But the others — why were they so silent? Mayne had greeted me cheerfully enough when he came in to breakfast. He asked me how I felt with the quiet solicitude of a friend who was glad to see me none the worse for an unfortunate mishap. He was charming and natural, but quieter than usual. Anna's big eyes smiled at him unanswered as she laid the table. And when Joe came down and began to talk of Engles' arrival, he fell strangely silent.
And Valdini, who could have talked out any bill had he been an American senator, said hardly a word. Joe noticed it and said, 'What's on your mind, Valdini? In trouble with that contessa of yours?'
'Always you make the fun of me, Wesson, eh?' snarled the little Sicilian.
'Well, you looked damned worried when she phoned you last night,' Joe replied.
'When was that?' I asked.
'Oh, after you'd finally gone to bed,' Joe answered.
So she had phoned him after Engles had spoken to me. I would have given much to have known what she had said. That it concerned Engles I had no doubt.
And Keramikos. He was always quiet and reserved. But this morning he appeared not so much reserved as watchful. He regarded the breakfast-table with amused detachment. And yet there was a trace of nervousness in his manner. It seems quite natural for him to have been nervous now that I know the whole story. But at the time it was strange, because he always had such an air of confidence.
After breakfast everyone huddled round the stove. And that was strange, too, because normally they all drifted off to their rooms.
Joe talked to me for a time about the film. He wanted my support. He tried to get me to give him a synopsis of the script I was supposed to have planned. Was I using the hut and the slittovia? What snow scenes had I planned? And when he found me uncommunicative, he too fell silent. Finally he confirmed my feeling that the atmosphere was tense. 'Seems this snow has the same effect on people as the mistral or the sirocco. How long is it likely to last, Mayne?'