The Lonely Skier (17 page)

‘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 films. ‘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.'

‘I will,' Engles said. And Joe heaved himself out of the room.

I glanced round the room. It all looked quite peaceful now. Mayne had gone over to the piano and was quietly drifting through a piece I did not recognise. Carla was talking excitedly to Valdini. Keramikos was sipping an anisette at the other end of the bar. A chord crashed out from the piano and Mayne switched with a malicious sense of humour into
La Donna Immobile
. ‘The pot is boiling all right,' Engles said quietly. ‘One more scene like that and there really will be some shooting. Valdini is not the only one who has a gun, I'm pretty certain about that.'

‘What's all this about a million in gold?' I asked. Our conversation was masked by the sound of the piano.

‘Remember those cuttings from the
Corriere della Venezia
you sent me? One of them has a reference to it. It was the consignment from the bank at Venice. Part of it disappeared
en route
. The actual spot where it disappeared was the Tre Croci Pass. This bunch of carrion are here because of it. Mayne, Keramikos, the Contessa and Valdini—they all know about it. They all think it's somewhere up here. The interesting point is—who actually knows where it is?'

‘Do you know?' I asked.

He shook his head. ‘No. As far as I am concerned, it was just a hunch, based on the news that Stelben owned Col da Varda. You see, when Stelben was originally arrested, I interrogated him in Milan. It was this story of the missing gold that interested us. I spent a lot of time on the case. I even went to Berlin and saw—' At that moment Mayne stopped playing. There was a sudden silence. The howl of the wind outside invaded the room. It was a dismal, nerve-racking sound. Beyond the windows, the snowflakes sped by in a never-ending stream. ‘Better go on playing,' Engles said to Mayne, ‘or everybody will start screaming at each other again.'

Mayne nodded quite cheerfully. He seemed perfectly at ease again. He settled himself on the stool and plunged into
Symphonie Fantastique
. Keramikos sidled along the bar. ‘Will you please tell me, Mr Engles, what was the cause of the trouble between the Contessa Forelli and Mayne?' he asked.

Engles gave him a quick resumé of what had occurred. When he had finished, Keramikos nodded. ‘Ah! It is the thought of all that gold that made her mad. She will have been called worse things than a prostitute in her life. So she does not know where it is, eh?' He thrust his head forward suddenly. ‘Do you know where it is, Mr Engles?'

‘If I did, you would hardly expect me to tell you,' Engles replied.

Keramikos gave a short laugh that was more like a grunt. ‘Of course not, my friend. But we should help each other a little, you and I. These people here—'and he nodded in the direction of the Contessa and Mayne—‘they are only interested for themselves. With them it is self-interest. Whereas you and I, we have a mission. We do not work for ourselves.'

‘And who are you working for now, Keramikos?' Engles asked.

‘For my country,' he replied. ‘Always for my country.' He peered more closely at Engles. ‘You remember that we have met before, eh?'

‘Of course I do,' Engles replied. ‘It was at the Piraeus. You had some ELAS guerillas with you and were attempting to mine the harbour at night.'

‘Ah—I thought you had not forgotten. It was cold that night. The harbour water was black and full of oil and dirt. It tasted very unpleasant. I did not enjoy that swim.' He smiled. ‘And now we drink together. Do you not find that strange?'

‘It's not always possible to choose one's drinking company,' Engles replied blandly.

Keramikos gave a fat chuckle and his little eyes twinkled behind the thick lenses. ‘That is life,' he said. ‘You serve your Government. I serve mine. Our meetings should be dramatic moments—with pistols, like Valdini. Instead, we drink.'

‘Don't be absurd, Keramikos,' Engles said. ‘You have no Government left to serve.'

Keramikos sighed. ‘That is true. That is very true. For the moment there is nothing left—just a loose organisation under the ground. But there are many Germans working, like myself, all over the world. We work without direction and without funds. That will change in time. At the moment our energy is wasted in the search for money. That is why I am here. I have an organisation in Greece. It must be paid, if it is to continue. Four million dollars in gold would help. But it will not always be like this. Some day Germany will begin to organise again. And next time—the third time—perhaps we shall not fail. Already you are saying that Germany must be prosperous so that she can take her place in the economic plan of Europe. We have no national debt like you. Each war has been paid for in the ruins of defeat. We starve now, and that means that the old people die. And that again is good for a nation. Our industry is destroyed. That, too, is good. Our, industry, when we rebuild it, will be new and up-to-date, not old works adjusted to meet the changing needs, like yours. It will be the same with our armed forces. You will see. Last time it was twenty years. Twenty years is a long time. There will be a new generation then who will not remember that war is horrible.'

‘You're very frank about it,' Engles said.

‘And why not? You are a Colonel in the British Intelligence.'

