by Edna Dawes
The Gendarme was not as fluent in English as Anton so the tale was told with the help of interpretations. Franz grew more and more serious and made copious notes in his book. There followed a lengthy. discussion in German between the two men, and Franz left after shaking her hand and thanking her for her assistance.
“I must apologize for speaking for so long in our own language, but it was necessary that we both understood exactly what you had told us,” said Anton when he returned to her.
“Of course,” she murmured. “What will happen now?”
He sat on the arm of the settee again and looked at her with a slight frown on his face. “Franz will report all this to the Inspector when he returns from Innsbruck tonight. They will see you again in the morning, Miss . . .?”
“Davis. Kathryn Davis.”
“Hmm,” he grunted. “Have you any idea who may have done this? I realize you told Franz you know nobody in Austria, but it must already have occurred to you that this was not a madman taking revenge on a stranger. Some person knew you were at the trout farm and had a definite reason for killing you. Can you not think of any answer to the mystery?”
She stared blankly. “No. The whole idea is fantastic . . . and I disagree with you completely. He could only have been a crank who happened to see me go into the hatchery. Your Franz had better concentrate on all the ‘kooky’ men in Mosskirch.”
He rose abruptly. “I do not understand this word ‘kooky’, but it seems you are still not well enough to understand what I mean. Perhaps you had better return to the Gasthaus now. I will show the way through my garden.”
He helped her on with her coat, went over to the full-length windows and slid open one of the large panes. She followed him on to the balcony and down the steps to the garden which ran unfenced to the meadows beyond.
“You will not be going out again tonight, will you?” he asked as they walked. “This rain will become worse later on. You will be quite safe inside until tomorrow.” They stopped on the balcony where she had sat yesterday, and he looked down at her dirty face. “Franz wishes that you will not speak about this to anyone until you have seen the Inspector – not even your fellow-guest who is English.”
Did she detect a slight bite in those words? Her thanks were expressed rather clumsily because of it.
“You have been very kind. I’m sorry you had to close your shop in the middle of the afternoon on my account. Is there a fee for your services?”
His blue eyes suddenly glittered like pale glass and all the heel-clicking, stiff-backed pride of the old Austro-Hungarian era was in his voice when he snapped, “No, Miss Davis. I do not sell myself – only my wares.”
He didn’t stay to hear her explain that she had been referring to his membership of the rescue team, not to his personal hospitality. She thought there might have been a charge levied for any call on the members of the volunteer group. The way he had taken it had made her remark an insult. Oh dear, why did the wretched man have to be so touchy!
*
It took a great deal of effort on her part to appear normal at dinner that evening. Robert had had a very successful time with his camera until the storm had blown up, and he was full of satisfaction with his day. The scarlet train had taken him to Sternsee which was two stations along, and from there he had walked around the shores of a large lake which was practically deserted at this time of year. The scenery had provided the perfect material for him, and when the rain had started he found he was at the far end of the lake.
“I ate my lunch in a small hut which is normally used by climbers. The lake is halfway up a popular easy route to the summit of Kluberg – the highest peak in that particular range,” he told her with enthusiasm. “I hung on for a bit, but eventually had to brave the downpour or I’d have missed the train I wanted to catch. If you go there, make certain you get back to the station in time. Those trains only run about five times a day, and you might have a long lonely wait until one comes in this direction.”
“I’ll remember that,” she said quietly.
“Of course,” he continued, “you don’t get scenery like that whenever you want it, but try to pick a sunny day for your visit. It looks magnificent then.” He looked up from his soup. “You’re very quiet. Have I been rambling on too long?”
She smiled. “Not at all. I have been very interested and can’t wait to see the pictures. Will you get them printed before you go home?”
“If that is a genuine request to see my work, certainly I’ll get them done.” Lurking warmth in his eyes made her long to tell him all her fears. She needed the comfort and reassurance he could give her as one of her countrymen – and also as a sympathetic male – but a dinner table was between them, and she had been asked to keep silent.
“Where is home, Robert?” she asked. “We have been sharing this table for two days yet I know very little about you except that you have been ill and that you work for the aircraft industry.”
“I know very little about you, Kathryn,” he returned. “Perhaps I should catch up on some of the details as we sit round the stove this cold, wet evening.”
Her smile was as warm as her voice. “That sounds Suspiciously like a ‘come up and see my etchings’ line, Robert Farr.”
“Maybe it is, but can you think of a better way of passing the time?”
Several hours later Kathryn stood just inside her room, leaning against the door thinking dreamily of the kiss Robert had given her a minute ago. It had not been world-shattering, but in her present state the gentle, but nevertheless compelling, embrace had completed the solace his company had provided that evening. In the light of his flirtatious normality, the horror of the afternoon receded to the back of her mind and was only recalled when she switched off her light and moved to open the shutters which covered the windows. Way across the valley a set of oblong lights moved one behind the other as the last train from Sternsee left Mosskirch station and rattled its way towards Innsbruck. Soon, it would be passing the trout farm set amid the meadows. The thought made her shiver, and she turned away.
