Dead Men Don't Ski

by Patricia Moyes

  "I don't think—I know damn well," said Roger. He left the bar and walked rather unsteadily up to Henry. "You're a bloody copper, aren't you?"

  "Yes," said Henry. He added, "I'm sorry."

  "What are you doing here, then?" asked Jimmy, in a voice thin with strain.

  "Taking a holiday—or I was."

  "Bloody liar."Roger lurched back to the bar and slammed down his glass. "Another brandy, Anna. He's snooping, of course ... after someone ... going to get some poor devil hung..."

  "Pull yourself together, old dear," said Jimmy, a little uncertainly. "After all, somebody did kill our lamented friend Hauser, and personally I'll sleep better when he's caught. It's not very pleasant to think of a murderer running around loose in a small hotel like this."

  "Please ... what is this? ... I do not understand."Franco had been switching his anxious gaze from face to face, trying vainly to keep up with the conversation. Roger turned to him.

  "This man's an English policeman," he said, in Italian,

  "Carabiniere?" Franco's face relaxed into a smile. "Ah, welcome, signor. This is fortunate, no?"

  "No," said Roger.

  "I'm very glad you think so," said Henry gravely, to Franco. "May we have two brandies please, Anna?"

  Emmy said, "I had no idea you spoke Italian so well, Roger."

  "I only fought the bloody Huns all round the coast of Italy. Any objection?"

  "Of course not."

  There was a silence as Anna poured the drinks, and then Franco excused himself politely, in laboured English, and went to bed. Jimmy finished his drink quickly.

  "I'm off, too," he said. "I suppose the fun will start to-morrow."

  "I'm afraid so," said Henry. "We'll try to make it as painless as possible."

  "Decent of you, I'm sure," said Jimmy, dryly. "It'll be fascinating to see a sleuth at work. Any clues yet?"

  "It's rather early for that," said Henry. "Besides, this isn't my affair at all—it's a matter for the local police. But they insist that I should interview the English people, because of the language difficulty."

  Jimmy looked straight at Henry for a moment. Then he grinned. "You poor fish," he said, "You have my sympathy."And with that he walked out of the bar.

  Roger sat down on a stool and contemplated Henry with an expression of concentrated dislike.

  "Holiday," he said, at last. "Holiday, my Aunt Fanny. Curious coincidence having a murder here the very moment a cop chooses to take his holiday. Or don't you think so?"

  "I admit I was mixing pleasure with a little business," said Henry. "But my business wasn't murder."

  "What's all this in aid of, anyway?" Roger demanded, suddenly flaring into anger. "You're going to grill us tomorrow. All right then. Save it for the morning. Don't think you can come in here drinking with us and swinging the old pals act. I've seen your lot on the job before now, and there's one thing I know ... everything they say ... everything they do ... all for one purpose. Get you to slip up. Get you to give yourself away. Well, in this case, it won't work. I'm going to bed."

  "I'm sorry you feel like that," said Henry, "because I came in here specially hoping to have a word with you."

  "You bet your sweet life you did."

  "When I question you to-morrow, the Italian police will be there—and the Capitano understands English pretty well. In any case, it's an official interview, and Emmy will be taking everything down in shorthand."

  "So you're in it, too, are you?" said Roger, rudely, to Emmy. "Pity, I rather liked you."

  "So I thought," Henry went on, imperturbably, "that this might be my last opportunity to talk to you alone."

  "O.K. Go ahead and talk. Don't expect me to answer. I give you two minutes."

  "I shan't need as much as that. I just want to warn you to give yourself a chance to-morrow. Just because you're in a blue funk—"

  "How dare you say that?"

  "—there's no need to lose your head and land yourself in real trouble. For instance, Capitano Spezzi knows all about the Nancy Maud."

  There was dead silence for a moment. Then Roger said, very quietly, "Thank you."

  "Don't mention it. You surely didn't think that it wouldn't come to light?"

  "It was'a long time ago. I didn't think there'd be any need to drag it up now..."

  "Well, there is. So for God's sake tell the truth, that's all. Come on, Emmy. Let's go to bed."

