CHAPTER EIGHT
WE DIG OUR OWN GRAVE
It was a strange, tense lunch. Mayne sat apart from us at the opposite end of the table. He had searched our rooms, including Joe's. He knew none of us had a gun. But he took no chances. Hardly a word was spoken throughout the meal. Mayne was excited, though he tried not to show it. The rest of us were busy with our thoughts; all except Joe. He began to recall the few ski pictures that had been made. But he desisted when he found that Engles was not interested. 'What the hell's the matter with you all?' he demanded. 'And why's Mayne sitting up there as though he's suffering from a contagious disease?'
'Let it rest, Joe,' Engles said. 'We've had a row, that's all.'
'Oh. Valdini and the Contessa involved too?'
'Yes. They're feeding upstairs.'
He seemed satisfied with that and got on with his food in silence. It was difficult to believe that he did not even suspect that anything frightful had happened.
Mayne became increasingly restless. He watched us all the time he was eating. I think he was afraid of us, even though we were unarmed. He watched us with cold, unemotional eyes. I remembered how Stelben had shot those men down. Here was another killer. As soon as he had got the gold, he would not hesitate to kill us. Joe might be safe as long as we could keep him in ignorance of the situation. But Engles and myself — he would most certainly destroy us. And what chance had we? It was like having lunch with the hangman on the day of one's execution. I began to feel sick. The sweat broke out cold on my scalp, as though it were curry I was trying to eat. I pushed my plate away.
'Not feeling hungry, Blair?' Mayne asked.
'Would you, if you were me?' I replied sullenly.