‘Was,' Engles corrected him. ‘I'm a civilian now.'

Keramikos shrugged his shoulders. ‘What does it matter what you call yourself? I call myself a shipping agent. But you remain of the Intelligence, and you must know that your people are aware that we exist. But what can they do? For example, what can they do about me? I am a Greek national. Greece is a free country. They cannot arrest me. And I shall do nothing foolish here in Italy. I shall get the gold. But I shall be careful. I shall not kill any one—if it can be avoided. Mayne and Valdini are different. They are both gangsters, and dangerous. Mayne is a deserter, as I told Blair.'

‘Yes, I know all about Mayne,' Engles said. ‘What I am interested in is how you found out about this gold. You couldn't have learned about it in Greece.'

‘I could not, eh?' He seemed amused. ‘Yet this is the first time I have been out of Greece since I went to Alexandria. And that was a long time ago—just before the Greek mutiny. No, I heard about it in Greece. It was luck. The one man who escaped out of the wretched guard that brought the gold up from Venice sought the help of my people in Salonika. They asked him to account for himself. And he broke down under questioning. But you know the story of how Stelben got that gold, eh?'

‘Only by deduction,' Engles replied. ‘Not from evidence. Stelben kept his mouth shut. And I certainly didn't know any of the guard escaped. He even murdered his personal servant who had been with him for nearly six years. I'd like to know what your man had to tell. And Blair here knows nothing of the story as yet.'

‘Ah! Then you shall read the statement of the
Korporal
who escaped. And we will have a drink to fortify ourselves, eh?' He ordered the drinks and I leaned closer, for Mayne had gone into something loud and sonorous, which, with the noise of the wind outside, made it difficult to hear.

When Aldo had put the drinks in front of us, Keramikos said, ‘This does not reflect well on the
Gestapo
. But all organisations, you understand, have their bad servants. You must remember it was near the end. And Stelben had killed many people before he shot down those nine soldiers. The gold was at a bank in Venice. It was the property of one of the Rome banking houses and had been transported to Venice for greater safety after your troops landed at Anzio. When we fell back to the line of the Po River, Heinrich Stelben was instructed to convey the gold to the Reichsbank at Munich. He was to take it by road, for you were bombarding the railways from the air, and the route chosen was through Cortina and Bolzano to Innsbruck. You must picture to yourselves that little convoy. There was the truck containing the gold. It was closed and sealed. And two
volkswagen
. And there were seven honest German
soldaten
and Stelben—and gold to the value of over eight million dollars.'

KERAMIKOS PAUSED AND
glanced quickly round. Mayne was playing
Danse Macabre
now. The Contessa and Valdini were still talking together. And the snow streamed past the windows and piled up in great drifts on the belvedere. Then he took an old leather wallet from his pocket and brought out a folded sheet of foolscap. He smoothed it out on the bar and handed it to Engles. ‘That is the statement made by Korporal Holtz of the Panzer Grenadiers,' he said. ‘You may read it.'

Engles placed it on the bar so that I could read it over his shoulder. It was typewritten and in German. It was dated 9th October, 1945. I reproduce it here because I happen to have it with me as I write and because it is a good statement. Holtz tells the story with a directness and simplicity of wording often to be found in statements from soldiers. And this, combined with the noise of the wind and Mayne playing, made the scene he described very vivid to me as I read it, there in that bar-room, right over the spot where it had happened. It was, as Keramikos said, not a pretty story and it invested the old with a peculiarly live quality that must, I think, be possessed by all things which have inspired greed and caused the death of many people.

Statement concerning the events which took place on the night of 15-16th March, 1945, at the Passo Tre Croci made by Korporal Holtz, H. V. of the 9th Panzer Grenadiers.

(Translation of the German original taken from the body of Keramikos, the Greek.)

On 15th March, 1945, I was ordered to report with a guard of three men to Kapitan Heinrich Stelben at the Albergo Daniele, Venice. Kapitan Stelben ordered me to proceed to the Banca Commerciale del Popolo and take charge of forty wooden cases containing gold. As soon as it was dark, we loaded the cases on to a launch and proceeded to the Piazzale Roma. Here we transferred the boxes to a closed truck, which was then sealed by Kapitan Stelben and an official of the bank in my presence. The Kapitan then gave me the route, which was by Mestre-Conigliamo-Cortina-Bolzano-Innsbruck to Munich. Besides the sealed truck there were two
volkswagen
. One of these, with a driver, was assigned to me and I was instructed to lead. Next came the truck containing the gold with a driver and one of my men as guard. In the rear was Kapitan Stelben in the other
volkswagen
with a driver and my other two men. The drivers were all German. I do not know their names. The names of my men were Soldaten Flick, Wrenner and Reinbaum.