George Farnell
I emerged into consciousness reluctantly, like a sleeper clinging to each separate minute of his bed. I felt numb and drowsy. I could hear the wind. But I could not feel it. It was as though I had lost the power to feel. I was shivering uncontrollably and felt damp and chill. What was it I had dreamed about? A hut and a woman's voice. I opened my eyes quickly and found the outline of a boarded ceiling above me. I was lying on a wooden floor. I could feel it with my hands. And my head was pillowed on something soft, yet firm and warm. There was a warmth to the right of me. I turned my head. An old-fashioned, cast-iron stove showed the flicker of flames through a crack. On the top of it a tin kettle poured out a stream of steam. 'Feeling better?' It was a woman's voice, soft and gentle, and vaguely familiar. It sounded very far away. I sighed and relaxed. I felt so tired. I never wanted to stir again.
'Drink some of this.' My head was raised and the rim of a glass tipped against my lips. The smell of hot brandy brought me back to full consciousness. I drank and warmth spread comfortingly through my body.
I mumbled my thanks and struggled into a sitting position. Then I turned and found myself looking into Jill's level, grey eyes. 'How in the world did you get up here?' I asked.
She smiled. 'On ski.' Then suddenly serious: 'What happened, Bill? Where's George? I couldn't stay down at the hotel, waiting, whilst they all gathered for the kill. I left early this morning, when it was barely light. I thought I might go as far as Gjeiteryggen. Then the snow came and I had only just made this hut. Have you seen George?'
'In the distance,' I answered. 'That was as we were climbing up to Sankt Paal, before the snow came down.' I took the glass of hot brandy from her and drained it. 'Lovaas and his mate were about five hundred yards behind him.'
'But where is he now?'
'Soon as the snow came down he swung away from the marked route. He's leading them a dance all round the precipices and crevasses of Sankt Paal. He'll get the pair of them lost and they'll die out there in the snow.'
'Die? But — ' She stopped then and her eyes looked troubled. Then she said, 'You've had a long trek, Bill. Vassbygden to Sankt Paal is quite a way. You can't have stopped anywhere.'
'At Osterbo and Steinbergdalen,' I answered. 'But they were only brief halts.'
'Where's Alf Sunde?'
'At Steinbergdalen.' I passed my hand over my face. My eyes felt tired and I was still dizzy despite the warmth of the brandy.
'But why did you leave him at Steinbergdalen?' she asked.
'He was wounded,' I answered. 'Bullet through the shoulder.' Why must she keep on asking me questions? Couldn't she see I didn't want to talk? But there was something I must ask her — something she'd said. Oh, yes — 'What did you mean when you said you couldn't bear waiting whilst they all gathered for the kill?'
Her eyes were wide. 'A bullet through the shoulder? How did he get that? What happened?'
I struggled to my feet. I felt light-headed and my legs were weak. I stood close to the stove trying to absorb the warmth of it into me. 'Is there any more brandy?' I asked. My voice sounded strange.
'Yes,' she said and produced a flask. I poured some of it into the tumbler and added hot water from the kettle. Then I stood, warming my hands round the glass and drinking in the smell of it. 'Don't worry about Sunde,' I said. 'He'll be all right. Just a flesh wound. I want to know what happened down at Finse. Who was at the hotel?' I took a puff at the drink. God! How wonderful hot brandy is when you're all in! 'Was Dahler there?' I asked.
'Yes. He came up in the train with us.' She hesitated.
'Then Jorgensen arrived. He came on the train from Oslo.'
'Jorgensen!' I swung round on her. 'What brought Jorgensen there?'
'I don't know.'
Jorgensen at Finse! Somebody must have tipped him off. Or perhaps it was just one of those strokes of luck? 'Was he intending to stop off at Finse?' I asked. 'Or was he on his way from Oslo to Bergen and suddenly saw Dahler and decided to stay the night?'