  "I'm coming too," said Roger.

  They all left the bar together, and climbed the steep wooden staircase. At his door, Roger paused.

  "No need to shout your mouth off about this to ... to the others," he said.

  "Of course not," said Henry. "But surely ... some of them know already, don't they?"

  "No, they don't."Roger was emphatic. "Nobody knows."

  He went into his room and shut the door. They heard the key turning in the lock.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Henry's first action the following morning was to compose a lengthy telegram to the Assistant Commissioner at Scotland Yard. Realising that it would be more than flesh and blood could stand for the village post-mistress not to circulate the contents of such a document—he could not be certain that she understood no English—he asked Capitano Spezzi if the other Italians and the Germans could be interrogated first, so that Emmy could take the cable into Montelunga and send it from there.

  So the English party sat on the terrace in uneasy silence, sipping coffee, while Beppi, the hotel porter, was sent to take over the ski-lift: a few minutes later, Mario was ushered into Rossati's office. Spezzi had intended to start the morning by questioning the Baroness, of whom he stood in considerable awe: but Gerda had informed him shortly that her mistress was unwell and would not be getting up before lunchtime. Spezzi did not argue.

  Mario sat perched unhappily on the edge of a chair, like a bedraggled sparrow on a telegraph wire, twisting his woollen cap nervously in his gnarled hands and darting frightened and bewildered looks at Henry, Spezzi and the shorthand writer in turn. Spezzi was gentle with him.

  "You must understand that we are not blaming you in any way," he said, "but we must question you to reach the truth of this sad affair. Now—your name?"

  "Vespi, Mario," the old man admitted, uneasily.

  "Now, Mario, you were on duty at the top of the ski-lift last night?"

  "Si, Capitano. I am always there."

  "What can you tell us about Herr Hauser's last trip down to the village?"

  It was more than, Mario could cope with to volunteer an unprompted account. He looked piteously from Spezzi to Henry, tongue-tied.

  "Well, tell us what time he went down," said Spezzi, with a trace of irritation.

  "It was ... it must have been about ten minutes past six, Capitano."

  "Was anybody else using the lift at the time?"

  "Nobody. No more skiers were coming up, for it was already dark."

  "But the Bella Vista party had not come up?"

  "No, Capitano. I was wondering what had become of them."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Well... forgive me, Capitano, it's none of my business, I know ... the ladies and gentlemen come up at whatever time they please, naturally..."

  "I think," said Henry, "that Mario means that we usually come up before half-past five. But last night we all met by chance at the Olympia, and lingered over our tea."

  Mario shot a glance of pathetic gratitude at Henry.

  "I see," said Spezzi. "Ten-past six approximately: the ski-lift deserted: the Bella Vista guests still in the village. What happened then?"

  "Then I saw Herr Hauser."

  "Where?"

  "He was coming down the path from the hotel."

  "How could you be sure it was him? It was dark, and snowing hard."

  Mario looked scared stiff, and was understood to mumble something about boots.

  "What boots?"

  "Herr Hauser's boots." The old man grew a little bolder, "Fur," he said, "with black spots. I knew
them well: and there is a light on the path. In any case," he added, with a little burst of confidence, "I was expecting him."

  "Expecting him?"

  Mario suddenly looked scared again, and explained very rapidly, "His luggage had already gone down—before lunch, I sent it ... Beppi brought it from the hotel, and he told me there was no hurry, as Herr Hauser was not leaving until the last train. So I knew he must go down on the lift."

  "I see. Did he say anything to you?"

  "He said good evening, as he always did. He was a very polite gentleman." Mario gazed hopefully at Spezzi to see if this answer pleased him.

  "Nothing more?"

  "No, Capitano. I helped him on to the chair, and wished him a good journey."

  "Did he seem quite normal—in good spirits? n

  "He was just as usual, Capitano."

  "And that was the last you saw of him?"

  "Si, Capitano."

  Spezzi studied the notes he had made, frowningly. Then he said, 4i You can't be any more precise about the time Herr Hauser got on to the lift?"

  Mario's monkey-face broke up into crevasses of distress.

