up to the last few moments, when a crosswind grabbed the plane so that it approached the strip like a rag thrown by a tired charwoman. But it managed to straighten out at the final split second. The commissaris didn't know-he had closed his eyes. The plane would roll over and the cabin would crush. He was waiting. But there was only the roar of the engine and the sharp hiss of the skis. He opened bis eyes and tried to smile. So much for his death wish. He had so often told himself that he would like to die in an accident. He looked at his hands, clutching his knees, and ordered them to release the safety belt. They obeyed, but they took their time.
'Well done,' the commissaris said. 'Well done, Made-lin.'
The sergeant breathed out sharply. De Gier's eyes had been closed too, and he had remembered the skeleton riding its black steed in Madeira's dining room. A different scene but of the same quality.
'I'm sorry,' Madelin snouted over the engine's din. 'Did I give you a fright? That wind came so suddenly. I wasn't expecting it.'
'You did,' the sergeant said and put a hand under the commissaris' elbow. The commissaris was clambering out of the small door, looking down into the long snouts and cold eyes of Jeremy's Dobermans. The three dogs growled softly. The raven swooped from a pine behind the cabin and fluttered to the plane's wing.
Jeremy himself came striding up.
'Morning, Madelin. You're bringing unexpected visitors. Shame on you, you're breaking the code.' But he smiled as he helped the commissaris down and told the dogs to go away. 'Don't we have a lovely climate here? Snow all night while we're tucked away under our comforters and a bright sky awaiting in the morning. You've had breakfast? You can share mine if you don't mind celery soup, and I'm not quite out of coffee, I believe. Are you bringing me news from the mainland, or have you thought of more questions?'
The dogs were nuzzling his boots and he spoke to them sharply. They turned, one after another, and trotted away to the woods. 'That's right. Go back to your squirrel catching.' He pointed. 'That's what they do these days. A big squirrel out there keeps them amused. He'll come down and chatter from a stump and only jump for cover when they're just about on top of him. Once he's in die pines he's worth watching. A ten-foot leap from tree to tree is nothing to him. It's marvelous to see his silhouette against the rising sun. I'm sure he knows that he'll be nothing but a bit of bloody fur when those devils get hold of him. Would you follow me? The cabin is good and warm. Out here the wind will rip your noses off.'
'I am sorry to disturb you again, sir,' the commissaris said as he settled himself close to the cookstove and ate his celery soup. 'But we are coming to the end of our business here and are collecting some last answers to some last questions.'
Jeremy frowned. The commissaris smiled. He pointed at his bowl with his spoon. 'Excellent soup, sir. I must tell my wife. She makes it too, but she forgets to put in the fried bread.'
Jeremy smiled back. 'Looks like duckweed. But tastes better, I hope. You have questions? Ask away, but perhaps I won't answer. A bad answer spoils a good question. Some questions should be permitted to live on.'
The commissaris put his bowl down and glanced at Madelin. There was a vacant chair, so it wasn't necessary for the girl to sit with the sergeant on his small bench. Her thigh was pressed against his. The sergeant was smoking and staring at the floor. He didn't appear to be at ease.
'Some time ago,' the commissaris said, 'about a week ago I believe, Janet Wash rolled her station wagon off a Cape Orca road. The car nearly went over the cliff but was stopped and held by some alder trees. I was told you were there and helped the lady out of her car's wreck.'
'That's right. Very clumsy of Janet. She should know how to drive on an icy road by now, but down she went. She wasn't hurt, fortunately, and the car was insured. No harm done.'
'Some harm was done, sir. It seems to me the wagon killed your dog Osiris. You must have been upset since you love your animals. Osiris was your favorite, wasn't he? He was the dog who accompanied you to town, and you never allow the other dogs to leave the island. What did you do with his corpse?'
