The Dead Mountaineer's Inn

by Arkady Strugatsky

  “You are taking the money?” Luarvik asked.

  “I’m confiscating it.”

  “Confiscating … Excellent,” he said. “Now where is the suitcase?”

  “You don’t understand what ‘confiscating’ means?” I asked. “Ask Moses … Come on, who are you?”

  Without saying a word, he stood up and headed for the door. I grabbed the money and went after him. We walked through the hallway and then down the staircase.

  “It’s no use not giving me the suitcase,” Luarvik said. “It won’t be good for you.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” I reminded him.

  “You will cause great misfortune.”

  “Stop lying,” I said. “If you don’t want to tell the truth that’s your business. But you’re already in it up to your ears, Luarvik, and now you’ve dragged the Moseses in with you. There’s no easy way out anymore. The police will be here any minute, and when they are, you’ll have no choice except to tell the truth … Stop! Not that way. Come with me.”

  I took him by the empty sleeve and led him to the owner’s office. Then I called the owner and in his presence counted the money and wrote out a statement. The owner counted the money too—it was more than eighty thousand: what I would make over eight years of impeccable service—and signed the report.

  All this time Luarvik stood off to one side, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. He looked like a man who wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

  “Sign it,” I said, handing him a pen.

  He took the pen, looked at it intently and then laid it carefully on the table.

  “No,” he said. “I am leaving.”

  “As you wish,” I said. “That won’t change your situation.”

  He turned around immediately and left, banging his shoulder against the doorframe. The owner and I looked at one another.

  “Why did he try to bribe you?” the owner asked. “What did he want?”

  “The suitcase,” I said.

  “What suitcase?”

  “Olaf’s suitcase, the one that you have in your safe …” I took the key out and opened the safe. “This one.”

  “That’s worth eighty thousand?” the owner asked with respect.

  “Probably it’s worth much more. This is turning out to be some murky business, Alek.” I put the money in the safe, locked the heavy door again, and put the report in my pocket.

  “Who is this Luarvik?” the owner asked thoughtfully. “Where did he get that kind of money?”

  “Luarvik didn’t have a penny when he came here. Moses must have given it to him. No one else could have.”

  The manager raised his fat finger, intending to say something, but then changed his mind. Instead, he rubbed his chubby chin, barked “Kaisa” vigorously and then walked out. I was left sitting in the office. I proceeded to think things over. I went carefully back over the smallest, most insignificant-seeming events which I had witnessed at the inn. I realized soon that I could remember a lot of them.

  I remembered that at our first meeting Simone had been wearing a grey suit, and that at last night’s party he’d been wearing a burgundy one, and that his cufflinks had featured yellow stones. I remembered that when Brun begged a cigarette off her uncle, he always pulled them from behind his right ear. I remembered that Kaisa had a small black birthmark on her right nostril; that when Du Barnstoker wielded his fork he raised his pinky finger elegantly; that the key to my room looked like the key to Olaf’s room; and many other useless details like this. I excavated two whole gems from this dung heap. First, I remembered how, on the evening of the day before yesterday a snow-covered Olaf had stood in the middle of the hall with his black suitcase and looked around, as if expecting a more heartfelt welcome, and how he looked past me towards the curtained-off entrance to the Moseses’ part of the inn, and how it had seemed to me that the curtain had been swaying—from a draft, I had assumed. Second, I remembered that while I’d been standing in line for the shower, I had seen Olaf and Moses descending the staircase hand in hand …

  All this made me think that Olaf, Moses, and now Luarvik really did make up a single party—a party that did not want to let it be known that it was a single party. And if I remembered that I had discovered Moses in the memorial room next to my room five minutes before I found the note referring to the gangster and maniac on the ruined desk in my own room; and if I remembered that Moses’s gold watch had been planted (clearly planted, and then removed again) in Hinkus’s trunk … and if I remembered that Mrs. Moses was the one person, excepting maybe Kaisa, not in the dining room at the moment when Hinkus was overpowered and stuffed under the table … if I remembered all that, then the picture grew more curious.

