll have to catch an internal flight down to here. Say two full days — that means Saturday afternoon.’

‘The Commission won’t sit on Saturday. I’ll meet Stenning at the airport.’

‘You’d better have a message awaiting him at Auckland so you can arrange to meet him here.’

Ballard nodded. ‘Old Ben said something about Stenning the last time I saw him. He said that if anything were to happen to him or the company then I should get in touch with Stenning. Then he said to forget it because Stenning would get in touch with me fast enough. It seems as though he really meant it.’

‘Who is Stenning, apart from being your grandfather’s friend?’

‘He’s a lawyer.’

‘Then he’s arriving just in time,’ said McGill. ‘Just the man you need.’

Ballard shook his head. ‘He’s not the right sort of lawyer. He specializes in taxes.’

‘Oh, one of those boys.’ McGill chuckled. ‘He’s probably come to confess all — that he slipped up on sorting out the death duties bit, and instead of three million from the old man you’re just going to get three thousand.’

Ballard grinned. ‘I’m not going to get three cents. Ben warned me about that. He said that he’d educated me and I’d have to stand on my own two feet as he’d done at my age. I told you that all his money is tied up in some trust or other.’ He stretched. ‘I’m beginning to feel chilly. Let’s go inside.’

‘It’s warmer in the bar,’ agreed McGill.

The Press gallery was jammed as Harrison led Eric Peterson through his evidence. Dan Edwards had shamelessly bought space for himself by bringing in two cub reporters and then sending them away when the proceedings began. But it was to no avail; protests from other reporters soon led to the seats being occupied, and Edwards was compelled to scrawl his shorthand in as cramped conditions as anyone else.

Harrison made a note on his pad, and raised his eyes. ‘So we arrive at the point when Dr McGill left, having delivered his bad news. What happened then, Mr Peterson?’

Eric Peterson shrugged. ‘Well, the meeting went on for a long time. In all honesty I have to say that some of us were not convinced of the gravity of the situation. You must remember that this whole thing had been jumped on us suddenly — had taken us by surprise, if you like. After all, if someone steps up to you and says, “The end of the world is at hand!” you’re going to need a lot of proof before you believe him.’

‘I appreciate your position,’ said Harrison. ‘Can you give some specific examples of the views of members of the council?’

‘Well, my brother argued that, even if McGill was anywhere near right, we didn’t want to start a panic. I agreed with that and so did Matt Houghton, the mayor. Phil Warrick didn’t seem to have any views at all. He just blew along with the wind and agreed with everybody. Mrs Samson wanted to go all out with preparations for evacuation right there and then.’

‘What position did the mine management take?’

‘Mr Ballard agreed with Mrs Samson. Mr Quentin said he didn’t think there was any danger — he said it was all a lot of hot air. Mr Cameron tended to go along with Mr Ballard.’ Peterson clasped his hands before him. ‘You must realize that any decision concerning the town had to be made by the council. It wasn’t up to the mine management to tell the town what to do. Dr McGill had told us there was no immediate hazard from the west slope, and to some of us there seemed to be no reason for going off half-cocked on a project that might cost the town a lot of money and wasted time.’