Where Eagles Dare

'You don't break your neck on a rocky outcrop, then stand up and jump out into a snow-drift. Even had he rolled over into the drift, he could never have finished with his head seven feet out from the rock. He was struck by some hard metallic object, either the butt of a gun or the haft of a knife. The skin is broken but there is no bruising for the neck was broken immediately afterwards. When he was unconscious. To make us think it was an accident. It must have happened on the rock--there was no disturbance in the snow round Harrod--and it must have happened while he was upright. A tap on the neck, a quick neck-twist, then he fell or was pushed over the edge of the outcrop. Wonderful stuff, stone,' Smith finished bitterly. 'It leaves no footprints.'

'Do you realise what you're saying?' She caught his speculative and very old-fashioned look, took his arm and went on quickly: 'No, I mean the implications. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, of course you do. John, I--I'm scared. Even all those months with you inItaly --well, you know, nothing like this--' She broke off, then continued: 'Couldn't there --couldn't there be some other explanation?'

'Like he hit himself on the back of the head or the abominable snowman got him?'

She looked at him steadily, her dark eyes far too large in what could be seen of her hooded face. 'I don't deserve that, John. I am frightened.'

'Me, too.'

'I don't believe you.'

"Well, if I'm not, it's damn well time I started to be.'

Smith checked his descent when he estimated he was about forty feet from the base of the cliff. He took two turns of the nylon round his left leg, clamped it with his right, took a turn round his left arm, pulled off his right gauntlet with his teeth, stuffed it inside his tunic, eased out his Luger, slid the safety catch and went on his way again, checking his speed of descent with his gauntleted left hand. It was a reasonable enough expectation that whoever had tried to pull down the rope would be waiting there to finish off the job.

But there was no reception committee waiting, not, at least, at the spot where he touched down. He traversed a quick circle with his torch. There was nobody there and nothing there and the footprints that must have been there were long obscured by the drifting snow. Gun in one hand, torch in the other, he moved along the cliff face for thirty yards then moved out in a semi-circle until he arrived back at the cliff face. The rope-puller had evidently opted for discretion. Smith returned to the rope and jerked it. In two minutes he had Mary's kit-bag down and, a few minutes later, Mary herself. As soon as she had stepped out of the double bowline, Smith undid the knot, pulled the rope down from the top of the cliff and coiled it. So numbed and frozen were his hands by this time that the operation took him nearly fifteen minutes.

'Don't pitch the tent,' Smith said. Unroll it, put your.sleeping bag on one half, get into it and pull the other half of the tent over you. Half an hour and you'll be covered with drifting snow. The snow will not only keep you warm, it'll hide you from any somnambulists. I'll be along in the morning before we leave.'

He walked away, stopped, looked back. Mary was still standing where he had left her, looking after him. There was no sag to her shoulders, no particular expression to her face, but for all that she looked oddly defenceless, lonely and forlorn, a quality as indefinable as it was unmistakable. Smith hesitated, then went back to her, unrolled her tent and sleeping bag, waited till she had climbed in, zipped up the bag and pulled the other half of the, tent up to her chin. She smiled at him. He fixed the sleeping bag hood, pulled a corner of the tent over it and left, all without saying a word.

Locating his own tent was simple enough, a steady light burnt inside it. Smith beat the snow from his clothes, stooped and entered. Christiansen, Thomas and Carraciola were in their sleeping bags and were asleep or appeared to be. Torrance-Smythe was checking over their store of plastic explosives, fuses, detonators and grenades, while Schaffer was reading a paper-back--in German--smoking a cigarette-also German--and faithfully guarding the radio. He put down the book and looked at Smith.

'O.K.?'

'O.K.' Smith produced the code-book from his tunic. 'Sorry I was so long, but I thought I'd never find him. Drifting pretty badly up there.'

'We've arranged to take turns on watch,' Schaffer said. 'Half an hour each. It'll be dawn in three hours.'

Smith smiled. 'What are you guarding against in these.parts?'

"The abominable snowman.'

The smile left Smith's face as quickly as it had come. He turned his attention to Harrod's code-book and

'I'm going to move out a bit,' he said to Torrance-Smythe, 'Reception is lousy among trees. Besides, I don't want to wake everyone up. Won't be long.'