The Whaling Station
That night I hardly slept at all. The voice of Captain Lovaas and the information he had broadcast dominated my mind. Why had he wanted a description of Farnell? Why had he spoken in English and not Norwegian? Above all who was Hans Schreuder? These questions kept hammering at my tired brain. Jorgensen had recognised the name Hans Schreuder. I was certain of it. And if he recognised the name — recognised the significance of it in the mystery of Farnell's death — then he had shown that Farnell was not alone on the Jostedal. Had Farnell been murdered? Had this man Schreuder killed Farnell for the information he had? How else explain those, 'little pieces of rock' Lovaas had discovered among the man's things. I had no doubts about what those little pieces of rock would prove to be. They would be samples of thorite. As soon as Jorgensen obtained those from his whaling captain, then he would know as much as I knew.
My watch took over at four in the morning. The ship was heeling to a warm sou'-westerly breeze. The moonlight showed a long, flat swell marching northwards and the surface of the sea ruffled and corrugated by the new direction of the wind. Dahler came up with us. He sat on the chartroom roof gazing out towards Norway. He sat there without moving, a little, hunched-up figure, watching the moonlight fade and the dawn come up out of the east, waiting for the first sight of his homeland. Jill was silent. She, too, had her face turned to the east and I wondered again what Farnell had meant to her.
I began to feel a sense of excitement. It was a mood that increased as the pale, cold light strengthened. Jill put her hand on my sleeve. 'There,' she said. 'Do you see it, Bill? It's nearer than I expected.'
A low, dark line emerged on the edge of visibility. It grew rapidly sharper and blacker. From a vague blur it took shape and became small hills and rock-bound inlets. It was the islands of Norway about five miles away on our starboard beam. And then behind, in great serried lines emerged the shape of Norway's mountains. The light strengthened and then we saw that the huddled masses of the mountains were topped with snow.
The light grew from ghostly grey to cold blue and then changed to an orange glow. The hot rim of the sun rose and for a moment the mountains were a sharp black line like a cross-section marked on a map. Then the sun was up, the snow was pink, rimmed with crimson, and I could see the white-painted, wooden houses on the islands.
I glanced at Dahler. He hadn't moved. He sat perched there like a little troll, his gaze fixed on the coastline. In the early sunlight it seemed to me his face had softened. The lines were not so deep and the set of his mouth was kinder.
Curtis came on deck and stood for a while by the rail, gazing out towards the land. A ship was steaming along the coast — a little, painted thing, trailing a wisp of smoke. A fjord had opened up — a long rift between the islands. A small town gleamed fresh and clean on a headland. It was Solsvik. Beyond lay the Hjeltefjord and the way to Bergen. Curtis came aft. 'First time I saw Norway,' he said, 'was from the deck of a destroyer.'
'Where was that?' I asked.
'Farther north,' he answered. 'Andalsnes.' He was gazing out again to the islands. He sighed and shook his head. 'It was a bad business. The Norwegians had nothing. We weren't properly equipped. Jerry had it all his own way in the air. They hadn't a hope. But they kept on fighting. We were driven out. But they wouldn't give up. We gave 'em help up in the north, in Finnmark, and they started to fight back. We got as far as Tromso, pushing Jerry back all the way, then the break-through in France came and we had to go. All that effort wasted.' He was still staring out towards Norway. 'Still,' he said, 'there were sixty thousand less Germans.'
'You came back later — after the war, I mean — didn't you0' Jill asked.
He turned and looked at her steadily for a second. 'Yes,' he said. 'I was in Norway from the beginning of 1945 until the middle of the following year. In Bergen,' he added.
They stared at one another for a moment. And then Jill looked away. She picked up the glasses and began sweeping the coast. Curtis turned to me. 'When will this Captain Lovaas get in?'
'I don't know,' I answered. 'Jorgensen said last night that he'd be able to get in touch again by radio at nine this morning.'
'We'll be at the whaling station by then, won't we?' Curtis said.
'Just about,' I replied.
'What is this about Kaptein Lovaas?' I turned. It was Dahler. He had got down from his perch on the chartroom roof and was standing over me where I sat in the cockpit. His hand was plucking agitatedly at the cloth of his jacket.
'He's the captain of one of the Bovaagen catchers,' I said. 'He has information for us that may have a bearing on Farnell's death. Why — do you know him?' I asked.
'Yes, I know him.' I watched his hand slowly clench into a fist. 'Kaptein Lovaas!' He hissed the name out between clenched teeth. Then suddenly he caught at my shoulder. 'Be careful of him, Mr Gansert — he is dangerous, you know. He is a violent man, and he is not straight.' He turned to Jill. 'He worked for your father once, Miss Somers. But not for long. I remember your father saying at the time "If there was not a skytter in all Norway, I would not employ Paal Lovaas".'
'Why?' Jill asked.
.'For many reasons. But chiefly because he killed a man. Nothing was proved. His crew were all so frightened of him, they said the fellow was washed overboard. But your father was certain Lovaas had killed him. He had his sources of information. Lovaas had violent rages. Once, on a factory ship in the Antarctic, he was said to have chased a man with a.flensing knife for bungling the winching up of one of his whales.' He gripped my shoulder. 'What does Lovaas know about Farnell's death?'
There was no point in not telling him. 'He says he's got a man on board who was with Farnell at the time of his death. This fellow, Hans Schreuder, was trying to get to-'
'Hans Schreuder?'
I looked up in surprise. 'Yes,' I said. 'Does that name mean anything to you?'
'Was he a metallurgist?' he asked.
'Quite possibly,' I replied, 'if he was with Farnell.' Actually I was thinking of the samples of ore Lovaas said he had found among the man's possessions. 'Why?' I asked. 'Who was he?'
I felt him stiffen. His hand relaxed on my shoulder. I looked up. Jorgensen was emerging from the main hatch. His face was tired and grey in the early sunlight and little pouches showed under his eyes. I wondered how long he'd lain awake during die night. 'Well?' I inquired, looking up at Dahler.
'Ask Jorgensen,' he replied with a violence that I did not understand. 'Ask him who Hans Schreuder is.'
