‘Do not be a fool, Blair,’ he said as I climbed up on to the sill. ‘He will see your tracks. It will do no good.’
But I ignored his advice. Anything was better than just waiting for the end. I stood up in the open window space and jumped. I landed quite softly. I was pitched forward on to my knees so that my face was buried in the snow. I raised my head and wiped the snow from my eyes. It was icy cold. I was facing straight down the sleigh track. I scrambled to my feet and plunged forward on to the track. The snow was thick for a bit and moved with me in a small avalanche, so that it was not unlike scree walking, which I had often done in the Lake District at home. But then I reached a patch where the snow had been blown clear of the track. My feet slipped from under me and I found myself sliding on my back. I must have fallen thirty feet or more before I fetched up in a bank of snow. I fought my way out of it and stood upright again.
There was a shout behind me. I glanced back and was surprised to see how near I still was to the hut. A ploughed-up track in the virgin snow showed the way I had come. A pistol shot cracked out and a bullet whipped into the snow just beside me. A voice called to me again. The words were lost in the roar of the wind through the trees. I turned and plunged on down the track.
No more bullets followed me. And, when next I looked back, the hut was no more than a vague, blurred shape. I began to feel excited. I was sheltered from the wind and, though I was already wet through, my exertions kept me warm.
I made steady progress now, sometimes wading through banks of deep snow, sometimes riding a moving sea of it, standing upright, and sometimes, in places where the track was clear, sliding down on my back.
I had just slid down one of these clear patches and nearly smothered myself in a deep drift, when I looked back. The hut had now completely disappeared from view, but coming out of the snow was the figure of a ski-er. He was taking the slope in quick zigzags. On the soft snow he did a jump turn and with his skis parallel to the slope, rode the snow as it spilled down as though he were surf-riding.
I dived for the shelter of the trees. The snow had drifted badly here. But wading and rolling, I made the side of the track, caught at a branch and pulled myself in amongst the trees.
I gave a quick glance back and was just in time to see Mayne do a perfect Christi against the deep snow through which I had struggled. He came up standing and facing me. Barely half-a-dozen yards separated us. I felt tears of anger smart in my eyes. My feet were bedded deep in snow and the branches of the trees were thick. Mayne slipped his hand inside his windbreaker and brought out his gun. ‘Do I shoot you now?’ he said. ‘Or do you want to come back and join your friends?’
His voice was quite callous. It was clear that he did not mind whether he shot me now or later. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll come back.’ I had no choice. But it was with a bitter sense of failure that I began to trudge back up the track I had made coming down. Once a drift gave way under me and I fell. I did not want to get up. I had a feeling of utter disappointment. But he began hacking at my ribs with the points of his skis. After that he gave me his sticks. He followed a little behind, side-stepping up, the gun ready in his hand.
I was utterly exhausted by the time I reached the top. He directed me round to the side of the concrete housing. I guessed that Engles and Keramikos were locked inside, for the door was being battered from within. Outside lay a pile of tools; picks, shovels and a heavy long-handled hammer that quarry men call a biddle. He unlocked the door and, catching hold of me by the back of the neck, flung me inside. I tripped on the snow in the doorway and fell. Something hit my head and I passed out.
When I came to, I found myself propped in a sitting position againt the wall. I was very cold and my eyes would not focus. I could not think where I was for the moment. There was a lot of noise and the room was full of dust. The blood hammered in my head, which felt heavy and painful. I put my hand up to my forehead. It was wet and sticky. My fingers came away covered in dirt and blood and the icy water of melted snow.
Then I remembered what had happened. I concentrated my gaze on the room. My back was resting in the corner of two walls. On the opposite side of the room, beyond the cable, Mayne stood with his back against the closed door. Under the switchboard, opposite the window, Engles and Keramikos were hacking away at the concrete flooring with pick and hammer. The room began to swim again. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them again, the room was steady. Engles had stopped pounding at the concrete with his hammer. He was leaning on the haft and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He caught my eye. ‘Feeling better?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll be all right in a minute.’
But he saw I was shivering with cold and he said to Mayne, ‘Why don’t you lock him in his room? He’s wet through. He’ll get pneumonia.’
‘That’s his lookout,’ was Mayne’s reply. He did not trouble to conceal the fact that it would make no difference to me whether I caught pneumonia or not. But just at that moment I think I was past caring about death.
Engles looked across at me and then at Mayne. ‘I don’t often feel like killing people,’ he said. ‘But by God I do at the moment.’
‘Better not try,’ was all Mayne said.
Engles turned back and swung his hammer viciously against the concrete floor. The thud of it shook the whole room. They had moved the big cast-iron stove and where it had stood they were breaking up the concrete preparatory to digging. I glanced round the room. It was grey and dirty. The dust rose in a cloud round Engles and Keramikos—a fine, choking dust. Above me was the wall against which the German soldiers had been shot down. Examining it closely, I noticed that the concrete here was newer than the concrete of the floor.
I began to feel better. But my wet clothes chilled me and I was shivering uncontrollably. I got to my feet. I felt a bit dizzy, but otherwise not too bad. I said, ‘Mind if I give you two a hand?’ Engles turned. ‘I’d be warmer doing some work,’ I explained.
‘No, come along,’ he said.
Mayne made no objection and I climbed over the clutter of machinery. Already they had made a great gap in the concrete flooring. Keramikos was beginning to pick at the earth underneath. There was a hard frozen crust at the top, despite the concrete covering. But six inches down it was soft. Engles put his hammer down and I took up a pick. ‘Take it easy,’ Engles whispered to me. ‘There’s no hurry. Sorry you didn’t make it. Good try—but quite hopeless.’