  Hinkus’s statement that one of his trunks had been craftily turned into a piece of false baggage fit this picture well, as did the fact that Mrs. Moses had been the only person who had seen Hinkus’s double personally. For it was impossible to say that Brun had seen Hinkus’s double: the only thing she’d seen was his coat. She didn’t know who’d been wearing that coat.

  Of course, the picture still had quite a few blank and completely unclear spots. But at least the balance of power was now clear: Hinkus on one side, and the Moseses, Olaf and Luarvik on the other. At the same time, judging by the complete ridiculousness of Luarvik’s actions and the openness with which Moses had given him money, the situation did appear to be approaching some sort of crisis … And then it entered my head that maybe I’d locked Hinkus up in vain. In the coming confrontation it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have an ally, even one as questionable and obviously crooked as Hinkus.

  So that’s what I’ll do, I thought. I’ll sic the gangster and maniac on them. After all, Moses probably thinks Hinkus is still lying under the table. Let’s see what he does when Hinkus suddenly appears at the table for breakfast. As for who jumped Hinkus and how they tied him up, not to mention who killed Olaf, I decided not to think about those things for now. I crumpled up my notes, put them in the ashtray and set them on fire.

  “Breakfast, everyone,” Kaisa squeaked somewhere above me. “Breakfast.”

  14.

  Hinkus was already awake. He was standing in the middle of the room with his suspenders dangling, wiping his face with a large towel.

  “Good morning,” I said. “How do you feel?”

  He glanced at me warily; his face was a little swollen, but for the most part he looked pretty good. All traces of the mad hunted ferret that I’d seen only a few hours ago had disappeared.

  “Fine, more or less,” he muttered. “Why am I locked in here?”

  “You had a nervous breakdown,” I explained. His face twitched slightly. “Nothing awful. The manager gave you an injection and locked you in so that no one would bother you. Want to go to breakfast?”

  “I’m coming,” he said. “I’ll have my breakfast and get the hell out of here. And I’m taking my deposit back. A vacation in the mountains …” He balled the towel up and threw it aside. “Another vacation like this and I’d go nuts. Tuberculosis or no tuberculosis … Where’s my coat, anyway? And my hat …”

  “On the roof, probably,” I said.

  “On the roof …” he muttered, hoisting his suspenders. “On the roof …”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry, that’s some bad luck … But we’ll talk about it later.”

  I turned and walked towards the door.

  “There’s nothing to talk about!” he shouted angrily at my back.

  No one was in the dining room yet. Kaisa was arranging the sandwich plates. I greeted her and chose a new seat for myself: back to the sideboard, face to the door, directly beside Du Barnstoker’s seat. I had barely sat down when Simone came in wearing a thick, colorful sweater. He was freshly shaven, with puffy red eyes.

  “What a night, Inspector,” he said. “I didn’t get even five hours’ sleep. My nerves were a wreck. I can’t get rid of this smell of dead flesh—that pharmaceutical stench, you know what I mean? Like formaldeh
yde …” He sat down, picked out a sandwich, and then looked at me. “Did you find anything?” he asked.

  “That depends on what you mean,” I said.

  “Aha,” he said, and laughed uncertainly. “You don’t look well.”

  “Every man wears the face he deserves,” I said, at the exact second that the Barnstokers came in. They looked fresh as daisies. The uncle sported an aster in his buttonhole; the dome of his bald head shone in the midst of silver-gray curls; Brun was wearing glasses, as before, and her nose was still brazenly raised. Uncle rubbed his hands together as he approached his seat, looking searchingly at me.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” he sang gently. “What an awful night! Good morning, Mr. Simone. Don’t you agree?”

  “Hi,” muttered the kid.

  “What I wouldn’t give for some cognac,” Simone said with a sort of wistfulness. “But that wouldn’t be right, would it? Or would it?”

  “I don’t know, to be honest,” said Du Barnstoker. “I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “How about you, Inspector?” Simone said.

