Hammond Innes - The Lonely Skier

‘That’s their story,’ Engles said.

Mayne looked wildly round the room. ‘It’s in here somewhere,’ he said. ‘It must be.’

‘Are you sure Muller and Mann really brought it in here?’ Engles asked quietly.

‘Yes, of course they did. And he couldn’t have shifted it out of this room without their knowing.’

i no ‘You’ve only got their word for it,’ Engles reminded him. ‘After all, you double-crossed them. No reason why they shouldn’t have double-crossed you.’

‘Get up the rest of the boxes,’ Mayne ordered.

‘If one box is full of earth, the others will be,’ said Keramikos.

‘Get them up,’ Mayne snarled.

We worked much faster now. We got up twenty-one boxes. Each one, as we got it up, was split open. And each one was full of earth.

‘What do you wish us to do now?’ Keramikos asked as the last one was split open to reveal its unprofitable contents.

But Mayne was not listening. His eyes roved over the machinery, the switchboard and the walls. ‘It’s in here somewhere,’ he said. ‘I’m certain of it. And I’ll find it if I have to tear the place to pieces.’

‘Suppose we have a drink and consider the matter?’ Engles suggested.

Mayne looked at him. He hesitated. He had lost his self-confidence. ‘All right,’ he said. His voice was toneless. ‘Put those things back in the hole and fill it in.’ He indicated the bodies dumped on top of the earth in a grotesque pile.

When we had roughly filled in the hole, we carried the tools back to the hut. The snow seemed to be slackening, but it was bitterly cold and the wind drove right through my wet clothes. Joe was sitting snugly by the stove, reading. ‘What in God’s name have you people been up to now?’ he asked. ‘I was getting worried. What have you been doing with those things — gardening?’ He indicated the tools we were carrying.

‘No. Digging for gold,’ Engles answered.

Joe grunted. ‘You look as though you’d been examining the sewage system.’

Mayne went upstairs. Joe got up from his chair. ‘This is a hell of a crazy place,’ he said. His words were directed at Engles. ‘First you say there’s been a row between you and Mayne. Then you disappear with him, the whole gang of you. Valdini and the Contessa shut themselves up in their room. Suppose you tell me just what is going on.’

Engles said, ‘Sit down and relax, Joe. You’re paid as a cameraman, not as a nursemaid.’

‘Yes, but this is ridiculous, old man,’ he persisted. ‘Something is going on here—’

‘Are you a cameraman or not?’ Engles’ voice was suddenly sharp.

‘Of course I’m a cameraman,’ Joe’s tone was aggrieved.

‘Well, get on with your job, then. I’m not here to run around with you. You missed some good shots this afternoon because you were lazy and didn’t get out.’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Good God, man, do you want me to wet nurse you on your job?’

Joe subsided sullenly back into his book. It was unkind and unfair. But it silenced his questions. The three of us went through to the back of the hut and put the tools in the ski room. As we stacked them in the corner, Keramikos said, ‘I think Mayne will wish for terms now. He does not like being alone. And now that he does not know where the gold is, he will be unhappy. He does not dare shoot us because we may know where it is. But also he does not dare let us live unless we are his partners. I think he would like us all to be partners now.’

‘But should we agree?’ I asked him. ‘With your help we should be able to dispose of him.’ I was thinking of the gun he had.

Keramikos shook his head. ‘No, no. He may be useful. We do not know how much he knows. We should come to terms first.’

‘But does he know where the gold is any more than we do?’ Engles asked.

Keramikos shrugged. ‘Four heads are always better than one, my friend,’ he replied, non-committally.

We went upstairs men. I was glad to get out of my cold clothes and change into something warm. Engles came into my room as soon as he was cleaned up. ‘How are you feeling, Neil?’

‘Not too bad,’ I told him.

‘Better have some Elastoplast on that cut of yours,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some in my haversack.’

He returned a moment later and put a strip of plaster on it. ‘There,’ he said, patting my shoulder. ‘It’s only a surface cut and a bit of bruising. Sorry it didn’t come off, that break for freedom of yours. It was a good try.’

‘It was rather a futile effort,’ I apologised.

‘Unnecessary, shall we say.’ He grinned cheerfully. ‘Still, you weren’t to know that.’

‘You mean, you knew the gold wouldn’t be in those boxes?’ I asked.

‘Shall we say I had a shrewd suspicion.’ He lit a cigarette and as he watched the flame of the match die out, he said, ‘The man we need to watch now is our friend Keramikos. He is a much more subtle character than Mayne. And he thinks that we know where the gold is.’

‘And — do we?’ I asked.

He smiled then. ‘The less you know about it the better,’ he replied good-humouredly. ‘Come down and have a drink. We’re going to get plastered tonight. And see that you get as drunk as I do.’

It was a macabre sort of evening. Engles was at his wittiest, telling anecdote after anecdote of film stars he had known, directors he had got the better of, cocktail parties that had ended in rows. He worked like a street vendor to spread a veneer of cheerfulness over his audience. At first the audience was myself only. But then he brought Joe out of his Western and smoothed his ruffled feathers. And when Keramikos joined us, there was only Mayne left outside the little group by the bar.

That was what Engles had been playing for. Mayne went over to the piano and bull-dozed his way through a sonorous piece of Bach. It was a vicious piece of playing. The old piano cried aloud his mood of frustration and impotent anger.

And Engles talked through it until he had us all roaring with laughter. It was a forced gaiety in that it was produced intentionally by wit and cognac. But the laughter was real. And that was what eventually got Mayne. It took away his authority. It undermined his confidence. He wasn’t sure of himself now that he had failed to find the gold. With a gun in his hand and everybody doing what they were told, he could still have bolstered up his self-esteem. But to be ignored! To see the rest of us in such apparently hilarious spirits. It was too much for him. He suddenly crashed his hands on to the keys and stood up. ‘Stop laughing!’ he shouted.

‘Ignore him,’ Engles whispered. And he went on talking. We began to laugh again.

‘Stop it, do you hear?’

Engles turned. He was swaying slightly. ‘S-shtop what, sir?’ he asked blandly.

‘Go and sit down by the fire and stop that noise,’ Mayne ordered.

‘What noise? Do you hear a noise, Neil?’ He turned in a dignified manner to Mayne. ‘No noise here, old man. Must be the piano.’

I glanced at Mayne this time. He was white with anger. But he hesitated. He didn’t know what line to take. ‘Engles!’ he said. ‘Go and sit down.’

‘Oh, go to hell!’ was all the reply he got.

His hand went to the pocket where his gun was. But he stopped. He stood there for a moment, looking at us and biting his lip. Then he sat down at the piano again.

Shortly after this Anna came in with the dinner things. Engles looked at the three of us. ‘Don’t want any food, do we? I don’t mind, eat if you want to. But I’m all for keeping straight on drinking. Or suppose we have it on the bar? Then those who want it can pick at it.’ And he gave instructions to Anna to put the food on the bar.

That was the last straw. Mayne either had to get Anna to bring him his food separately or to come over and join us at the bar. He chose the latter course. And shortly after that, he drew Engles on one side. Keramikos was then called over to join them. The consultation lasted only a few minutes. Then the three of them shook hands. I heard Engles say, ‘I think you’re being very sensible, Mayne.’