Jorgensen stopped at the name. Then he came slowly aft. His I eyes were watching Dahler. With a sudden assumption of carelessness, he said, 'Good-morning, gentlemen. Good-morning, Miss Somers. I see we're off Solsvik. We'll be at Bovaagen in time for breakfast.' His eyes swept over our watchful faces and then gazed out towards the islands.
'Who is this Hans Schreuder, Mr Jorgensen?' I asked.
He swung round on me. 'How should I know?' His voice was angry. Then he turned to Dahler. 'What do you know I about Schreuder?'
The cripple smiled. 'I would prefer you to tell them about | him,' he said. 'He was your man.'
'I have never heard of him. What are you talking about?' Jorgensen's voice had risen. It was trembling with anger.
'I think you have heard of him, Knut.'
Jorgensen took a cigarette out of his case and lit it. 'Knocking | you out yesterday seems to have upset your mind. The name Hans Schreuder means nothing to me.' He flicked the match overboard. The flame made a little hiss as it hit the water. 'What speed are we making?' he asked me.
'About five knots,' I answered. I was watching his face. 'Jorgensen,' I said, 'I'd still like to know who Hans Schreuder is?'
'I tell you I don't know.' He emphasised the point by striking the roof of the chartroom with his clenched fist, I waited and in the silence he said, 'Don't you believe me?'
'N6,' I said quietly. I turned to Dahler. 'Who is Hans Schreuder?' I asked.
'A metallurgist employed by Del Norske Staalseskab,' Dahler replied.
I looked at Jorgensen. He was watching Dahler, his body taut and his right hand clenched. Dahler stepped down into the cockpit and seated himself on the farther side. He was smiling quietly. 'Know anything about him?' I asked.
'Yes,' Dahler said. 'He was a German Jew. He left Germany in 1936 and settled in Norway. He became naturalised. When war broke out he was in the research department of D.N.S. After the invasion of Norway he worked for the Germans.'
'Where did you meet him?'
'At Finse.'
'What was he doing there?'
'He was an expert on metal alloys. He was engaged on certain low temperature tests in the German test sheds by Finsevatn.'
'Did Farnell meet him up at Finse?'
Dahler shrugged his shoulders. 'I do not know,' he said. He looked up at Jorgensen. 'What was Schreuder doing up on the Jostedal with Farnell?' he asked.
But Jorgensen had recovered his ease of manner. 'I don't know,' he said. 'And I must say, Mr Gansert, that I am surprised that you took the attitude you did just now. I have never heard of this man Schreuder until last night. He may have been a collaborator, as Dahler says. He may work for D.N.S. But you must remember that because I manage the affairs of the company, it does not mean that I know everyone who works in the laboratories, workshops and foundries.' He turned towards the companionway. 'Let me know when we are nearing Bovaagen Hval, please.'
I watched him go below with a feeling that I hadn't handled him very well. It was quite possible for Schreuder to have worked for D.N.S. without Jorgensen knowing. And what reason had I to believe Dahler, a man branded as a traitor, in preference to one of the country's industrial leaders? And then I began to wonder again why Schreuder should have been on the Jostedal when Farnell met his death.
One thing I was now determined to do — I must have a postmortem carried out on Farnell's body. I must know whether there was any evidence of a struggle. If Schreuder had killed Farnell… But why the message in that consignment of whale meat if he worked for D.N.S. - why the desire to get to England? It didn't make sense.
I must have sat there lost in thought for a long time, for Curtis suddenly emerged from the chartroom and said, 'Skipper — this looks like the gap we take for Bovaagen.'
I noticed then that we were close in to the islands. They were bare, salt-scored rock without sign of habitation. A narrow gap with sheer cliffs like the Corinth canal cut through to Hjeltefjord. I checked with the chart and then ordered Carter, who was at the wheel, to alter course. As we glided into the gap the wind died away. I took the wheel and sent Carter below to start the engine.
The sea was smooth as glass. The gap was like a street paved with water. The rock cliffs on either side threw back the sound of our engine. We passed a brief inlet with a little wag or wharf. Beside it lay the bones of a barge, weed-grown and slimy. Above, a white wooden cottage, perched precariously under the cliffs. The flag of Norway flew lazily from a flag-pole. Children waved to us, their shrill voices mingling with the sound of the engine. We glided out into the wide thoroughfare of Hjeltefjord. Here, too, the sea was a mirror, broken only by the long ripples of our wash trailing out on either side from the bows. And in the continued absence of any wind we lowered the sails. We turned north then, following the distant wake of a coastal steamer. Dahler touched my arm and pointed to the land over the stern. 'That is Herdla,' he said. 'The Germans built nearly five hundred gun positions round the coast of Norway. The island of Herdla was one of the strongest — sunken batteries, torpedo positions, even an airfield.'
'How do you know about Herdla?' I asked him.
'I worked there,' he answered. 'For three months I helped to dig one of the gun positions. Then we were moved to Finse.' He nodded in the direction in which our bows were pointed. 'Straight ahead of us is Fedje. That's the island we were taken to after our escape from Finse. We waited there two weeks for the arrival of a British M.T.B.'
He fell silent again. Nobody spoke. The only sound was the throb of the engine and the swish of the water slipping past. The sun was warm in a clear blue sky and beyond the low, rocky islands the mountains stood cool and white in their cloak of snow. We slid diagonally across Hjeltefjord and ran up the coast of Nordhordland. Little landing stages showed here and there among the rock, and above them always a huddle of wooden houses, each with its inevitable flag staff flying the red and blue of Norway. White-painted churches with tall, wooden steeples were visible for miles on the high ground on which they had been built. The tall chimneys of the fish canneries showed here and there in the narrow fjords. Up and down the coast motor fishing boats moved lazily, their hulls white and black and an ugly little wheelhouse aft. 'Tock-a-tocks,' Dahler said. 'That's what your Shetlanders called them.' And tock-a-tocks exactly described the sound made by their little two-stroke engines.
We cleared the first northward pointing finger of Nordhordland and under Dahler's direction I turned a point to starboard. We ran past tiny islets white with the droppings of the seabirds that wheeled constantly about us. A fjord opened up, leading, he,said, to Bovaagan itself where there was a fish factory. Cairns, chequered black and white, indicated that it was a shipping route.
