Free The Dead Mountaineer's Inn by Arkady Strugatsky Page A

victor.” She threw a lace handkerchief into the middle of the table. “But I have to go now. I’m afraid my Moses is already furious.” She blew us her kisses and walked out.
    â€œDevilishly attractive woman,” Simone said. “Capable of driving a man out of his mind.” He picked up the handkerchief with his cue, dipped his nose in its lace and rolled his eyes. “Charming!… I see you have also been unsuccessful in your attempts, Inspector?”
    â€œMaybe if I spent as much time around her as you do,” I said darkly, gathering the balls into the rack. “Who asked you to hang around here in the billiard room, anyway?”
    â€œYou didn’t have to bring her here, blockhead,” Simone rejoined reasonably.
    â€œWell, I couldn’t take her to my room,” I snapped.
    â€œYou shouldn’t start things you don’t know how to finish,”Simone advised. “And rack the balls more evenly, you’re playing with an expert here … There. What shall we play? London Bridge?”
    â€œNo. Something simpler.”
    â€œSomething simpler,” Simone agreed.
    He placed the handkerchief carefully on the windowsill, paused for a second, lowered his head and peered through the window at something. Then he returned to the table.
    â€œDo you remember what Hannibal did to the Romans near Cannes?”
    â€œAll right, all right,” I said. “Let’s get going.”
    â€œI’ll jog your memory,” Simone said. With a series of elegant movements he nudged the cueball out to where he wanted it with his cue, took aim, and sunk it. Then he sunk another ball, and split the pyramid. Then, without giving me time to take any of his victims out of their pockets, he sunk two balls in a row, before finally whiffing.
    â€œLucky for you,” he said, chalking his cue. “Now let’s see what you can do.”
    I walked around the table, picking off the easiest ball.
    â€œLook,” Simone said. He was again standing at the window and looking out at something off to one side. “Some fool is sitting on the roof … Excuse me
—two
fools! I mistook the standing one for a chimney. It appears that my triumphs have spawned imitators.”
    â€œThat’s Hinkus,” I muttered, trying to get in a better position for my shot.
    â€œHinkus—that’s the little one who’s always whining,” said Simone. “A scrap. Olaf on the other hand. The descendent of the ancient Scandinavian kings, believe me, Inspector Glebsky.”
    Finally, I took my shot. And missed. It was a simple shot, too. Too bad. I stared at the end of the cue, examining its pad.
    â€œThere’s nothing to see—nothing at all,” Simone said, approaching the table. “You’ve got no excuse.”
    â€œWhat’s your shot?” I asked, watching him in confusion.
    â€œTwo sides and then the middle,” he said with an innocent look.
    I groaned and went to stand by the window, in order not to see. Simone shot. Then he shot again. Snap, crack, pop. Then he shot again and said:
    â€œSorry, Inspector. Proceed.”
    The shadow of the seated man threw his head back and raised a hand with a bottle in it. I saw that it was Hinkus. He’ll swallow and then pass the bottle to the standing figure. But who was standing?
    â€œAre you going to shoot or not?” Simone asked. “What is it?”
    â€œHinkus is getting drunk,” I said. “Today’s the day he falls off the roof.”
    Hinkus took a deep swig and then took up his previous pose. He didn’t pass the bottle. Who was standing anyway? The kid, probably … Interesting, what could the kid have to talk to Hinkus about? I returned to the table, chose the easier ball and missed again.
    â€œHave you read Coriolis’s memoir on billiards?” Simone asked.
    â€œNo,” I said gloomily. “And I don’t plan