Hammond Innes - The Lonely Skier

‘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.’