And then suddenly we saw the whaling station. It was half hidden in a fold of rock and protected from the north by low islands. The corrugated tin of its ugly factory buildings and the tall iron chimneys belching smoke were a black scar in the wild beauty of the islands, as ugly as a coal pit in a Welsh valley. Not another building was to be seen. The fjord leading to Bovaagen was astern of us now, the friendly black and white shipping guides lost behind a jutting headland. We were in a world of rock and sea — not dark granite cliffs topped with grass as in the west of England, but a pale, golden rock worn smooth and sloping in rounded hillocks to the water. It reminded me of Sicily. These rocks had the same volcanic, sunbaked look. And they were bald — bald to the top of the highest headland — save for wisps of thin grass and big rock plants. And the sea-birds wheeled incessantly.
A minute later and we had opened up the channel leading into Bovaagen Hval. I ordered half speed and we drifted quietly into the quay. The water became oily and streaked with a black, viscous excretion. Pieces of grey, half-decayed flesh slid by. The smell of the place closed in on us like a blanket. A Norwegian tock-a-tock moored to the quay was loading cases of whale meat. Beyond was the slipway leading to the flensing deck. The place was littered with the remains of the last whale. Long, straight-bladed steam saws were tearing through the gigantic backbone, slicing it into convenient sections. A little group of men stood at the end of the quay, watching us.
Jorgensen came on deck and stood by the starboard rail, gazing out towards the factory. I ran alongside the quay just beyond the meat boat and we tied up. An elderly man detached himself from the group of watchers and came towards us. He was tall and lean with a face that was the colour of mahogany below thick, white hair. 'God dag, herr direktor,' he called to Jorgensen. He had small, impish features that puckered into a smile and the corners of his eyes were lined with a thousand little crinkles.
I climbed over the rail and jumped on to the quay. 'This is Mr Keilland, the station manager,' Jorgensen said curtly by way of introduction. And then still speaking English, he said, 'Well, Kielland, what have you found out about that consignment of whale meat for England. How did the message get into it?'
Kielland spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'I have found out nothing. I cannot explain it at all.'
'You've questioned all the men?'
'Yes, herr direktor. They know nothing. It is a complete mystery.'
'What catchers were in at the time?' I asked.
'Was it Hval Ti?' Jorgensen's voice was sharp, precise. He was dealing with a subordinate now and I suddenly knew I wouldn't like to work for the man.
But Keilland was unperturbed by his director's tone. 'Yes, he answered, a shade surprised. 'Yes, it was Hval Ti. Lovaas brought that whale in. It was the first of the season. How did you know?'
'Never mind how I knew,' Jorgensen answered. 'Come up to the office and we will talk.' And he went off through the packing sheds.
Kielland turned to me and smiled. 'We had better follow,' he said.
Jill and Curtis had both come ashore. They joined me as I moved off after Jorgensen. 'What a horrible smell,' Jill said. She had a handkerchief held to her nose. The delicate scent of it was obliterated by the overpowering stench.
'That is money,' Keilland chuckled. 'Money always smells on a whaling station.'
'Thank God I don't possess much of it then,' Curtis said with a laugh. 'I've never smelt anything as bad as this — not even in the desert, and the smell was pretty bad there sometimes.'
We went through the packing sheds where whale meat was stacked on deep shelves, tier on tier, from floor to ceiling. Then we emerged into the charnel house of the flensing deck. This was a wood-floored yard surrounded by the factory buildings. To our left the slipway dropped into the sea. To our right were the winches, their greasy hawsers littering the deck. And opposite us was the main part of the factory with the hoists for raising the blubber to the vats for boiling. Great hunks of backbone, the meat hanging in red festoons from the enormous bones, were strewn all over the deck. Men in heavy boots slithered on the blood-soaked planking as they dragged the sections of bone on long steel hooks to the hoist. The wooden boards were covered in a thick film of oily grease. Jill caught my arm. It was very slippery. We went past the winches and up a cindered slope by the boiler house and the oil storage tanks to a huddle of wooden buildings perched on a flat rock.
In the office the smell was less penetrating. The windows looked out to the smoking chimneys and over the corrugated iron roof of the factory to the sea. 'So it was Lovaas who brought that whale in.' Jorgensen seated himself at the desk by the radio equipment. 'Was that on the 8th or 9th?'
'The 9th,' Kielland answered. He had pulled forward a chair for Jill. Curtis and I seated ourselves on the edge of a desk. 'He came in at dawn. The meat was cut out, packed and away on the meat boat by the evening.'
'When did Lovaas leave?' Jorgensen asked.
'Not till the evening. He required water and fuel.'
'So the message could have been placed in the meat by any one on the station or any of the crew of Hval Ti?'
'Yes.'
'What about your head packer? Why doesn't he keep an eye on things?'
'He does. But the packing sheds are too big to watch everyone who comes and goes. Besides, there is no reason for him to watch the men coming through from the deck to the quay.'
'They might steal meat.'
'They have no need. I allow them to take as much as they wish back to their homes.'
'I see.' Jorgensen stroked his chin, massaging the blue stubble with his fingertips. A gold signet ring glittered as it caught the light. 'It could be almost any one on the station then?'
That is so.'
Kielland, I felt, was not being helpful. It was clear he resented this cross-examination. Jorgensen looked at his watch. 'Just on nine,' he murmured and turned to the radio. A moment later the familiar' Ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo Bovaagen Hval' of the catchers reporting filled the office, Whale Two reported his position and then Whale Five reported whale. Jorgensen lifted the microphone and requested Whale Ten for his position. The voice of Captain Lovaas answered: 'Vi passerer Utvaer Fyr, herr Jorgensen. Vi er fremme klokken ti.'
'What's Lovaas say?' I whispered to Jill.
'He say he's just passing Utvaer lighthouse,' she answered. 'He will be in at ten o'clock this morning.'
An hour to go. Just one hour and he would be here in this office. He might tell his story to Jorgensen and myself together. On the other hand, Jorgensen might get him alone and persuade him to keep his mouth shut. 'Where's Utvaer Light?' I asked Jill. 'North of Bovaagen?'