'Ah,' Jeremy said and fussed with his pipe. 'True. He was my favorite dog. But he died, by accident as it turned out. He just happened to get into the station wagon's way, and the car was out of control by then. The corpse, you say. I took him back to the island and burned him at the end of the airstrip. Couldn't bury him, the ground was frozen. But he had a proper farewell. I burned him at sunset and the other dogs attended. So did the raven. I had wanted the seals to come too, but they're frightened of the dogs. They did watch from afar, however.'
The commissaris' pale almost transparent eyes rested on Jeremy's face. The hermit was having some trouble with his pipe.
'Mrs. Wash must have been troubled about the accident, sir. You weren't hurt in any way? Were you standing next to Osiris when the wagon hit him?'
Jeremy got up and collected the empty bowls. He poured coffee and distributed the mugs. He sat down again. Madelin's thigh was no longer pressing against de Gier's. The sergeant was staring at the suspect. There was no expression in his eyes. Jeremy's silence became oppressive. Madelin crossed and recrossed her legs.
'Yes,' Jeremy said finally. 'I jumped out of the car's way. Any further questions?'
The commissaris smiled pleasantly. 'I said I was sorry to disturb you. But I am curious, and perhaps my curiosity can help to dispel the black cloud over Cape Orca. That expression isn't mine. Beth gave it to me last night when we were having dinner at her restaurant.'
'Beth!' Jeremy said gruffly. 'There's a meddling woman for you. She doesn't like the idea of me living here by myself and insists on giving me things for free. Ice cream and stuff. Excellent ice cream for sure, but I'm not asking for favors. I am always giving her things in return. Potatoes, vegetables when I have them. I don't like to feel grateful. It's like feeling guilty.' He suddenly blew into his pipe, and smoke and sparks filled his corner of the cabin. A spark smoldered on the rug, but Jeremy didn't move. The sergeant stretched a long leg and stamped it out. Jeremy turned to the commissaris. 'You know what I mean?'
There was too much intensity in the question to let it go. The commissaris bowed forward a little as if to acknowledge the seriousness of the moment. 'Yes.'
'Good.'
The commissaris sat back and puffed peacefully on his cigar. 'One last point, sir. You told me when we came here for the first time that you bought your island from an agency that has since left the town of Jameson. The owner, you said, was a gambler and in urgent need of money.'
Jeremy looked into his pipe. 'Yes, I said that. Would you want the name of that guy?'
'I would.'
The raven tapped on the window. Jeremy got up, opened the window, waited for the bird to hop onto his arm, and closed it again. He turned around. 'I don't recall the name now. Something with a v in it. I have it on the tip of my tongue. The island's deed has the name, but to find that bit of paper would be a major undertaking.' He waved at some cartons stacked in the back of the cabin. 'Might take all day. Ah, it has come back to me. Reynolds! Yes, sir. That's the fellow, or was. Probably's blown his brains out by now. Gamblers usually do.'
Jeremy walked them back to the plane, followed by his dogs at a respectable distance. When they passed the woods the squirrel made a brief appearance, balanced precariously on the tip of a branch and chattering furiously at the dogs. The Dobermans snarled and jumped. The squirrel honked, a long deep sound like a blast from a saxophone. Then its mood changed and it chirped, turned, and disappeared into the pine needles.
Madelin laughed. 'He's very much like you, Jeremy.'
'Not quite,' Jeremy said, 'but he's learning.'
He shook the commissaris' hand and nodded at de Gier. 'Thank you for coming, gentlemen. I hope I haven't disappointed you.'
18
The Opduks' station wagon ground slowly ahead, whining in first gear. The commissaris was driving. De Gier sat huddled in his fur-lined coat.
'You look like a polar traveler, sergeant, an unhappy polar traveler. Aren't the hounds pulling the sleigh fast enough? The sawmill should be at the end of this road. We'll arrive in a minute.'
The sergeant blew some thin smoke out of the collar of Opdijk's garment. '1 am not unhappy, sir, I am trying
