Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 44, No. 7 & 8, July/August 1999

The night flight to Basel touched down at four A.M., and a chauffeur-driven BMW was waiting for them. Then they were off on the eighty mile drive to Grindelwald, most of it over snow-covered roads. Along the way Helen snatched some sleep, her head on Bannerman’s shoulder, and he looked down at his sister with the kind of smile he wouldn’t have let her see if she’d been awake. They were close, they always had been — they just didn’t like admitting it to anyone.

David Bannerman was exactly thirty years of age, Helen was two years younger, and an outsider wouldn’t have taken them for brother and sister. David was tall and whipcord thin with blue eyes, broad cheekbones, and fight brown hair. Helen was barely medium height with brown eyes and dark hair. Attractive lather than goodlooking, verging on plump, she often did the real thinking between them.

They’d inherited the Banner Agency from their father, a retired Edinburgh police inspector, who had signed it over to them when he and his wife retired to Florida. Bannerman Senior had built up a reputation for handling the odd and unusual, something that had continued.

This time? David shook his head. They’d find out soon enough.

They reached Grindelwald in the grey light of dawn, the last of the journey over a narrow, snow-covered mountain road where the tire chains bit with a soft, steady rattle. Their destination, a blend of old-style chalets and modem concrete hotels, was a village huddled spectacularly close under the famed north face of the Eiger, six thousand feet of nearly vertical Alpine rock climbed by the brave in midsummer but accepted as almost unapproachable during most of winter.

Susan Adams was waiting in her bridal suite — a two-room section of a quiet guesthouse. Her fair hair tied back with a thin leather thong, she wore tailored grey trousers and a loose blue sweater and was trying hard to keep control. She ordered breakfast for them and made them eat while she talked in a quick, tight, level voice.

“The police have searched almost nonstop. They brought in dogs, even a helicopter,” she told them. “They think Mark must have ignored the warnings about wandering off the regular paths. They keep talking about crevasses and rockfalls.” She shook her head. “We’d agreed to split up for the morning, and Mark planned to explore some of the trails outside the village. I had my hair done and did some souvenir shopping — then we’d arranged to meet for lunch. He... well, he didn’t show.”

There was a knock at the door, and Susan Adams went to open it. She returned with a round-faced man who wore a brown wool suit and had close-cropped grey hair.

“This is John Gelling,” she said. “He has helped me a lot.”

“There hasn’t been much anyone could do,” said Gelling gravely. His voice had a faint, hard-to-identify accent. “But I’m staying in the guesthouse, so I did what I could.”

“What do you think happened?” asked Helen bluntly.

“Much the same as everyone else does.” Gelling spread his hands sadly. “I’m sorry, but I think the best thing you can do is persuade Susan to go back to Britain. No one can do anything more here.”

“I can’t. I won’t.” Susan Adams gave a determined shake of her head.

Gelling sighed, made a slight grimace towards the Bannermans, then quietly left the room. Once he had gone, David Bannerman gave a small shrug.

“He could be right, Susan.”

“John Gelling means well, and he was out with the search parties.” Her voice was a whisper. “But I’m not leaving. I know Mark is alive — he must be. There’s—” she stopped short and moistened her lips.

“Go on, Susan. There’s what?” David looked at her for a moment, then his voice hardened. “You know why we’re here. You know how Mark’s father feels, what this has done to his mother, what it must be doing to your own family.” He ignored his sister’s gathering frown. “We were sent to help you. Our kind of help doesn’t mean holding your hand and making soothing noises.”

“I—” She swallowed.

“Be real” Bannerman saw her indecision and took a gamble. “What are you holding back? What is it the police don’t know?”

Susan gave a sob and buried her head in her hands.

“Ease back, Dave,” ordered Helen grimly. She laid a hand on the younger woman’s arm. “Susan, see sense. Use us.”

Reluctantly Susan raised her head. There were new tears in her eyes.

“I had a phone call,” she said slowly. “And I think Mark might still be alive.”

“You’d better tell us it all,” said David gently.

She was silent again, then nodded.

Everything had gone smoothly at first for the honeymoon couple. The journey to Switzerland had been without problems. Then, the third evening of their stay at Grindelwald, Mark Adams had left the guesthouse to explore for a couple of hours on his own while Susan wrote some postcards.

“When he came back, Mark did nothing hut talk about a man he’d met in a bar — a man who offered him a chance to clear all our honeymoon expenses.”

“How?” asked Helen.