'Yes,' she answered. 'About twenty miles north.'
Jorgensen had switched off. He was sitting, staring out of the window, still rubbing his hand across his unshaven chin. I got to my feet. 'Nothing we can do till Lovaas gets in,' I said. 'We'll go and have breakfast.' I gave Curtis a nod to get him moving. Jorgensen glanced up at me. 'Will you have yours on board?' I asked. 'Or on the station?'
'Thank you, I will have it here,' he replied.
I turned to Kielland. 'By the way, what's this Captain Lovaas like? Is he a good skipper?'
'He's a good skytter, if that's what you mean,' Kielland answered. And then as I looked puzzled he said, 'Skytter is the same as your word shooter. We call our captains that because they always operate the harpoon gun. I am not interested in anything else. With Hval To and Hval Fern it is different. They are factory boats and I choose my captains. But Hval Ti belongs to Lovaas. He is his own master and sells his catches to us on a royalty basis.'
'So he does what he likes?' I said.
'On board his own ship — yes.'
'That explains it,' I murmured.
'Explains what, please?' Kielland was watching me with a puzzled expression.
'Some years ago I gather he was in trouble for killing a man.'
He nodded. 'I have heard something about it.'
'This lady is the daughter of Walter Somers — Petersen and Somers, one of the Sandefjord companies,' Jorgensen explained, nodding towards Jill.
'So!' Kielland's glance moved from Jorgensen to Jill.
'Mind if I use your telephone?' I asked.
'No — please.' Kielland pushed the instrument across to me.
'Jill,' I said. 'Will you get me Fjaerland. I want to speak to a man called Ulvik — Johan Ulvik. He'll probably be staying at the hotel there.' I was watching Jorgensen's face and saw the sudden interest that leapt into his eyes at the mention of our representative's name.
She picked up the receiver and asked for Fjaerland. There was a short silence. Jorgensen began to tap with his fingers on the blotting paper that covered the desk. 'Er det Boya Hotel!' Jill asked. 'Kunne de si meg om der bar en herr Johan Ulvik der? Utmerket. Jeg vil gjeme snakke med ham. Takk.' As she waited she straightened up and gazed out of the window. Her face was set and firm. This was a different Jill. This was the girl who had worked for the Linge Company during the war. And I realised suddenly that besides being attractive, she was also very efficient. She bent down quickly as a voice crackled in the receiver. 'Er det herr Ulvik?' And then in English. 'Hold the line, please. Mr Gansert wishes to speak to you.'
As I took the receiver from her, I said, 'You and Curtis go down and stir up breakfast. I'll be along in a minute.' I glanced at Curtis to make sure he'd got the point. Then I went to the telephone. 'That you, Mr Ulvik?' I asked.
'Ulvik speaking.' The voice was thick and faint over the telephone.
'This is Gansert,' I said. 'Sir Clinton Mann has been in touch with you?'
'Yes. That is why I am at Fjaerland.'
'Good. Now listen,' I went on. 'I want the body of George Farnell, which is buried at Fjaerland, to be exhumed. I want a post-mortem. Is there any difficulty about that?'
'The police will have to be informed of a reason.'
'Tell' them we have reason to believe that his death was not an accident.' I glanced across at Jorgensen. He was gazing out of the window. But he had stopped drumming with his fingers. He was tense and listening to every word. 'Arrange for the exhumation to be carried out as soon as possible. Can you manage that?'
'It will be difficult,' was the answer. 'Have you any proof to support the view that it was not an accident?'
'No,' I said. 'I am hoping that we shall find the proof on the body — signs of a struggle or something.'
'From what I have gathered the body was a little damaged when they brought it down.'
'Who signed the death certificate?' I asked then. 'A local doctor?'
'Yes. From Leikanger.'
'Then get hold of him. Put the fear of God into him. Get him to support your application for post-mortem. Tell the police that there was another man with Farnell when he fell.'
'Have you spoken to this other man?' Ulvik asked. The police would be much more likely to view with sympathy our application if they-'
The name of the man who was with Farnell was Hans Schreuder, a metallurgist at one time employed by D.N.S.,' I said. 'I haven't seen him yet. But he's alive and he's been trying to get out of the country. Now get hold of that doctor and go to work on the police. I want an exhumation order signed by the time I reach Fjaerland tomorrow evening.'
'But Mr Gansert — such a short time — things do not move so fast.'
'I'm relying on you, Mr Ulvik,' I snapped. 'I don't care how you get the exhumation order or what it costs — but get it. Do you understand?' I put down the receiver.
'So you are going to have a look at your precious Farnell, eh?' Jorgensen said, smiling.
'Yes,' I said. 'If it's murder, God help those who were behind it.' He was still smiling. 'Maybe we'll know more about it when Lovaas gets in.' I turned towards the door. 'I'm going to get some breakfast now. I'm damned hungry.'
I went out into the sunlight and turned down the cinder track to the factory. I wanted to hurry. But I knew they would be watching me from the office window and I forced myself to walk slowly. Not until I was across the flensing deck and in the shadow of the packing sheds did I look behind me. Nobody was following me. Apparently they didn't suspect anything.
Curtis emerged from the companionway as I vaulted over the rail.'Breakfast is ready,' he said.
To hell with breakfast,' I answered. 'Let go the fore and aft warps.' I pushed past him to the hatch. 'Carter!' I called down.
'Yes sir?'
'Get the engine started — and quick.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
Curtis, without waiting to think out the reason for my order, had jumped on to the quay and tossed the for'ard warp on to the deck. The after warp followed. 'What's the idea?' he asked as he clambered on board again.
'Lovaas,' I said. 'I want to see him before Jorgensen has a chance to get to work on him.'
The engine roared into life. 'Half ahead,' I ordered into the speaking tube. The propellers threshed the filthy water under our stern. The quays began to glide by. I put the wheel over. The bowsprit swung out towards the sheltering islands. And then Jorgensen emerged from the packing sheds. He'd tumbled to my plan. But too late. Already there was a gap between us and the quay and as he ran forward, it widened. 'I'm going to have a word with Lovaas,' I called to him. 'On my own.'