But she shook her head. 'No, I think he intended to stay. Dahler was in the bar, so Jorgensen couldn't have seen him from the train. He came straight in with a suitcase and asked for a room.'
'Just for the night?'
'No, He told the receptionist that he couldn't say how long he'd be staying.'
'Did he bring skis with him?'
'No — nor any ski clothes. But I heard him arranging with the manager for the loan of everything he wanted.'
'And how did he react when he found Dahler in the hotel?' I thought of Dahler telephoning from Fjaerland. Somebody must have got in touch with Jorgensen.
'I wasn't there when they first met,' Jill answered. 'But when I came into the bar later that evening they were both there. Bill — what's the matter with those two men? Jorgensen isn't exactly a nervous type. But he's scared of Dahler. And Dahler — I don't know — it's as though he were enjoying something. The atmosphere between them was noticeable even in a crowded hotel bar. Jorgensen positively started when he saw me. Then he glanced across at Dahler. Dahler gave me a little bow. But all the time he was looking at Jorgensen with that crooked little smile of his and a queer glint in his eyes. It — it sent a cold shiver down my spine.'
I went over to the table and dragged one of the benches to the fire. 'Where's Curtis?' I asked as I sat down.
;Still at the hotel.' She brushed back the fair hair that had tumbled over her face. Her skin looked very pale in the cold light that filtered through the snow-spattered windows. 'I started out before he was up. It was such a lovely morning and I wanted to warn George.'
'Warn him? What about?'
'The police. I forgot. They arrived at Finse late last night on one of those railway trollies. An officer and six men. The officer repotted immediately to Jorgensen.' She leaned forward and touched my arm. 'You're shivering. Have some more brandy and I'll get you some blankets. There are some in the cupboard here.' She got to her feet. 'The hotel association keeps this place stocked up for skiers that get caught in the mist or snow.' In a moment she was back with two heavy blankets which she wrapped round me. I didn't have the strength to protest. I felt cold right through despite the brandy. I took another drink and tried to think. Dahler — Jorgensen — the police; all down at Finse! What did it mean? And where would Farnell make for? He'd give Lovaas the slip in the snow. No question of that. Then where would he make for? I looked at the windows. They were almost blocked with snow. Through the half-obliterated panes I could see the dark flakes driving under the weight of the wind. He might come here. Or he might press on. And if he went on, where would he make for — Finse?
As though she divined my thoughts, Jill said, 'George will get away from Lovaas all right, won't he?'
'Yes,' I said.
'Then where will he go? If he goes down to Finse — ' She stopped there. And again I wondered how much Farnell meant to her now. She looked cold and remote and delicately lovely in her navy blue ski suit and red socks and scarf. Red woollen gloves lay on the floor at her feet. She was the sort of girl that never let up once she had decided on something. 'Are you still in love with Farnell?' I asked suddenly, and my voice sounded harsh in the immense silence of that hut.
She looked at me. 'You shouldn't have asked that,' she said softly. 'Not now.'
'I suppose not,' I said dully. I hadn't the strength to argue or even press the point. And it wasn't until later that I realised that she had avoided a direct answer.
After that we didn't talk. I sat huddled against the fire. I felt I wanted to press the warmth right into my stomach. Gradually my shivering ceased. I took my boots off and changed into a clean pair of socks. The warmth on my face made me drowsy. Inside, the hut was silent as though waiting for the tick of a clock. Outside, the wind howled, rattling at the windows and shaking the massive timber of the walls. The blanketed sound of the snow was audible even above the wind. My eyes began to close. I felt myself dropping off to sleep.
Then suddenly Jill said, 'What's that?'
I started awake. 'What?' I asked.
'I thought I heard somebody.'
I listened. I could hear nothing but the wind and the snow. 'It's nothing,' I said drowsily. 'What did you think it was?'
'I thought I heard a voice.' She got to her feet and went towards the windows.