  I shook my head and sipped the coffee that Kaisa had set in front of me.

  “Too bad,” said Simone. “Then I would have had a drink.”

  “And how are we doing this morning, my dear inspector?” Du Barnstoker asked.

  “The investigation is on track,” I said. “The police have the key in hand. Many keys. The entire ring, in fact.”

  Simone started cackling as usual, but then immediately made a serious face.

  “No doubt we’ll have to spend all day indoors,” said Du Barnstoker. “No leaving, I assume.”

  “Why not?” I replied. “Do whatever you want. The more so, the better.”

  “Escape is futile, anyway,” said Simone. “There’s the avalanche. We’re locked in here—for a while, too. It’s an ideal situation for the police. I, of course, could escape via the cliffs …”

  “Then why don’t you?” I asked.

  “In the first place, because I can’t get to the cliffs through the snow. In the second, because what would I do once I’d gotten there?… Listen, gentlemen,” he said. “Why don’t we take a walk down the road—let’s see for ourselves what Bottleneck looks like …”

  “You have no objection, Inspector?” Du Barnstoker asked.

  “No,” I said, as the Moseses came in. They looked fresh as daisies too. That is to say, Madame Moses looked like a daisy, like a peach, like the sun itself. As for Moses, he was the same withered old rutabaga as before. He made his way past us without saying hello to anyone, gulping from his mug, and then slumped into his chair to stare dismally at the sandwiches in front of him.

  The crystalline voice of Mrs. Moses rang out. “Good morning, gentlemen!”

  I glanced at Simone, who was glancing at Mrs. Moses, somewhat suspiciously, it seemed. Then he shrugged spasmodically and grabbed his coffee.

  “What a charming morning,” Mrs. Moses continued. “Look how sunny it is! Pity poor Olaf that he isn’t alive to see it!”

  “We’ll all be there someday,” Moses barked suddenly.

  “Amen,” concluded Du Barnstoker politely.

  I looked at Brun. The girl was hunched over with her nose buried in her mug. The door opened again and Luarvik L. Luarvik appeared, accompanied by the owner. The owner smiled gloomily.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “Please allow me to introduce Mr. Luarvik Luarvik, who joined us last night. He suffered an accident on the road, and naturally we would not refuse him our hospitality.”

  Mr. Luarvik Luarvik indeed looked like a man who had suffered a terrible accident and was very much in need of hospitality. The owner had to take him by the elbow and literally push him into my old seat next to Simone.

  “Very nice to meet you, Luarvik,” Moses croaked. “There are no strangers here, Luarvik—make yourself at home.”

  “Yes,” said Luarvik, looking with one eye at me, and with the other at Simone. “Wonderful weather we’re having. A real winter …”

  “Nonsense, Luarvik,” Moses said. “Less talk, more eating. You look exhausted … Simone, would you mind telling the one about the maître d’ again? He ate someone’s filet, if I remember right …”

  At that moment, Hinkus finally appeared. He walked in and immediately stopped. Simone started telling the story about the maître d’ again, and while he was explaining that said person had not eaten any filet, that in fact quite the opposite had happened, Hinkus stood in the doorway, and I watched him, trying at the same time to keep an eye on the Moseses. I did, but that didn’t get me anywhere. Mrs. Moses ate her cookies and cream and listened admiringly to the troublemaking bore. Mr. Moses did turn one bloodshot eye in Hinkus’s direction—but he did so with complete indifference, and then returned to his mug. Hinkus, on the other hand, was having a hard time controlling his expression.

  At first he looked completely dazed, as if someone had hit him over the head with an oar. Then his face became clearly overcome with joy, a sort of excitement—he even smiled suddenly, just like a child. Then his smile turned into an evil grin and he stepped forward, clenching his fists. But to my great surprise, he wasn’t looking at the Moseses. He was looking at the Barnstokers: first in confusion, then with relief and excitement, and finally with spite and a sort of gleeful malice. He caught me looking at him and relaxed slightly, lowering his gaze as he went over to his seat.

