The Dead Mountaineer's Inn by Arkady Strugatsky Page B

zodiac. There was no doubt about it: it was Mr. Moses’s watch. I turned my attention to the pistol. A pretty little toy, pearl-handled and with a .25 caliber nickel-plated barrel: a weapon for close quarters, to be frank not much of a weapon at all … Nonsense: it was all nonsense. Gangsters don’t waste time on trinkets like these. For that matter, gangsters don’t steal watches, even ones as big and old as this—real gangsters, I mean, with names and reputations. Especially in an inn, on their first day there, where they could be caught red-handed.
    All right, then, let’s review the case. There was no evidence that Hinkus was a dangerous gangster, maniac and sadist, and plenty that someone wanted me to think of him that way. True, there was the false luggage … Okay, I’ll deal with that later.What about the pistol and watch? If I take them, and Hinkus really is the thief (though not a gangster), then he’ll get away with it … If they’ve been planted … Damn, I can’t figure it out … Not enough experience. I’m not Hercule Poirot … If I take them, then where am I supposed to put them? Carry them on me? I might be accused of stealing them … And I can’t hide them in my room …
    I listened, again. I could hear utensils clicking in the dining room—Kaisa was setting the tables. Someone stomped past the door. Simone’s voice asked loudly: “But where’s the inspector? Where’s our White Knight?” Kaisa screeched sharply, chilly laughter shook the floorboards. It was time to make my getaway.
    I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I hurriedly emptied the clip, put the cartridges in my pocket, and returned the pistol and the watch to the bottom of the trunk. I had barely managed to sneak out and turn the key behind me when Du Barnstoker appeared at the other end of the hall. Turning his aristocratic profile towards me, he spoke to someone—Olaf, it looked like.
    â€œMy dear fellow, what’s there to talk about? When has a Du Barnstoker ever refused a rematch? Let it be tonight, if you wish! Ten o’clock, say, in your room …”
    I tried to look casual (in other words, I took out a toothpick and began using it). Catching sight of me, Du Barnstoker gave a friendly wave.
    â€œMy dear inspector!” he shouted. “Victory, glory, riches! These are the Du Barnstokers’ dues!”
    I walked towards him, and we met outside the door to his room.
    â€œYou cleaned out Olaf?”
    â€œImagine that!” he said, smiling happily. “Our dear Olaf is too methodical, he plays like a machine, no imagination.Boring, even … Hold on a second—what do we have here?” He reached deftly into my breast pocket and removed a playing card. “The same ace that I used to finish off poor Olaf …”
    Poor Olaf came out of his room looking huge, rosy, light on his feet; he smiled good-naturedly as he passed us, and muttered, “A drink before dinner …” Du Barnstoker, smiling, followed him with his eyes and then grabbed me by the sleeve suddenly, as if he’d just remembered something.
    â€œBy the way, my dear inspector, do you know what new joke our dear departed friend has pulled on us? Come to my room for just a second …”
    He pulled me into his room, shoved me into a chair and offered me a cigar.
    â€œWhere has it gone?” he muttered, patting his pockets. “Aha! Here, have a look at what I received today.” He handed me a crumpled piece of paper.
    Another note. Written in clumsy block letters, with grammatical mistakes: “WE FOUND YOU. I GOTS YOU AT GUNPOINT. DONT TRY TO ESCAPE OR DO ANYTHING STUPID. I WILL SHOOT WITHOUT WARNINGS. F.”
    Gritting my cigar between my teeth, I read through the message twice and then once more.
    â€œCharming, no?” Du Barnstoker