'Nobody will be coming here,' I said. 'Lovaas and his mate are out there somewhere in the snow. They'll never find this place. And Farnell's probably miles away by now.'
'I expect you're right,' she said. But she crossed over to the other window. Then she stopped. 'There. Did you hear it?'
I sat up, wide awake now. The sound was unmistakable — the clatter of wood against wood. There it was again and a voice speaking.
Next moment the outer door was flung open. Boots stamped in the narrow passage. A man's voice, deep and solid, spoke in Norwegian. Then the inner door opened and a draught of bitter cold air blew into the hut. With it came a flurry of snow. The outer door was closed.
Jill, her face alight with excitement, started across the floor. Then she stopped as though frozen. A man had entered. He wore a fur cap with earflaps. His face and body were thick with a,white covering of snow. But the girth of the man, enhanced by the amount of clothing he was wearing, was unmistakable. It was Lovaas. He wiped the snow from his face. His skin was almost blue with cold. 'So,' he said. 'It is Miss Somers and' — he glanced across at me — 'and Mr Gansert. Kom inn, Halvorsen,' he said over his shoulder. He came over to the stove. 'Move please, Mr Gansert. We need some warmth.' His voice was thick and tired. His feet stumbled. 'Your friend, Farnell, nearly finished us. It was only luck that we found the hut.'
His mate, a tall, hatchet-faced man, came in and closed the door after him. I moved towards Jill, whilst they gathered round the fire. The snow steamed on their clothing as they huddled close to the red top of the stove. 'What happened to my man, Gaarder, eh?' Lovaas asked me.
'Who is Gaarder?' I asked.
'One of my men. I leave him to look after you. What happens? And where is your companion? It was Sunde, wasn't.it?'
'Yes,' I said. 'Sunde was with me. But he turned his ankle. I had to come on without him.'
'And I suppose Gaarder turns his ankle also?' His heavy brows were drawn together. His eyes, red-rimmed and narrowed, watched me closely. 'What happens, Mr Gansert?' And when I didn't reply, he suddenly shouted — 'Answer, man! What happens to him?'
'How should I know?' I answered. 'Perhaps he's lost his way.'
I saw anger welling up into violence inside him. But he was tired. He only sighed and pressed his great belly closer to the cast-iron casing of the stove. 'We will talk about that later,' he said.
There was a momentary silence. I could see the blood flowing back into his face. It was no longer blue. His features began to take on a ruddy glow. The man was incredibly tough. He had done the same trek as I had and had been skiing steadily in the biting snowstorm all the time I had been here, huddled against the fire. Yet already he was recovering. I remember how Sunde's little legs had covered the ground. And this man was accustomed to the cold. He had been on an antarctic whaling expeditions. I glanced across at Jill. He'd work on her. He was a dangerous man and he was playing for high stakes. He was going outside the law. And he would go further outside it to achieve his end. Only by discovering what Farnell knew would he be safe. I moved slowly towards my rucksack.
'Stay where you are please, Mr Gansert.' Lovaas's voice was sharp. 'Halvorsen. Ga gjennom tingene deres. Se om der er noen skyterpen.'
His mate crossed the room to my rucksack and took out my pistol. Then he searched Jill's pack. Finally he came behind each of us and ran his hands over our clothing. Then he took the gun across to Lovaas. He broke it open. 'So,' he said. 'You have not fired any shot. But perhaps your friend, fired a shot, eh?'
I ignored the question and gazed at the window. Then suddenly my nerves stiffened the tired muscles of my body. The snow was being pushed away from the window. A hand was rubbing the glass clear from the outside. Then a face looked in through the cleared patch. Farnell? I couldn't be certain. I just made out the shape of the nose and mouth and two eyes looked for a second into mine.
'Well? What happened to Gaarder?' Lovaas demanded.
I turned away from the window. If it was Farnell, then I must warn him. He couldn't have seen Lovaas from where he was looking in. But if I kept talking he'd know someone else was in the hut. 'Was this fellow, Gaarder, with you when you started out?' I asked.