  "I am sorry, Capitano... forgive me ... I didn't know it would be important..."The old man seemed on the verge of tears.

  "Don't worry," said Henry. "I can tell you exactly. It takes just twenty-five minutes to come up or go down, as I know only too well. It was precisely seventeen minutes to seven when Hauser reached the bottom. So if you want stop-watch accuracy, he must have got on at exactly ... six-eighteen."

  "Thank you." Spezzi entered the figure on his neat chart with some satisfaction.

  "But Capitano..."Mario, desperately eager to help, was bursting with information. "That is not quite right, even so. It must have been sixteen minutes past."

  "Why?"

  Herr Hauser got on to it," said Mario, with the triumphant air of a conjurer producing a hard-boiled egg from behind a spectator's ear. "A fuse blew," he added.

  "At your end, or at Carlo's?"

  "At my end, Capitano. Poor Herr Hauser—he had just started his descent—I could see him in his chair. I fixed the fuse as quickly as I could, but it always takes two minutes. You can see it entered in the book I keep. And I know the time is right, for I noted it from the clock in my cabin. It is electric, and cannot go wrong," he added, with some pride.

  "Thank you," said Spezzi.

  "Of course," Mario went on, warming to his subject, "It might have taken me a little more than two minutes. Then Herr Hauser would have got on to the lift at ... at fifteen and a half minutes past six "

  "All right, all right, we have it near enough," said Spezzi testily, aware of Henry's amused scrutiny. He underlined a figure on his chart. Some people, his expression implied, might sneer at accuracy of detail—but they would learn.

  "Right," he said, at length. "What happened then?"

  "Nothing, Capitano ... nothing until the ladies and gentlemen from the Bella Vista came up."

  "And what time was that?"

  "I... I'm afraid I cannot be sure, Capitano..."

  Again, Henry came to the rescue. "I think I can pinpoint it for you," he said, "if you really want to know."

  "It is very necessary, please understand," said Spezzi acidly, in English.

  "Of course," said Henry. "Well, we were all in the Olympia when Gerda pointed out that it was five-past six. So we all paid our bills and left. We walked down the street—that doesn't take more than two minutes. Say ten minutes at the outside between leaving the Olympia and boarding the lift. That would mean that the first of the party got on to the lift at a quarter past six, and arrived at the top at twenty minutes to seven ... I'm sorry, eighteen minutes to seven, allowing for the breakdown."

  "I see," said Spezzi. He entered the figures on his chart.

  "In fact," Henry went on, "they must have reached the top just about as Hauser got to the bottom—and since it took us a little while to grasp the fact that he was"dead, and to stop the lift, I imagine that the last of the party had only just got off the lift when it stopped, on my instructions. Is that so?" he asked Mario.

  "Si, si, signor. The last was Fraulein Gerda, I remember. She was walking up the path when the lift stopped."

  "Can you remember the order in which the people came up?" asked Spezzi.

  Mario smiled miserably, ingratiatingly. "It* is very difficult, Capitano. So many people every day..."

  "Do your best."

  "Well... Signor Jimmy was the first, that I do remember. Then after him, all the English. I think Signor Roger was the last of them. Then Signor di Santi, then the Baroness, then the two children and Fraulein Gerda," he finished at a gallop, in evident relief.

  "Thank you, that is very helpful What happened then?"

  "Then the lift stopped."

  "And what did you do?"prompted Spezzi, seeing that the trickle of narrative was once more drying up.

  "I rang Carlo. It wasn't time for the lift to stop and I thought it must be another fuse. Signor Tibbett answered the telephone." He glanced at Henry for confirmation. "He told me there had been an accident, and I should wait in my cabin until the lift started again. He asked if all the skiers from the hotel had arrived, and I told him they had."

  "Now, Mario." Spezzi finished writing his notes and leant back in his chair. "I want you to try to remember some of the people who used the lift earlier in the day."

  Mario's face fell. "But Capitano ... they come up all day long ... hundreds of them..."

  "I am more interested in those who went down. For instance, did Herr Hauser use the lift earlier in the day?"

  "Yes, Capitano. He went down just before twelve o'clock."

