“Oh, hello there,” Hawes said.
“Yes? What is it?” Kurtz asked.
“Mind if I come in?”
“I’m sorry, no one is allowed in the shop. The shop is closed.”
“Yes, but you’re in it, aren’t you?”
“I’m an instructor,” Kurtz said. “We are permitted ...”
“I just saw a light,” Hawes said, “and I felt like talking to someone.”
“Well ...”
“What are you doing, anyway?” Hawes asked casually, and casually he wedged one shoulder against the door and gently eased it open, casually pushing it into the room, casually squeezing his way into the opening, casually shouldering his way past Kurtz and then squinting past the naked hanging light bulb to the work bench at the far end of the room, trying to locate the source of the buzzing sound which filled the shop.
“You are really not allowed ...” Kurtz started, but Hawes was already halfway across the room, moving toward the other small area of light where a green-shaded bulb hung over the work bench. The buzzing sound was louder, the sound of an old machine, the sound of ...
He located it almost at once. A grinding wheel was set up on one end of the bench. The wheel was still spinning. He looked at it, nodded and then flicked the switch to turn it off. Turning to Kurtz, he smiled and said, “Were you sharpening something?”
“Yes, those skates,” Kurtz said. He pointed to a pair of white figure skates on the bench.
“Yours?” Hawes asked.
Kurtz smiled. “No. Those are women’s skates.”
“Whose?”
“Well, I don’t think that is any of your business, do you?” Kurtz asked politely.
“I suppose not,” Hawes answered gently, still smiling. “Were you in here sharpening something last night, too, Mr. Kurtz?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said, were you ...”
“No, I was not.” Kurtz walked up to the bench and studied Hawes slowly and deliberately. “Who are you?” he asked.
“My name’s Cotton Hawes.”
“How do you do? Mr. Hawes, I’m sorry to have to be so abrupt, but you are really not allowed ...”
“Yes, I know. Only instructors are allowed in here, isn’t that right, Mr. Kurtz?”
“After closing, yes. We sometimes come in to make minor repairs on our skis or ...”
“Or sharpen up some things, huh, Mr. Kurtz?”
“Yes. Like the skates.”
“Yes,” Hawes repeated. “Like the skates. But you weren’t in here last night were you, Mr. Kurtz?”
“No, I was not.”
“Because, you see, I heard what could have been the sound of a file or a rasp or something, and then the sound of this grinding wheel. So you’re sure you weren’t in here sharpening something? Like skates? Or ...” Hawes shrugged. “A ski pole?”
“A ski pole? Why would anyone ... ?” Kurtz fell suddenly silent. He studied Hawes again. “What are you?” he asked. “A policeman?”
“Why? Don’t you like policemen?”
“I had nothing to do with Helga’s death,” Kurtz said immediately.
“No one said you did.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied nothing, Mr. Kurtz.”
“You asked if I were sharpening a ski pole last night. The implication is…”
“But you weren’t.”
“No, I was not!” Kurtz said angrily.
“What were you sharpening last night?”
“Nothing. I was nowhere near this shop last night.”
“Ahh, but you were, Mr. Kurtz. I met you outside, remember? You were coming down the steps. Very fast. Don’t you remember?”
“That was earlier in the evening.”
“But I didn’t say anything about time, Mr. Kurtz. I didn’t ask you when you were in this shop.”
“I was not in this shop! Not at any time!”
“But you just said, ‘That was earlier in the evening.’ Earlier than what, Mr. Kurtz?
Kurtz was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Earlier than ... than whoever was here.”
“You saw someone here?”
“I ... I saw a light burning.”
“When? What time?”
“I don’t remember. I went to the bar after I met you ... and I had a few drinks, and then I went for a walk. That was when I saw the light.”
“Where do you room, Mr. Kurtz?”
“In the main building.”
“Did you see Helga at any time last night?”
“No.”
“Not at any time?”
“No.”
“Then what were you doing upstairs?”
“I came to get Maria’s skates. Those.” He pointed to the figure skates on the bench.
“Maria who?”
“Maria Fiers.”
“Is she a small girl with dark hair?”
“Yes. Do you know her?”
“I think I just saw her in the hallway,” Hawes said. “So you came to get her skates, and then you went for a drink, and then you went for a walk. What time was that?”
“It must have been after midnight.”
“And a light was burning in the ski shop?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t see who was in here?”
“No, I did not.”
“How well did you know Helga?”
“Very well. We taught together.”
“How well is very well?”
“We were good friends.”
“How good, Mr. Kurtz?”
“I told you!”
“Were you sleeping with her?”
“How dare you ...”
“Okay, okay.” Hawes pointed to the skates. “These are Maria’s, you said?”
“Yes. She’s an instructor here, too. But she skates well, almost as well as she skis.”
“Are you good friends with her, too, Mr. Kurtz?”
“I am good friends with everyone!” Kurtz said angrily. “I am normally a friendly person.” He paused. “Are you a policeman?”
“Yes. I am.”
“I don’t like policemen,” Kurtz said, his voice low. “I didn’t like them in Vienna, where they wore swastikas on their arms, and I don’t like them here, either. I had nothing to do with Helga’s death.”
“Do you have a key to this shop, Mr. Kurtz?”
“Yes. We all do. We make our own minor repairs. During the day, there are too many people here. At night, we can ...”
“What do you mean by all? The instructors?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Then any of the instructors could have ...”
The scream was a sentient thing which invaded the room suddenly and startlingly. It came from somewhere upstairs, ripping down through the ancient floor boards and the ancient ceiling timbers. It struck the room with its blunt force, and both men looked up toward the ceiling, speechless, waiting. The scream came again. Hawes got to his feet and ran for the door. “Blanche,” hewhispered, and slammed the door behind him.
She was standing in the corridor outside the hall bathroom, not really standing, but leaning limply against the wall, her supporting dancer’s legs robbed of stance, robbed of control. She wore the long flannel nightgown with a robe over it, and she leaned against the wall with her eyes shut tight, her blond hair disarrayed, the scream unvoiced now, but frozen in the set of her face and the trembling openness of her mouth. Hawes came stamping up the steps and turned abruptly right, and stopped stock still when he saw her, an interruption of movement for only a fraction of a second, the turn, the stop, and then a forward motion again which carried him to her in four headlong strides.