'Of course,' Lovaas answered. 'There were three of us left Aurland. You knew that, Mr Gansert. What happened at Osterbo?'
'What should have happened?' I asked.
'I'm asking you what did happen?', 'And I am asking you what you expected to happen, Captain Lovaas,' I countered. 'You left him behind, I suppose. Was he meant to kill us?'
'I am not a fool. It would do no good to kill you. I have not yet discovered how much you know.'
I sensed the draught of the outer door opening. I must keep talking. 'Then why did you leave him behind. Captain Lovaas?'
'How do you know I leave him behind?'
'I am going on what you have told me, Captain Lovaas,' I answered in a strong voice.
'I tell you nothing,' he answered sharply. Then his brows dragged down over his eyes. 'Why do you talk so loud, eh? And why is it Kaptein Lovaas this and Kaptein Lovaas that? What are you up to, Mr Gansert?'
'Ah — so it is you, Mr Gansert?'
The voice came from behind me. But it was not the voice I had expected. I swung round. Dahler was standing in the doorway. His small figure was covered in snow. His features were grey, the line about the mouth deeply etched. And he was smiling that crooked enigmatic smile of his. 'Jorgensen has not arrived, eh?'
'Jorgensen?'
'Yes. He has not arrived?'
'No,' I said.
'Good. I am glad. I followed him up from the hotel. Then I lose him in the snowstorm. He will arrive soon, I think.' He lowered his rucksack on to the table and went over to the fire, rubbing his withered hand. 'So, you have arrived, eh?' was his greeting to Lovaas.
'Ja. I have arrived and I have lost one of my men.'
'How did you lose him? There has been trouble, eh?' He glanced quickly from Lovaas to me. 'Who has been hurt?'
I did not reply.
'Where is Sunde?' he asked. 'Did he not go with you Mr Gansert?'
'He is at Steinbergdalen,' I replied.
'So.' He looked up at Lovaas, cocking his head on one side like a curious raven. 'Where's Farnell?'
'I do not know,' Lovaas replied in a surly voice. It was clear he did not like Dahler. But faced by the cripple his bluster left him. It was as though he were afraid of the man.
'I do not know!' Dahler mimicked. 'Well, you should discover what has happened. Jorgensen will be here soon. Then there will be trouble. He is not a forgiving man, Kaptein Lovaas. You may have got in his way. And the police are with him.'
'The police?' Lovaas growled. 'Coming up here?'
'No. They are down at the hotel. But Mr Jorgensen has told them to stand by to make other arrests than the man known at the moment as Schreuder.'
Lovaas hesitated. Then abruptly he moved away from the fire. 'Kom, Halvorsen. Vi ma ga.'
Dahler caught at his arm with his sound hand. The withered claw remained held over the red-hot top of the stove. 'A moment, Kaptein Lovaas,' he said. 'You go too fast. Jorgensen has said nothing to the police — not yet.' Dahler's small, black eyes were watching the whaler's face.
'What are you suggesting?' Lovaas asked. His voice sounded nervous — ill-at-ease.
'I am suggesting nothing,' Dahler replied slowly. 'If you had caught Farnell — then it would be different. Then you would be safe. You were always too hasty, you know Kaptein. You must always rush things. You should have kept within the law. Or if you wished to go outside it — then you should do so with success, eh? If you had obtained what Mr Jorgensen, and Mr Gansert here, want from Farnell — then you would be justified. Without that — ' He hesitated. Then he said quietly, 'But it is a long way from here to the hotel, where the police are. And there is a snowstorm.' He paused significantly, watching Lovaas like a cat.
