The Dead Mountaineer's Inn (15 page)

“Put your pants on,” I said in quiet despair. “Clean yourself up and follow me.”

“Where are we going?” he asked in a terrified voice.

“To jail!” I shouted. “Solitary confinement! The torture tower, you idiot!”

“Of course,” he said. “Right away. I just didn't understand you, Peter.”

Back in the lobby we ran into the owner, who gave me a confused look. He was sitting at a coffee table, on which a heavy Winchester automatic lay. I motioned for him to stay where he was and turned down the corridor towards the Moses's room. Lel, who was lying in the doorway that led to the stranger's room, muttered threateningly at us. Simone trotted after me, sighing dejectedly from time to time.

I pushed the door to Mrs. Moses's room open authoritatively, and stood dumbfounded. The pink lamp in the room was switched on, and on the divan directly across from the door, striking the pose of Madame Récamier, lay the charming Mrs. Moses, in silk pajamas, reading a book. She raised her eyebrows in surprise upon seeing me, but then immediately flashed a sweet smile. Simone behind me let out a weird sound—something like “A-Ap!”

“I beg your pardon,” I said, my tongue barely moving in my mouth. I closed the door as quickly as I could. Then I turned to Simone and grabbed his tie.

“I swear!” he mouthed. He was on the verge of fainting.

I let him go.

“You were wrong, Simone,” I said dryly. “Let's go back to your room.”

We started back the way we came; but along the way I changed my mind and led him to my room. I had suddenly realized that my door wasn't locked, and that I had evidence in there. Also, I thought it might not be a bad idea to show that evidence to the great physicist.

After he'd made it through the door Simone ran over to my chair, covered his face with his hands for a moment, and then began hitting himself on the skull with his fists like an excited chimpanzee.

“I'm saved!” he muttered with an idiotic smile. “Hooray! I can live again! No need to lurk and hide! Hooray!…”

He put his hands on the edge of the table and stared up at me with his round eyes. He whispered:

“But she really was dead, Peter! I swear to you. She was dead, someone killed her, and not only that …”

“Nonsense,” I said coldly. “You were drunk as a skunk, that's all.”

“No, no,” Simone said, shaking his head. “I was drunk, that's true, but there's something not right about it, something strange … It feels more like a nightmare, delirium … like a dream … Maybe I really do have a screw loose, eh Peter?”

“Maybe,” I agreed.

“I don't know, I just don't know … My eyes were open the whole time, I took my clothes off, put them back on … I even wanted to run … especially when I heard you walking down the hall, and when you started speaking in that muffled voice …”

“Where were you at that time?”

“I was … what time do you mean exactly?”

“When you heard our muffled voices.”

“In my room. I didn't leave.”

“In precisely what part of the room were you?”

“All over the place, really … To be honest, while you were questioning Olaf, I sat in the bedroom and tried to listen in …” His eyes suddenly began bulging back out of his head. “Wait a minute,” he said. “But if she's still alive, then what's all the fuss about? What happened? Is someone sick?”

“Answer my questions,” I said. “What did you do after I left the pool room?”

He was silent for a while, looking at me with his round eyes while he chewed his lower lip.

“I get it,” he said finally. “That means something did happen. Well, all right, then … What did I do after you left? I shot pool by myself for a while and then went back to my room. It was about ten, I had planned to make my attempt at eleven, and I needed to get myself ready, to freshen up, shave, etc.… I did this until around ten thirty. Then I waited around, looking at my watch, staring out the window … You know the rest …”

“You say you went back to your room around ten. Can you be more specific? You had an appointment to keep, you must have been looking at your watch a lot.”

Simone whistled softly.

“Ho-ho,” he said. “A real investigation. Can you at least tell me what's happened?”

“Olaf's been killed,” I said.

“Killed—how is that possible? You were just in his room … I heard you talking to him in there myself …”

“I wasn't talking with him,” I said. “Olaf is dead. So please, try to recall precisely what I'm asking you about. When did you get back to your room?”