  "Before or after his luggage?"

  "Before, Capitano. The luggage had been in my cabin since about half-past ten,"Mario explained, "but I was too busy with the lift to attend to it. Beppi had told me there was no hurry..."

  "All right, all right. Go on."

  "At twelve, the ski school finishes for lunch, and things are quiet. It was then that I sent the luggage down. Herr Hauser told me to tell Carlo to take it to the Olympia for him when the lift stopped for lunch."

  "Just a moment," said Spezzi. "I'd like to be clear about the times when the lift works. When does it start in the morning?"

  "At a quarter to nine, Capitano—that is when I come up. But no skiers are allowed on to it until nine, so that I shall be at the top when they arrive. Then it continues until half-past twelve, when it stops for lunch."

  "You go home for lunch?"

  "Si, Capitano:'

  "How do you get down to the village?"

  "On skis, Capitano,"Mario answered. "My leg is not so bad that I cannot do a simple run."

  "I see. And when does the lift start again?"

  "It is the same as in the morning, Capitano. I go up at a quarter to two, and at two o'clock the lift is open to the public. It continues until some time after seven."

  "What do you mean—some time after seven?"

  Mario looked nervous. "Nobody may board the lift at either end after seven o'clock, Capitano," he said. "Sometimes people get on just before seven, and then the lift must continue until they have all completed their journeys. But always Carlo and I speak on the telephone. If nobody has started the trip after half-past six—which is often the case—then we stop at seven. I ride down in the evening, as it is dark, and then when I arrive at the bottom, we stop the lift."

  "Right," said Spezzi, making a note. "Now, let's get back to Herr Hauser. At what time did he return to the Bella Vista?"

  "It was during the afternoon, Capitano. I can't say exactly when ... it was at the busiest time."Mario looked hopefully at Henry, but the latter shook his head.

  "Can't help you this time, I'm afraid," he said.

  "A pity. Perhaps Carlo will remember. Presumably," added Spezzi, "you noticed him coming up, because you said you were expecting him to go down again."

  "Yes, Capitano. But the time..."Mario shrugged hopelessly.
<
br />   "And Signor Rossati? Did he go down?"

  "Yes, Capitano. At about five, it must have been, for it was beginning to get dark."Mario ventured a smile, obviously proud of his irrefutable logic.

  "Can you remember if anyone else from the hotel went down?"

  "I don't think so, Capitano..."

  "All right, Mario, you can go now. And don't," added Spezzi, "go gossiping in the Bar Schmidt about the questions you've been asked."

  Mario looked shocked. "Of course not, Capitano."

  "By the way, is there anything you want to ask him?"As an afterthought, Spezzi turned to Henry.

  There was, in fact, a lot more that Henry wanted to know: but, having decided to keep his questions for a less formal interview, he merely shook his head. Mario limped hurriedly out of the room, and his place was taken by Beppi, the porter—a large and cheerful character with the physique of an ox.

  Beppi confirmed that Signor Rossati had told him in the morning to take Herr Hauser's luggage to the lift, and that he had done so at about half-past ten.

  "What did his luggage consist of?" Henry asked.

  "We have the luggage," Spezzi put in. "Two coach-hide cases, a small canvas overnight bag, and a briefcase. 11

  "That's right," said Beppi, beamingly. "Always the same luggage, Herr Hauser had. I knew it well."

  "Was he in his room when you collected the cases?"

  "Si! Capitano. He was standing by the window, looking out, with his hands in his pockets—so. He was very happy."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "He was whistling," said Beppi. "I wished him a good journey, and hoped he had had a pleasant stay, and he said to me, 'Not only pleasant, Beppi. Also beneficial.' I told him there is no place like the Bella Vista for a healthy climate, and he said, 'Yes, indeed It has done me a great deal of good.' "

  "Is that all he said?"

  "He told me he was catching the seven o'clock train to Montelunga, and that Carlo should take his baggage to the Olympia. Nothing else."

  "And then you took the cases to the lift?"

  "Yes. Poor old Mario was very busy—he wasn't pleased to see me, I can tell you. But I told him there was no hurry,"