Was he trying to get Lovaas to kill Jorgensen? What was it that drove the man so? Hatred of Jorgensen? Desire to prove his innocence? What made him follow Farnell, planning his destruction, yet seeking his help as he had sought it during the up here in the mountains? I remembered what Sunde had said: 'Dahler — I reckon he's mad.' That was the only explanation. What he had suffered during the war had effected the balance of his mind. Maybe he had sold secrets to the enemy. But he didn't believe he had. He had thought himself into the desperate certainty that his innocence could be proved and that Farnell could do it. And he, like Farnell, was prepared to do anything to gain his own ends. Jorgensen was to him a symbol of something he hated and wished to fight — Jorgensen, who had been successful, who had taken the long view. He tried to kill Jorgensen out there in the North Sea during the storm. Of that I was certain now. And he was playing Lovaas off against Jorgensen, hoping against hope that Jorgensen would get hurt in the clash. Yes, he was mad.
He suddenly turned towards me. 'So you did not catch up with your friend Farnell, eh? And where is he now, I wonder?'
'Half-way to Finse, I should think,' I answered.
He nodded. 'Perhaps.' He glanced at his watch. 'It is just after eleven. The train from Oslo comes through Finse at twelve-thirty. Allow that it is half an hour late — our State Railways are always late. He has two hours. I think perhaps he will make it.' He glanced up at Lovaas who had started to move towards his rucksack. 'And the police will be on that train, Kaptein Lovaas.'
Lovaas halted. Then he came slowly back towards Dahler. I could see by his face that he wanted to strangle the cripple. And yet something stopped him. There was something about Dahler's eyes that was cold and dead, yet strangely excited. The net is drawing round him, you see,' he said with a little laugh. 'All around you, eh?'
There was the sound of skis being placed against the side of the hut. Then the outer door closed, there was a stamp of nailed boots and then the inner door opened and Jorgensen came in. His tall figure looked a little lithe and active in a white ski suit. His leathery features seemed darker than usual against the white of the snow that clung to him. He stopped and looked round the room — first at Jill and myself, then at Lovaas and his mate, finally at Dahler. 'Where is he?' he asked. Then he turned to me. 'You followed him, Mr Gansert. Did you catch up with him?'
'You mean Farnell?' I asked.
'Of course.'
'How did you know I followed him?'
'Norway is a small country for its size, Mr Gansert. I can keep track of anybody if I wish to. I see from your expression you were not successful.' He turned to Lovaas. 'So you did not obey my instructions, eh? I told you to await orders at Bovaagen Hval. But you decided to play your own hand. Well Kaptein Lovaas, play it. But be careful.' His voice was suddenly harsh. 'I am not a person to disregard — unless you are successful. And I don't think you have been successful.' He turned to me again, ignoring Dahler entirely. 'Where is Farnell now?'
'Somewhere out there,' I said indicating the snow-lined windows.
He nodded. 'Aurland, Osterbo, Gjeiteryggen, Sankt Paal.' He spoke the names softly as though to himself. 'Then he will make for the railway. Good.' He nodded as though satisfied with his arrangements. Then he turned to Dahler. 'I should advise you to leave the country. Leave with Mr Gansert.'
'Are you having me thrown out?' I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders. 'Good heavens, no,' he answered with pained surprise. 'But now that your mission has failed you will naturally wish to go back to England — to start on your Mediterranean trip. I do not imagine Sir Clinton Mann will finance you indefinitely in Norway. Had you been successful in your mission — ' He shrugged his shoulders. Then it would have been different. Then we might have been business associates. As it is — ' He left the rest of the sentence unfinished.
'But you will still need finance,' I said.
'Perhaps.'
'Sir Clinton Mann would be willing to discuss business on my Recommendation,' I added. 'The only thing that held us up before was the feeling that you were insufficiently informed about the nature and location of these thorite deposits.'
And then suddenly Jill spoke. 'But Mr Jorgensen, you still do not know where the deposits are.'
He frowned. 'The police will pick Farnell up on the train, Miss Somers.'
'Possibly,' she replied. 'But how will you make him talk?'
