“What was I supposed to do, tell you not to worry, the gun wasn’t loaded? I thought Schmidt would try to steal it back, so I got some blanks from that magic shop in Garmisch and…I assumed you would assume…uh…”

John raised a tremulous hand to his brow. “My nerves will never be the same.”

“I don’t know what else I could have done,” I argued. “I hoped I could bluff him, but I sure as hell couldn’t shoot him, and he would have skewered you before I could get close enough to tackle him.”

“I think you prolonged it on purpose,” John said. His hand moved wincingly from his face to his chest. “Bloody hell. Once these down jackets are slashed, there’s no way of repairing them.”

I pushed his hand aside and began to unzip the jacket. “You did lie to me. You knew it was Dieter all along.”

“I did lie to you, but I did not know it was Dieter all along. Ow—take it easy—”

“Crybaby.” I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed the sodden cloth aside. “It’s only a little hole.”

“Another inch and it would have been a little hole in my lung. I don’t know why I associate with you. Do you realize that I never have work-associated accidents unless you’re around?”

“What, never?”

“Well…hardly ever. There is a nice clean white handkerchief in the inside pocket of my jacket.”

“I might have known. The instincts of a gentleman cannot wholly be suppressed. Even with a liar—”

“It was for your own good. I tried to talk you out of it.”

Without replying, I got up and went to the car for my first aid kit.

“What next?” John inquired, still prone, as I buttoned him back into his clothes.

“I am going to take determined steps to leave this place within the next ten minutes,” I said. “By one means or another. God knows what Dieter will try next. In case you wonder why I am not rushing hysterically for my skis, or making ineffectual efforts to dig my car out of that drift, it is because I am being very calm and weighing all possible alternatives before I fly into action in my inimitable way. And also because for once—just once—for the first time in our acquaintance—I want the simple, unvarnished truth. In this case, it is not merely curiosity that moves me to inquire. I have a distinct and genuine need to know all the facts.”

“A persuasive argument,” said John, nodding. His eyes rolled down toward the hand I had planted firmly on his chest. “That is also a persuasive argument. All right. The simple truth is that I heard rumors about the Trojan gold as long ago as August. In fact, I was approached by a former acquaintance, who claimed that he expected to gain possession of it shortly and asked if I would be willing to assist in—er—marketing it. I told him I had no time to waste on what-ifs, and to let me know when he actually had it in his hands.