Simone wiped his sweat-covered forehead. He looked miserable.

“This is crazy,” he muttered. “Madness … First that, now this …”

I used an old and reliable trick. Looking fixedly at Simone, I said: “Stop trying to wiggle out of it. Answer my questions.”

Put abruptly in the position of a suspect, all of Simone's sentiments vanished. He stopped thinking about Mrs. Moses. He stopped thinking about poor Olaf. Now he was only thinking about himself.

“Why do you say that?” he muttered. “What does that mean, ‘stop trying to wiggle out of it'?”

“It means I'm waiting for an answer,” I said. “When, exactly, did you get back to your room?”

Simone shrugged his shoulders with exaggerated sulkiness.

“All right,” he said. “It's funny, of course, absurd even, but … as you wish. As you wish. I left the billiard room at ten minutes to ten. Give or take a minute, to be precise. I looked at my watch and understood that I had to go. Ten minutes to ten.”

“What did you do, once you'd gotten back to your room?”

“I went into the bedroom, undressed …” Suddenly he stopped. “You know, Peter, I think I understand what you're looking for. At that point Olaf was still alive. Then again, for all I know that might not even have been Olaf.”

“One thing at a time,” I said.

“There's nothing to tell … Behind the bedroom wall, I heard furniture moving. I didn't hear any voices. There weren't any voices. But something was moving. I remember, I stuck my tongue out at the wall and thought: that's right, you blond beast, you go to bed and I'll go to my Olga … Or something along those lines. It was around five to ten at that point. Give or take three minutes.”

“Okay. And after that?”

“After that …? After that I went into the bathroom. I washed myself thoroughly from the waist up and then dried off thoroughly with a towel. I shaved thoroughly with
an electric razor … I dressed, thoroughly …” More and more sarcasm was emerging from his annoyingly puckish voice. However, he felt immediately how inappropriate such a tone was and corrected himself. “In short, the next time I looked at my watch was when I left the bathroom. It was around ten thirty. Give or take two or three minutes.”

“You stayed in the bedroom?”

“Yes, I got dressed in the bedroom. But I didn't hear anything else. Or if I did hear anything, I didn't pay attention. Once I'd gotten dressed, I went into the living room and sat down to wait. And I solemnly swear that I never laid eyes on Olaf again after the party.”

“You already solemnly swore that Mrs. Moses was dead,” I pointed out.

“Well, I don't know … I don't understand what happened. I promise, Peter …”

“I believe you,” I said. “Now tell me, when was the last time you spoke with Hinkus?”

“Hm … To tell you the truth, I can honestly say I've never spoken to him. Not once. I can't imagine what we'd have to talk about.”

“And when was the last time you saw him?”

Simone's eyes narrowed as he tried to remember.

“Outside the shower?” he said with a questioning intonation. “No—what am I thinking? He had dinner with everyone, you brought him down from the roof. After that … he disappeared somewhere, who knows where … What happened to him?”

“Nothing special,” I said casually. “One more question. Who, in your opinion, has been playing all these practical jokes? The shower, the missing shoes …”

“I understand,” said Simone. “In my opinion, Du
Barnstoker started them, but then everyone joined in. The owner more than anybody.”

“You too?”

“Me too. I looked into Mrs. Moses's windows. I love jokes like that …” He started to launch into his morbid laugh, but then caught himself and quickly made a serious face.

“Is there anything else?”

“Well, why wouldn't there be? I would call Kaisa from empty rooms and arrange one of my ‘wet walks.' ”

“Meaning …?”

“Meaning I ran through the hallways with wet feet. Then I was going to indulge in a little haunting, but I never got around to it.”

“Lucky for the rest of us,” I said dryly. “And Moses's watch—did you do that?”

“What about Moses's watch? The gold one? The one shaped like a turnip?”

I wanted to hit him.

“Yes,” I said. “The turnip. Did you steal it?”

“What do you take me for?” Simone said, outraged. “What do I look like to you, some kind of hoodlum?”