He stopped. His face was dark with anger. He said nothing, but turned on his heel and walked back through the packing sheds. At full ahead we glided out between the islands into the milky haze of the North Ocean and headed for Utvaer Fyr. Right ahead of us two small boats were moored. One was an ordinary Norwegian fishing boat. The other attracted my attention because of its strange appearance. It looked as though it had been clumsily converted into a house boat. Two men were standing for'ard of the square deck house and steps led down into the water. As we passed bubbles broke the surface and the round helmet of a diver emerged. 'What's down below?' hailed Dick, who was leaning against the starboard rail.
Back came the reply in English, 'An aircraft engine.'
'Does everybody speak English here?' I asked Dahler, who was in the chartroom where he had remained all the time we had been at Bovaagen Hval.
'Most of them,' he replied. 'Any man who had a boat, you know, got across to England during the war. They even attempted to cross in towing boats.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Some of them reached the Shetlands. Others were less fortunate. And then, of course, so many have served on English or American merchant ships, you know. Only the old men and the farmers speak no English.' He pulled himself up into the cockpit. 'So you go to see Lovaas?' He leaned back and gazed out ahead. 'I have met him once. He wished to captain one of my coastal boats. I will stay below,' he added. 'I do not wish to meet the man.'
'What's he like?' I asked.
'Lovaas?' He turned his head and stared at me for a moment. 'He is an eel.' His lips spread into a tight, crooked smile. 'But he does not look like one. Oh, dear me, no. He is a short man with a big stomach. He laughs a lot, but his eyes do not laugh an4 men are afraid of him. He has no wife or family. He lives for himself alone, you know. How much money are you prepared to offer for what Schreuder can tell you?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'I hadn't thought about it.'
'If Lovaas has the information you and Jorgensen want — then he will ask a great deal.'
'Perhaps he won't know the value of the information?' I suggested.
Dahler laughed. 'Lovaas always knows the value of things.'
I sat silent after that, wondering how I was going to handle this whaling skipper. And as we glided northward over the flat calm of the sea, the haze gradually increased, until the sun was no more than an iridescent light and it began to grow cold. Visibility was being gradually reduced as the mist formed and I began to fear we might miss Lovaas.
But ten minutes later Curtis hailed me from the bows. 'Ship on the port quarter, skipper.'
I peered into the opaque void that made sea and sky appear one and saw a vague shape catching the light about a point to port. I put the wheel over and as our bows swung towards it, the shape became a ship. It was not unlike a small Fleet sweeper — high bows dropping to a low deck that ran level with the water to the stern, and a single raked-back funnel. She was cutting through the water at considerable speed, throwing up a high bow wave and trailing a black line of smoke from her funnel. A catwalk ran from the bridge to a level platform set right in the bows. On that platform was a gun — a harpoon gun. I swung Diviner farther to port and ran to intercept. When I was almost across her bows, I turned in to a parallel course and hailed her as she came surging past. 'Captain Lovaas!' I called. 'Can I come aboard?'
I heard the engine-room telegraph bell ring and then a man emerged on the catwalk. He was short and fat with a peaked cap set at an angle and a green jacket whose silver buttons twinkled in the strong light. 'Who are you, please?' he roared.
'The man who described George Farnell to you,' I answered.
He turned and gave an order. The engine-room telegraph sounded again and the engines of the catcher died.away. 'Please come alongside,' he called across. 'Alongside here.' And he pointed to the side of his ship.
I'll handle this alone,' I told Curtis as I closed with the other ship. 'Keep the others on board.' The catcher was so low built, presumably for speed, that when our fenders bumped against her iron sides I could climb on to her deck with ease. Lovaas came down on to the deck to greet me. He was, as Dahler had said, a short man with a big stomach. His bottle green jacket flapped open as he walked and the serge trousers of the same colour were stretched taut. Only a wide leather belt with a silver buckle seemed to hold his huge belly in place.
'My name is Gansert,' I said.
He held out a big hand covered with sandy hairs. 'I am Lovaas,' he said. 'We have met before, eh — as voices.' He laughed. It was a fat chuckle that rumbled up from his stomach. 'Voices,' he repeated as though pleased. 'You like a little drink, eh? Come on.' He took hold of my arm. 'Nobody come on board my boat and not have a little drink.' He glanced down at the yacht. 'We will tie your boat, eh? Then we proceed and waste no time while we talk. "Hei! Jan! Henrik! Fortoy denne baten!" As the two men doubled to their task, he pushed me for'ard. 'Good boat you have,' he said. 'Good sea boat, eh? This is mine, too.' He waved his hand round the ship. 'All mine — very cheap. I could sell her for three times what I give.' He chuckled and pressed my arm. 'Good profit, eh? Good profit. Twice I have been with the factory ships to the Antarctic. But no more. This is better. I can do as I wish. I do not work for any damned whaling company. I work for myself and they pay me for what I bring them. Better, eh? Better, isn't it?' He had a way of repeating himself as though pleased over a word. 'In here,' he said as we reached the top of the ladder that led to the accommodation below the bridge. 'Halvorsen!' he called up. LFull fart forover sa snart den andre baten er fortoyet.'
'Ja,' came the reply., 'In here, please.' Lovaas pushed open a door. 'My cabin,'
he said. 'Always a damn' disorder. No woman, you know. Never have a woman on board. Have 'em ashore, but never on board, eh? Here they are.' He pointed to the photographs pinned to the wall above his bunk. 'Hilda. Martha. Solveig.' He slapped his deck. 'I have one whole drawer full. You would not believe that, eh — a man as big as me?' And he patted his stomach. 'Now. You like aquavit, eh? Or brandy? I have French brandy — no duty, good stuff.'
'What's aquavit?' I asked. I'd always heard of it as a Norwegian drink, but I'd never had it.
'Never had aquavit, eh?' He roared with laughter and slapped my arm. 'Then you will have aquavit.'' He stooped down with a grunt and brought a bottle and two glasses out of a cupboard below the desk. Above our heads the engine-room telegraph rang and the engines throbbed into life. 'There' he said, holding up the bottle. 'Real line aquavit. See the inside of the label? The name of the ship it crossed the Line in, going south, and the name of the ship that brought it back. All good aquavit must cross the equator twice.'