Down on the balcony of the house behind the sports shop, light shone the wet stone floor to a pale yellow and threw elongated shadows as the occupants of that long room moved about inside. He had company! She slid beneath the huge quilt and punched it into a mound around her. Why shouldn’t he have company! Maybe some girls liked that stiff-necked, tight-lipped look – or maybe other girls never forced him to use it. The Austrian women he knew were probably as proud as he was. Robert had warned her that these people took themselves very seriously as a rule and never mixed business with pleasure. Did Anton Reiter and his women-friends sit around all the evening in earnest discussion of a worthy topic, she wondered, and would their farewell embrace be carefully planned and timed so as not to prolong the frivolity beyond an allotted period?
Then, she remembered the delightful episode that morning outside the railway station. The characters involved had all been very relaxed and high-spirited, and the saucy look the engine-driver had given her was certainly not in keeping with the picture Robert painted. No, she didn’t believe his definition was correct. It must be based on the acquaintance of too many people like that shopkeeper next door.
For instance, Frau Petz was definitely jolly, and so was her daughter. Maria had been slipping off to see her boyfriend from the garage again this evening despite the rain, and from the shine in her eyes, Kathryn felt sure Peter made no attempt to ration his embraces. There was an irrepressible young man! Kathryn remembered the bold eyes and brash virility of his manner as he scrambled from beneath the Porsche to tell her he was unable to start on her car yet.
Suddenly, the vague idea that she had missed some fact concerning her car leapt into clear focus. Inspector Schultz told her he could get no evidence from it because the industrious garage mechanic had already straightened out the dents and resprayed the bonnet, yet less than an hour earlier young Peter had apologized for having to delay the work on her vehicle until he had b
een to Innsbruck at the weekend. If the Inspector was right, Peter had lied to her. Why would he do that?
Somewhere deep inside her an uneasy fear was beginning to form. There was a very devious game going on in this village which seemed to have her as one of the leading players. The rain beat on her window while she tried to get her thoughts in some sort of order. For some reason she had been caught up in a weird series of events which was fast turning this trip into a fantasy, and could only have been started off by her accident on Kapellerpass.
The facts, as she had been told, were that somewhere on her descent she had probably hit and killed a pedestrian before impact with some trees knocked her unconscious. The bang on her head was sufficient to cause amnesia, so she couldn’t confirm or deny the truth of this. All evidence had been wiped from her car, and rain had washed away any signs of the accident from the road. That was what she had been told, and she had believed it – until now!
The amnesia was definite enough, but was there any proof that she had had an accident? Admittedly, she could have asked to see her car when she called at the garage, but the fact remained it was only someone else’s word that it had ever been damaged. Now, there were two conflicting reports on the state of the car’s repair. Which one was true?
The man who had been killed was found two days after the crash, with pockets completely empty and no means of identification whatsoever. Already, it had occurred to her that mystery surrounded him – now another doubt was added. Was this man an invention? Inspector Schultz had produced a photograph of a crash victim, but that picture could have been taken a month . . . a year ago! Indeed, how did she know Inspector Schultz was who he said he was? Franz Mitterbauer had been with him, but he had not produced a police pass when he introduced himself. Come to think of that, the Gendarme was not necessarily a real man of the law simply because he wore an official uniform.
He had appeared very promptly when Anton Reiter had phoned. Would a genuine policeman be so readily available? Perhaps the sports shop owner was involved in this too. It had been he who answered the call from Herr Zoller and his arrival had been very speedy. He was athletic, tall and very strong. It would be easy for him to attempt her murder, then shortcut through the meadows to where he had left his car. In that case, Herr Zoller was also up to his ears in the plot . . . Oh stop, Stop! she told herself in anguish. This is quite ridiculous! My imagination is running riot and I shall have implicated every member of the village before long. If only I could talk it over with someone I might get things in perspective. Unfortunately, after that kiss outside her door, a nocturnal visit to Robert’s room would suggest only one thing to him, so she had to rule out that possibility and fret alone.
The rain had increased in ferocity and thundered against her window in accord with her thoughts. In an effort to get some peace, she padded across to close the shutters over the glass and shivered in the blast of cold air which hit her when she opened the window. The light was still on in the house next door and she heard the strident sounds of Wagner being played at full blast on the hi-fi. She banged the window with unnecessary force.
Another attack on the quilt when she returned to her bed relieved her tensions and puffed it into a cosy igloo around her. Calmer now, she dismissed her earlier riotous thoughts and settled for sleep. The conviction that there was more than a mere road accident involved in this situation was still firmly rooted in her mind, but she now rejected conjecture in favor of plans on what she could do to improve her knowledge of what was going on.
When Inspector Schultz called in the morning, as Franz had said he would, she would ask to see his credentials. That would settle one query! Next, she would go to the garage and ask to see her car. Question number two answered. Thirdly, it would prove very interesting to visit the spot where she was supposed to have crashed. The rain may have removed bloodstains from the road, but surely the trees would be scarred and broken where she had driven into them. All this would convince her of the truth of what she had been told. Once that was established, she could set to work on finding a reason for anyone wanting her dead. Subconsciously, her mind was now working the way Anton’s had several hours earlier.
