Hammond Innes - The Lonely Skier

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.’