'Why?' I asked.
'Why? Good God! How should I know? That is the job of the men who make the damn' stuff. All I know is that it does good to it. Well — skoal.' He raised his glass and drained it at a gulp. 'A-ah!' he breathed. 'That is good, eh? Very good if you eat much fat, you know.' And he patted his stomach again and roared with laughter. I remembered what Dahler said and noticed that his little bloodshot eyes did not laugh. The fat round them creased into wrinkles of laughter, but the eyes themselves were blue and steely and were watching me all the time. 'Now, sit down,' he said. 'Sit down.' And he kicked a chair over to me. 'You wish to know about Schreuder, eh?'
'Yes,' I said.
He sat on his bunk. 'So does herr direktor Jorgensen.'
The way he said herr direktor it sounded like a sneer. 'I was expecting you, you know.'
'Expecting me? Why?' I asked.
'The radio. Our radio watch, you know, is for half an hour. Jorgensen spoke to me after you had left.' I was again conscious of his eyes watching me. 'Another drink, eh?
'No thanks,' I said.
'I understand you are the representative of some English company?' The bottle gurgled as he refilled both glasses. 'Skoal,' he said. 'What company, Mr Gansert?'
'Base Metals and Industries,' I answered.
His thick, sandy-coloured eyebrows lifted. 'So! A big concern, eh? Bigger than D.N.S.'
'Yes,' I said. I wanted him to do the talking. I wanted to get the measure of the man. But he waited so that at length I said, 'Where is the man, Schreuder?'
'Locked in a cabin,' he answered.
'Can I see him?'
'Perhaps.' He rolled the thick, colourless liquid round his glass. Then he looked at me out of his sharp little eyes. He didn't say anything. The vessel's foghorn suddenly blared through the cabin, drowning the steady thrum of the engines. He waited. Again the foghorn blared.
'How much?' I asked.
'How much?' He smiled and shrugged his shoulders 'You wish to buy. But do you know what you are buying, eh, Mr Gansert?'
'Do you know what you are selling?' I answered.
He smiled. 'I think so. On board my ship is the man who can give the location of important new mineral deposits. So much herr Jorgensen has tell me. He has also said I must bring this man — Schreuder — to Bovaagen Hval — without letting you speak with him. Now, you see how awkward it is for me, Mr Gansert. Herr Jorgensen is direktor of the whaling station I sell my whales to. He is a hard man. If I do not deliver him Schreuder, the station will no more take my whale. You see, there are only three whaling stations in Norway. Each station is allowed only three catchers. If Bovaagen Hval is closed to me I cannot take my whale elsewhere. Then how do I live? How do my men live? And my ship — it will lie in Sandefjord and rot. But first we will talk with Jorgensen. If he does not offer too much and you offer more — well, maybe I come alive in England, eh? Then how do I keep my stomach fed?' He patted the protruding bulk which shook with laughter. 'Perhaps there is a good black market restaurant in your Soho, eh? But first we talk with Jorgensen.'
He heaved himself up and peered for'ard out of the port-hole. Then he glanced at his watch. 'In five minutes we arrive at Bovaagen Hval. Then we will see. Now we have another drink, eh?' He refilled my glass. 'Skoal.' Then as I did not pick up my glass, he said, 'Please, Mr Gansert, when I say skoal you must drink. If you don't drink I cannot drink. That is our custom in Norway. And I like to drink. Skoal.' I raised my glass and knocked back the liquor. It was sharp and fiery.
'Why did Schreuder want to get to the Shetlands?' I asked.
'Maybe he kill someone. I do not know. But he nearly made a damn' fool of me — magnetising my compass.' He was watching me again. 'That description of Farnell — you said the tip of the little finger of the left hand missing, eh?'
'That's right,' I said. 'I know about that because it happened when I was with him in Rhodesia. Caught it in a crushing plant. Why?'
His eyes were back on his drink. 'O-oh. I just wondered, that is all. This man Schreuder did not say nothing about it. His description was correct from what you say, but he did not say about the little finger of the left hand.'
The engine-room telegraph rang and the engines slowed. I got up and peered out ahead. The fog was thickening. But out of it emerged the vague shape of one of the small islands masking Bovaagen Hval. 'We're almost in, I think,' I said. He made no reply. I imagine he was considering how best to handle negotiations involving both Jorgensen and myself. I wondered why he had brought up the matter of Farnell's little finger and how much he knew about the whole business.
And then suddenly pandemonium seemed to break loose. There was a shout. Then an iron door slammed and feet pounded down the iron-plated length of the after-deck. There followed a splash. Then shouts and more feet running on the deck plating. The engine-room telegraph rang again and the ship shuddered as the engines were set to full astern.
At the first shout Lovaas, with surprising speed for a man of his bulk, had leapt to his feet and reached the door. 'Hvar er hendt?' he roared.
Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of a man whose face was running in blood looking up from the rail below. 'Del er Schreuder,' he shouted back. Then he pointed over the starboard rail. 'Han unnslapp og hoppet overbord.'
'De fordomte udugelig idiot'.' Lovaas roared and swung himself on to the bridge ladder.
'What's happened?' I asked as I followed him.
'Schreuder,' he answered. 'He's escaped and dived overboard.' He flung open the door to the bridge. The mate was there, peering through binoculars. 'Kan De se ham?' Lovaas demanded.
'AW,' the mate answered. And then suddenly: 'Jo, Jo — der borte'
I followed the direction of his arm. On the edge of the mist's visibility a black blob showed for an instant on the colourless surface of the sea. Then.it was gone. 'Full fan forover babord motor. Full fart akterover styrbord motor.' Lovaas was peering into the opaque void. 'Roret hardt over til babord, Henrik\' Again I saw the black blob as our bows swung. It turned and looked back and I saw then that it was a man's head. He raised his arms out of the water. He was struggling to get clear of his clothes. Then the head vanished. I had no idea what the temperature of the water was. But I knew it must be pretty cold. No man would try such a swim in these waters unless he were desperate. And at the moment that he had disappeared he had been heading out to sea. The poor wretch must have lost his sense of direction. From where I stood, balancing myself to the heel of the ship as she turned, I could see the vague shape of the island. But from water-level it was probably invisible.