I nodded. ‘It was foolish of me to try,’ I said.
We worked in silence. Keramikos and Engles took up shovels and left me to pick the earth loose for them. Mayne gave us no rest. We worked steadily and methodically and all too quickly the hole deepened. ‘We’ll soon be on to the gold if this is where it is,’ I whispered to Engles when our heads were bent close together. The hole was over two feet deep already. ‘He’ll start shooting as soon as we get down to it, won’t he?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But he’ll have us get it all up first. That is, as you say, if it’s here. How are you feeling now?’
‘Cold,’ I whispered back. ‘But all right as long as I keep on the move.’
‘Well, don’t start anything until I tell you.’ He bent close to Keramikos and began whispering to him. The Greek nodded and his thick hairy hands seemed to fasten more firmly round the haft of his shovel.
‘Stop talking and get on with it,’ Mayne ordered. His voice was cold, but he could not keep a tremor of excitement out of it.
‘He begins to get excited now,’ Keramikos said, his little eyes bright behind their lenses. ‘Soon he will lose control. He will become obsessed by the gold. Then he may get careless. That will be our chance. Do not work too fast.’ I wondered whether he had his gun on him.
‘Stop talking!’ Mayne’s voice trembled. ‘Work in silence or I’ll shoot one of you.’
We worked in silence after that. But though we worked slowly, the hole steadily deepened. It began to get dark about four and Mayne sw
itched on the light. It was a single naked bulb set in a wall socket beyond the switchboard. It was the same light that Holtz had smashed with his fist. Engles glanced at me. I think the same thought was in his mind, too. If I pretended to feel faint, could I get near enough to hit it with my pick, I wondered. ‘Don’t do anything foolish, Neil,’ he whispered warningly.
I looked at Mayne. His eyes were bright. He was thinking of the gold. But they were watchful, too. The little black muzzle of the gun pointed straight at my stomach as our eyes met. ‘If you move a step towards that light Blair, I’ll blow your guts out for you,’ he said.
We went on digging steadily. The three of us were taking turns at working actually in the hole now.
When it was some four feet deep Engles’ shovel brought up a mouldy piece of cloth. Keramikos picked it off the pile of earth we had thrown up. ‘This may interest you,’ he said to Mayne. ‘It is a piece of a German field uniform.’
‘Get on digging,’ was all Mayne said, but his eyes gleamed.
It was pretty unpleasant work after that. The bodies were half decayed. Only the bones were substantial. We pulled them out with our hands. It sickened me to see the remains of those men. Soon we should be no better off than they. We were digging our own grave.
There were rusty bayonets, guns with the butts and stocks rotten and the metal-work eaten away, webbing that fell to pieces as we pulled it out, and the bodies. Some of them had so little flesh left that they were scarcely more than skeletons draped in a mouldy covering that was part flesh, part clothing and part earth. We counted five in all, confirming Korporal Holtz’s statement. Then our shovels uncovered the corner of a wooden box.
Keramikos, who was in the pit at the time, looked up at us. ‘Pass it up,’ Engles said. Keramikos bent down and scraped the earth away with his hands. I glanced at Mayne. He was very excited now. It showed in his eyes and in the tenseness of his body. But he did not move.
At last the box was completely exposed. It was about two feet long by a foot wide by six inches deep. The wood was dark and rotten and caked with earth. Keramikos got his hands under it and passed it up to Engles. It was heavy. He set it down beside the bodies and looked at Mayne.
‘Get the rest up,’ Mayne ordered.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to open it up?’ Engles suggested.
Mayne hesitated. The lust to actually see the gold shone in his eyes. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Prise it open with that pick and let’s have a look at it.’
Engles pushed the box along the concrete floor towards him. ‘You’d better do it,’ he said. ‘It’s your gold.’
Mayne laughed. ‘I’m not a fool, Engles,’ he said. ‘Break it open!’
Engles shrugged his shoulders. He took up one of the picks and, setting his foot on the box to steady it, drove the point of the pick into it. It went in quite easily and when he put pressure on it, the rotten box fell apart.
It was full of earth.
Mayne uttered a cry and peered forward. Then he jumped back, the gun quivering in his hand. ‘What sort of trick is this?’ he screamed. ‘What have you done with the gold, Engles? That’s not gold. It’s earth. What have you done with it?’ He had lost control of himself completely. His face was twisted with rage. ‘What have you done with it?’ he repeated. ‘Tell me what you’ve done with it, or—or—’ He had become almost incoherent. For a moment I thought he was going to shoot Engles down.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Engles said. His voice was abrupt and had a ring of authority in it. ‘Those boxes have lain there in the earth since they were put there. Your friends Muller and Mann probably know where the gold is. But you’ve killed them.’
‘Why did you suggest opening the box?’ Mayne demanded. He had got a grip on himself now. ‘Why did you want me to see what was inside? You knew the gold wasn’t there.’
‘I only suspected that your friends had double-crossed you,’ Engles replied.
‘They wouldn’t have done that. They told me everything as the price of their release from the Regina Coeli. They dug the hole for Stelben and stacked the boxes and the bodies round it. He locked himself in here after that and draped the window so that they couldn’t see in. Later, when they were able to look in, the hole had been filled in, the floor cemented over and the stove put back in its place. They weren’t able to get inside because the door was locked.’
‘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.’
‘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 camera-man, 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.
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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-commitally.
We went upstairs then. 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.
The Lonely Skier Page 16