  “How are you feeling, Mr. Hinkus?” Du Barnstoker asked, bending forward considerately. “The air here …”

  Hinkus glared at him with insane yellow eyes.

  “I’m all right,” he answered, sitting down. “But then how about you—how are you feeling?”

  Du Barnstoker leaned back in his chair in surprise.

  “Me? Thank you …” He looked first at me, then at Brun. “Perhaps I have said something wrong … touched on … In that case, I beg …”

  “Didn’t work out, did it?” Hinkus continued, furiously stuffing a napkin into his collar. “Fell through, didn’t it, old man?”

  Du Barnstoker was in a state of complete confusion. All talk at the table had stopped, everyone was looking at him and Hinkus.

  “Really, I’m afraid …” The old magician clearly had no idea what to do. “I was only inquiring after your health, nothing more …”

  “Of course, of course, we’ll drop it,” Hinkus responded.

  He took a big sandwich in both hands, maneuvered a corner into his mouth and proceeded to chew on it without looking at anyone else.

  “There’s no need to be rude!” Brun said suddenly.

  Hinkus glanced briefly at her and then immediately looked away.

  “Brun, my child,” said Du Barnstoker.

  “B-blowhard!” Brun said, striking her knife against her plate. “Maybe if you drank less …”

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen!” the owner said. “All this is foolishness!”

  “Don’t worry, Snevar,” Du Barnstoker said quickly. “This is nothing more than a little misunderstanding … Nerves are strained … The events of the night …”

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Brun asked menacingly, pointing her black lenses at Hinkus.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” the owner interjected authoritatively. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention. I am not going to talk about the tragic events of last night. I understand: yes, nerves are strained. But let us remember, first of all, that the investigation into the unfortunate fate of Olaf Andvarafors is safely in the hands of Inspector Glebsky, who, by a happy coincidence, happened to be in our midst. Secondly, we must not be enervated by the fact that we find ourselves cut off from the outside world …”

  Hinkus stopped chewing and raised his head.

  “Our cellars are full, gentlemen!” the owner continued vehemently. “Every imaginable provision, and even a few unimaginable ones, are at your disposal. And I am sure that when a rescue party breaks through the blockage and reaches us in a few days, it will find us �
�”

  “What blockage?” Hinkus asked loudly, looking around wide-eyed. “What the hell is this?”

  “Yes, please excuse me,” the owner said, bringing a hand to his forehead. “I completely forgot that a few of our guests might not know about this event. To be brief: at ten o’clock last night, an avalanche blocked the Bottleneck and cut off telephone service.”

  Silence descended over the table. Everyone was chewing and staring at their plates. Hinkus sat with his mouth open—once again, he appeared completely dumbfounded. A melancholy Luarvik L. Luarvik chewed on a lemon, biting into it skin and all. Yellow juice ran down his narrow chin and onto his jacket. My jaw was cramping, I took a sip of coffee and announced:

  “If I might add the following: two small gangs of lowlifes have, for some reason, chosen this hotel as the place to settle their accounts with one another. In my current informal capacity, I can take only limited steps. For example, I can gather evidence for when the official police from Mur get here. This evidence has, for the most part, been gathered already, although I would be very grateful to any citizen who gives the investigation any new information. Furthermore I want to make it known to all good citizens that they are out of danger and free to conduct themselves in whatever way they please. As for those persons who make up the abovementioned gangs, I advise them to cease their activities, so as not to worsen their already hopeless situation. I would like to remind you that our isolation from the outside world is relative. Some of you here already know that two hours ago I availed myself of an offer of Mr. Snevar’s and sent a message via carrier pigeon to Mur. Now I expect the arrival of a police plane at any hour, and for that reason remind those persons who are involved in criminal activities that timely confession and repentance would significantly improve their lots. Thank you for your attention, everyone.”

  “How interesting!” Mrs. Moses exclaimed delightedly. “That means that there are bandits in our midst? Oh, Inspector, please give us a hint! We’ll guess it!”