I glanced quickly at Lovaas. He was peering into the mist at the point where the man's head had disappeared. The fierce grip of his hand on the edge of the bridge betrayed his impatience at the slowness of the turn. I glanced down at Diviner straining at the warps that secured her to the catcher. If we could pick Schreuder up and not Lovaas… I was down the ladder in a flash. 'Dick! Curtis!' I shouted. 'Cut her clear. Quick!'
I heard Lovaas bellowing in Norwegian to his crew as I slipped across the engine-room hatches and down the ladder to her main deck. Somebody tried to bar my way at the foot of the ladder. I lashed out with my foot and then jumped straight over on to Diviner's deck. Dick and Wilson each had an axe. Two blows severed the warps and as I picked myself up off the deck, the engines started and we drew clear of the catcher.
Lovaas was out on the catwalk. He shook his fist at me as he hurried down to the bows to act as lookout. I saw his hand touch the heavy harpoon gun and then he glanced across at us. 'Hard a'port!' I shouted to Jill who was at the wheel.
'Hard a'port it is,' she answered and we swung away. I wanted to get well clear of the catcher. The rage of the man was obvious even though the distance between us was rapidly widening. I wondered what he would do if we succeeded in picking up Schreuder.
But we didn't succeed. And nor did Lovaas. The two of us cruised back and forth over that little area of sea a hundred times.
But we saw no sign of Schreuder — only his discarded jacket floating half submerged with the sleeves held out like a man drowned. There was not a breath of wind. The sea was like glass. And the mist was so thick we were often out of sight of the catcher. I had a bucket of sea water brought up and dipped my hand in. It was as cold as ice. No man could live for long in water that cold. After half an hour I gave up and followed the catcher as it made off slowly through the mist to Bovaagen Hval.
As we left the spot I saw Jill gazing over the stern. 'If only we could have saved him,' she said. 'He could have told us so much. I'm sure he could.' She turned suddenly to me.
'What do you think happened up there on the Jostedal?'
'I don't know,' I said. The less she thought about it the better.
'But something must have happened,' she murmured. 'He was there with George. And then after — the accident — he tries to make for England. He's afraid to stay in Norway. So afraid that he's willing to take a chance in that icy water. And those samples of ore. He must have taken them from George's body. Bill!' She caught at my arm and her voice was tense. 'Do you think — do you think he killed George?'
'I d6n't know what to think,' I replied. I didn't look at her. I didn't want to see that hurt expression in her eyes.
'Well, whatever he did,' Curtis said, 'the poor devil's dead now. And we'll never know the truth of what happened.' He turned and gazed aft. 'Hallo! Mist's lifting a bit. I wonder what happened to those two boats?'
'What two boats?' I asked.
'You remember the diver who was after an aero engine. Maybe they were farther out. Difficult to tell in this mist. But I thought they were just about here. I remember that island was just where it is now when Dick hailed them.' He nodded in the direction of the island we were approaching.
'That's right,' Dick agreed. 'This is about the spot.'
Curtis glanced up at the burgee. It was fluttering. 'There's a breeze sprung up. Look, the mist is clearing now.'
'Pity it didn't do that earlier,' Dick said. 'Might have saved Schreuder's life.' The mist was clearing fast. The sun shone through. 'Not a sign of the divers,' he added.
'Probably packed up for the day,' Curtis suggested.
But Dick shook his head. 'No. They wouldn't do that. I don't expect they often get a sea as calm as this up here. This is just right for diving. And it's early, too. They'd only just started the day's operations.'
I looked at him. I think we all had the same idea. 'Do you think Schreuder could have swum to the divers' boats and persuaded them to take him ashore?' I asked. Dick shrugged his shoulders. 'We didn't find his body. And we didn't find the boats. And if they had moved off we wouldn't have heard their little engines above the sound of ours. Nor would Lovaas on the catcher. But how could he persuade 'em to up anchor and get away as quickly as that?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'But it's just a chance that he did.' I ordered Carter to stop the engine and jumped down into the chartroom. I cleared the litter of pencils and rulers from the chart and stared at the outline of Nordhordland. The others crowded round peering over my shoulder. 'Curtis,' I said. 'This is your sort of problem. Schreuder for some reason was desperate. He wanted to escape. Now if you were Schreuder and you'd persuaded those divers to help you, where would you get them to take you?'
He leaned forward over the chart and studied it. 'He wanted to get away from Lovaas,' he murmured. 'And to him Lovaas would be Bovaagen Hval. In that case I'd steer clear of any place on the same stretch of land as Bovaagen. And I wouldn't go out to the islands, however much I wanted to get across to England. I'd feel cut off out there. No. I think I'd get them to take me to the next island to the north of here and land me at some quiet inlet near Austrheim. From the other side of the island I could probably get a fishing boat to take me across Fensfjord to Halsvik on the mainland. And from there I could get up into the mountains and lose myself until the hue and cry had died down.'
'Or he could stop one of the steamers going to Sognefjord,' Jill put in. 'They'll always take on passengers from boats that hail them.'
'Fine,' I said. 'We'll make for Austrheim then. If we're right, we should meet the divers coming back to their work here.'
Shortly afterwards a breeze sprang up and the mist cleared to bright sunshine. But we saw no sign of the divers' boats. They weren't in Austrheim, nor was there any sign of them in any of the inlets along the coast. Reluctantly we put about.
On the way back to Bovaagen Hval something occurred which, in a strange way upset me. Austrheim was disappearing in the haze astern. I went down to the saloon to fix drinks for the crew. But outside the door, I stopped. It was not properly shut and through the crack I could see Jill and Curtis standing close together. Jill's eyes were wet with tears. Curtis held a watch in his hand — the same gold watch that I had seen him with when he first came aboard. 'I'm sorry,' he was saying. 'I should have given it to you before. But I wasn't certain he was dead. Now I am certain. So' — he thrust the gold timepiece into her hands — 'It was his father's. When he gave it to me, your address was inside the back. I opened it foolishly in the assault craft. The wind swept the piece of paper with your address overboard. Only your picture remained. That's why I recognised you at once.'