“No, not a hood,” I said, maintaining my self-control. “You took one as part of a joke. You staged a ‘visit from the Thief of Baghdad.' ”

“Listen, Peter,” Simone said, turning very serious. “I can see that something must have happened with that watch. I didn't touch it. But I did see it. Everyone did, I'm sure. A huge turnip, which I know because one day Moses dropped it into his mug in front of everyone …”

“Fine,” I said. “Let's put this aside for a moment. Now I have a question for you as a specialist.” I laid Olaf's suitcase in front of him and opened the top. “What could this be, in your opinion?”

Simone quickly examined the device; he pulled it carefully out of the suitcase and, whistling through his teeth, began looking it over from all sides. Then he hefted it in his hands and put it just as carefully back in the suitcase.

“This isn't my field,” he said. “Judging by how compact it is, and how well made, I'd say it's either military or space-related. I don't know. I can't even guess. Where did you find it? On Olaf?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Who'd have thought!” he muttered. “That big oaf … Excuse me. What are the damned verniers for? Well, these are obviously connection jacks … A very strange aggregator …” He looked at me. “If you want, Peter, I could push the keys here and turn these wheels and screws. I'm a risk taker. But remember, this isn't a healthy thing to be.”

“That won't be necessary,” I said. “Give it to me.” I closed the suitcase.

“You're right,” Simone said approvingly, and leaned back in his chair. “It requires a specialist. I don't even know who … By the way,” he said. “Why are you doing all this? Do you love your job that much? Why don't you call in the experts?”

I told him briefly about the avalanche.

“It never rains …” he said morosely. “Can I go?”

“Yes,” I said. “And stay in your room. The best thing would be to go to sleep.”

He left. I took the suitcase and looked for a place where I could hide it. I couldn't find anywhere. Military, or space, I thought. Just what I needed. A political assassination, a spy, sabotage … Come on! If they'd killed him for the suitcase, they would have taken the suitcase … Where was I supposed to put it? Then I remembered the owner's safe and, sticking the suitcase under my arm (just to be safe), I went downstairs.

The owner had set himself up at the coffee table with his
papers and an old-fashioned adding machine. His Winchester was leaning up against the wall, ready if he needed it.

“What's new?” I asked.

He stood up to greet me.

“Nothing particularly good,” he answered with a guilty look on his face. “I had to explain to Moses what happened.”

“Why?”

“He rushed after the two of you with murder in his eyes, hissing that no one was going to break in on his wife. I didn't know how to stop him, so I told him what was going on. I decided that would be less noisy.”

“That's not good,” I said. “But it's my fault. What did he do?”

“Nothing really. Bugged his eyes out at me, took a swig from his mug, didn't say anything for a few minutes, and then began to shout—who had I lodged in his section, and how did I dare … I barely managed to get away.”

“That's all right,” I said. “Here's what we'll do, Alek. Give me the key to your safe, I'll put the suitcase in there, and the key—you'll have to excuse me—I'll keep with me. Second, I need to question Kaisa. Bring her into your office. Third, I could really use some coffee.”

“Come with me,” said the manager.

I drank a big cup of coffee and went to question Kaisa. The coffee was excellent. But I got almost nothing out of Kaisa. First off, she kept falling asleep in her chair, and when I woke her up, she immediately asked, “What?” Second, it seemed she was completely incapable of talking about Olaf. Each time I said his name, she blushed red, began to giggle, made a complicated movement with her shoulder and covered herself with one hand. I was left with the unshakable impression that Olaf had been naughty here, and that it had happened almost immediately after dinner, when Kaisa had been clearing and washing the dishes. “But he took my beads,” she said, twittering and mooning. “He said they were a souvenir. Something to remember me by. What a troublemaker …” In the end, I told her to go to bed, and then went out in the lobby to make my way to the owner.

“What do you think about all this, Alek?” I asked.

He pushed his adding machine out of the way with relish and stretched his powerful shoulders until they cracked.