*
The morning didn’t follow quite the pattern she expected. When the Inspector arrived soon after breakfast, he was accompanied by Dr. Hallstein who was looking grave. They bade her good morning, and Kathryn jumped straight in by asking if Inspector Schultz would mind showing her his identification card. The two men exchanged a look before he took from his inside pocket a document giving his status.
“I am sorry, Miss Davis,” he said. “I should have shown you this before, but I thought the presence of the Gendarme was all that was necessary.” He put it away again and settled back. “I have brought Dr. Hallstein with me at his own request. Perhaps he had better speak to you first.”
Dr. Hallstein peered at her through the thick lenses and cleared his throat. “Herr Inspektor Schultz came to see me last night to consult me about a report handed him by young Franz Mitterbauer on a conversation he had had with you. In it you claimed that somebody tried to drown you in a stone trough at the trout farm. Is that correct?” The slightly mocking tone of his voice didn’t escape Kathryn’s notice and she answered more sharply because of it.
“He nearly succeeded. It was only because my foot slipped on a wet patch that I didn’t go head first into that trough.”
The men exchanged another look and the Inspector asked, “Did you recognize your attacker, Miss Davis?”
“No, it was too dark, but he was immensely strong. I caught a glimpse of his silhouette against the window, that’s all.”
“So you would not recognize him if you saw him again?”
“No.”
“I see.” He crossed one leg over the other. “You had been talking to Herr Zoller for a little time before you went into the hatchery?”
“Yes. He let me feed the fish.”
“And he was still there when you rushed from the hut?”
“He had moved higher up again to the top pool.”
“Hmm. Do you think he had time to return there after attacking you?”
Kathryn stared at him. “Inspector, I am not suggesting Herr Zoller attacked me. Not only would it have been impossible for him to leap from place to place, he is an old man. The hands which pushed me towards that, water were those of a man at the height of his strength.”
“Umm.” The Inspector paused uncertainly. “In a statement just a few minutes ago Herr Zoller says there was no one else at the trout farm yesterday afternoon.”
“That was because he didn’t see anyone,” she cried. “A killer doesn’t advertise his presence.”
“Miss Davis,” put in Dr. Hallstein quietly, “I don’t think you quite realize the effects which an accident like yours can have on the human brain. Amnesia blotted out the unpleasant facts which you wished to forget, but you were brought face to face with them by Inspector Schultz. Although you still have no direct memory of the crash, you are a sensitive person who has developed a feeling of guilt in your subconscious which has brought out a great need for self-punishment for causing this man’s death. It is not unusual, I assure you.”
With the dawning of what he was suggesting, a cold anger spread right through her, leaving her trembling. They thought she had staged an elaborate form of scourge to relieve her guilt! No wonder they had exchanged looks when she had asked for proof of identity from the Inspector. It strengthened their belief that she was slightly abnormal at the moment. As usual when her temper was up, Kathryn didn’t think before she spoke and her words were coldly cutting.
“In view of that, Inspector, I am surprised you have wasted so much valuable time over the episode when you should be trying to discover why a stranger carrying no money, papers or passport should be wandering near the frontier on a high mountain pass at dusk. You might also like to find out how a car which cannot be repaired for four days suddenly manages to be as good as new within an hour.” She jum
ped up, still shaking. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have rather a lot to do. I am here to work, you know.”
The men rose together, taken aback by her attitude. “Miss Davis . . .” the doctor began.
“It’s quite all right,” she broke in quickly, “I think I have fully purged my soul of reproach. I won’t trouble you again. Good day to you.”
She walked away with trembling legs and went straight to her room to fetch her coat. That settles it, she thought. It is no longer a question of a possible mystery, it’s a definite one – and I am going to find out what is behind it! The two men had gone when she ran lightly down the stairs and into the street, but even had they been there, in her present mood she would have swept them aside as she passed.
To say she marched down the street might have been a slight exaggeration, but her footsteps would certainly have fitted in well with a military band, and there was a definite air of aggression about the set of her mouth and chin as she neared the garage.
It was closed! She couldn’t believe her ill-luck. Just as she was ready for a showdown with the handsome Peter, her determination was frustrated. She could have cried with vexation as she stood uncertainly on the pavement. The notice on the door was in German so it told her nothing. There was a narrow path by the side of the workshop and she wandered down to see if anyone was about. Behind the building was a yard surrounded by a high wall topped with wire, and by standing on tiptoe she could just see over the edge. Several cars and two or three lorries were neatly parked in there awaiting repair. There was a mini-bus with a gentian painted on the side, a motorcycle and sidecar and even two bicycles. Since this was the only garage in the village trade must be fairly brisk, she supposed. There was no sign of life and as the place had a definitely closed look about it, there was no reason to suppose the closure was only for a few minutes while the owner had a cup of coffee.
She was turning away when she noticed the bonnet of a red car sticking out a short distance beyond the mini-bus, and was just able to read the number. It was her own Volkswagen! The path she was on didn’t allow her a better view of it and she cursed under her breath at her inability to discover just what state of repair it was in.