She had clutched hold of the watch. 'You — saw us, that time in Bergen, didn't you?'
'Yes.'
'That was the last time I saw him.' She turned away. She was crying quietly. 'Was there any message — when he gave you this?'
'Yes,' Curtis answered. 'A line from Rupert Brooke-'
I turned quietly away then and went back on deck. Why was she crying? Was she still in love with him? I took the wheel from Carter. I didn't want to think about her being in love with Farnell.
It was midday by the time we got back to the whaling station. Two catchers lay at the quay. And as we landed the winches were clattering and a huge white whale was being dragged up the slipway by its tail. We stood and watched for a moment. It was all strange and exciting. When the winches stopped, the great animal stretched the whole length of the flensing deck. Its gigantic tail lay by the winches. Its mouth, wide open to show the finners and the huge pink tongue, overhung the slipway. In an instant half a dozen men, armed with flensing knives, set to work. The winch hawsers were attached to the flaps of the hide cut out from either side of the head behind the jaw. Then flensing began, the winches tearing at the blubber whilst the flensers cut it clear with their knives. This exposed the meat along the backbone. Then the winch hawsers were re fixed, run through blocks and the whale was winched over to expose the grey-white belly of the animal to the flensing knives.
Kielland came up as we stood watching. He was dressed in ex-German jackboots and an old khaki shirt. 'Ah, you have returned, eh?' He shouted instructions to one of the men and then said, 'I hear this man, Schreuder, jumped into the sea. You did not recover him, eh?'
'No,' I said. The workmen were swarming round the whale now. The meat was being hacked out in great chunks and hooked on to trolleys to be carried to the packing sheds. 'Where's Jorgensen?' I asked.
'He has gone to Bergen in the meat boat.' There was a jauntiness about Kielland that suggested he was glad to see the last of his director.
'And Lovaas?'
He smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. 'He is sick with himself.'
'What about Schreuder's possessions?' I asked. 'What's happened to them?'
'Kaptein Lovaas handed them over to Jorgensen to deliver to the police.'
'Did you see what they were? Did they include any pieces of what would look like dull, grey rocks?'
His brows lifted. 'So that was why you were all so interested in Schreuder, eh? What was it — gold, silver, something valuable?'
'Yes,' I answered. 'Something valuable.' No wonder Jorgensen had hurried off to Bergen. He would by flying those pieces of rock down to the D.N.S. laboratories and within a day he would know as much as I did.
'I'm going back to the boat,' Jill said. 'I can't — I can't stand this any longer.' She had her handkerchief to her nose.
'But please — you will feed with me and my wife?' Kielland said. 'Everything is ready. I have been expecting you. You will not disappoint my wife, will you now? She likes English people.' He shook my arm. 'We are all very pro-British out here on the islands. We get on fine, eh? We are fishermen and sailors like your people. Peace or war, we fight the same battles. So you will stay for food, eh?'
'It's very nice of you,' I said.
'Not at all, my dear fellow. Not at all. And there are beds for you if you have had too much of the ship. Come. We go and have a drink, eh? We always have a drink before food.' He chuckled and nodded at Jill, still holding her handkerchief to her nose. 'Mrs Gansert does not like the smell, eh? But we like it. To me it smells of money. That is what I always say to people. It smells of money. Look at that whale now. I have just measured him — seventy-three feet. That is about seventy tons. He has over a thousand pounds' worth of oil in his blubber and the same value in meat. That is why I like the smell.' He patted Jill's hand. 'My wife says it smells like a new dress. Every time a whale comes in over seventy feet I promise her a new dress. And now she likes the smell, too. Come on. We will go and have a little drink.'
He led us up the cinder track to the office. Behind — the office was a long, low house. I caught Jill's eyes as we went in. She was bubbling over with laughter. We were shown into a tastefully furnished lounge. Mrs Kielland came in as her husband was pouring out large cognacs. She was a jolly woman with twinkling eyes and an elegance that was delightfully unexpected out on a whaling station. Kielland introduced us. Jill explained that she was not my wife. 'You poor girl,' laughed Mrs Kielland. 'Albert has such a tidy mind. And he knows nothing about anything — except whale. You'll find if you stay here long enough that there is nothing but whale talk in this house.' She turned to her husband. 'Albert, what was the length of the whale Nordahl has just brought in?'
'Seventy-three feet, Martha,' he replied, grinning like a kid.
'Seventy-three.' She gave a gurgle of delight. 'Look! This is the frock I have from the last whale that was over seventy feet.' It was a flame-coloured silk and as she twirled round the skirt flared out. 'Now,' she said. 'We drink to your health.' She raised her glass. 'Skoal,' she said.
We all drank. And then the door opened and a little man with dark hair and sharp, creased features came in. 'Ah, here is Mr Sunde,' said Mrs Kiel land. 'Come in and have a drink, Mr Sunde. I wish you to meet some nice English people.'
I couldn't quite place him as he was introduced to us. He was quite a tough-looking man and he seemed a little embarrassed at drinking with us as though he felt out of place. I put him down as an artisan. Yet he, too, seemed to understand English.
'What do you do on the station?' I asked as he stood beside me.
'Oh, Mr Sunde is not on the station,' Mrs Kielland said. 'He's another little venture of Albert's.'
'What do you do then?' I asked him.
'Gor' blimey, Oi'm a diver,' he said.
The sudden outburst of pure Cockney took me by surprise. 'A diver?' I said.
'That's roight.'
I caught Dick's eye and then said, 'Are you diving for the station?'
'That's roight,' he repeated and concentrated on his drink.
'What are you diving for?'
'Aerer engines,' he answered. 'A Jerry plyne was shot da'n just off the stytion. Oi'm gettin' the engines up.'
Then yours were the boats we saw this morning, just off the outer islands,' I said. 'A diving boat and a little fishing boat?'
'That's roight.'
'Where are your boats now?'
'The divin' boat's lyin' just ra'nd the 'eadland.'
'And the other — the fishing boat?' I asked.
His grey eyes looked up furtively at me over his drink. 'Me mate's gorn inter Bovaagen for somefink,' he muttered and gulped down his glass of cognac.