'Oh, he will talk.' He took a step towards her. 'Listen, Miss Somers. George Farnell is wanted for murder. He may be tried as Schreuder for the murder of George Farnell. Or perhaps he will be tried as George Farnell for the murder of Schreuder. It is immaterial. He will be offered a free pardon if he is willing to assist Norway.'
'Does your conscience never worry you, Knut?' Dahler asked with that crooked smile of his.
'What I do, I do for Norway,' Jorgensen barked. 'In everything I have done — both during the war and since — it has been of Norway that I have been thinking. Norway needs these mineral resources. Instead of a poor country, dependant on fish and timber, she might then become rich. What is one man's life against the livelihood of three million people, eh? And who killed Schreuder, if Farnell did not?'
'You will still not get the information you want,' Jill said.
Jorgensen gave an abrupt laugh. 'My dear Miss Somers. No man faces a life sentence if he can help it. Farnell will talk.'
But Jill walked towards him. 'I tell you, he will not talk. George has no interest in anything but these metals. He has sacrificed everything to that end — everything, I tell you. I know,' she added softly. 'The threat of imprisonment will not make him talk unless he wants to. He has never thought — '
The door burst open behind me and she stopped speaking. Her mouth fell open and then in a whisper she breathed, 'George!'
'Get back against the table, all of you.' The voice was hard, desperate.
I turned. Standing in the doorway, a Luger in his hand, was George Farnell. If Jill had not spoken his name, I don't think I should have known him. His face was white and covered with several days' growth of beard. Snow was plastered over him. His voice was cold and metallic. 'Go on. Get back. All of you. You too, Jill.' That was all to her. He'd recognised her. But that was all his greeting.
'Farnell!' I said. 'Thank God you're here. Don't go down to the Oslo train. The police will be on it.'
'I know. I heard, I've been listening outside the door ever since Jorgensen arrived. Go on, get back — you too, Gansert. I'm trusting nobody.'
I backed away until I felt the hard edge of the table against my body.
'Jill. Go behind that table and get their pistols from them. Throw them over here to me here.'
But she didn't move. 'George. You've got to listen to me. Mr Gansert has his yacht in Aurland. We can get you away to England. You can't stay here. They're going to arrest you for the murder of a man called Schreuder.' Her voice choked. 'I saw his body at Fjaerland. You didn't kill him — did you?'
'Do as I say,' he answered without a trace of emotion. 'Get their guns off them.'
Jill hesitated. 'You didn't kill him, did you?' she asked again.
'Of course, I killed him,' Farnell replied harshly. 'What else was I to do — have a swine of a Nazi collaborator steal all that I'd worked for? For two years I worked up at Finse on forced labour, crawling to the Germans, ingratiating myself, earning freedom to find out what I wanted to find out. And then after the war, always hiding. Never able to return to England. What did you expect me to do with the bastard when I found he'd.followed me and seen me at work? Go on, Jill — now get those guns.'
I glanced at her face. It was set and hard. She turned away and went along behind the table. In all, she collected three guns and threw them on to the floor at Farnell's feet. That's better,' he said. He kicked them into a corner and went over to the stove. 'So you've got the police on the Oslo train, Jorgensen?' His eyes peered at us through his glasses. 'I wonder how the devil so many of you managed to converge here? Somebody's been talking.' He searched our faces. Then his eyes fell on the flask of brandy. He picked it up and took a long swig. 'A-ah. That's better. So you came all the way from England in your own boat, Gansert — just to find me?'
I nodded.
He smiled. 'When you finally achieve what you've been fighting for all your life, then people will help you.' He swung viciously towards me. 'And that's just when you don't need their help. When you need them, they're not there. When you don't they come rushing half across the world in their fine yachts searching for you. God! If only I'd been interested in archaeology instead of mineralogy — how much pleasanter my life would have been! There's no money in archaeology. But minerals! Remember how they wanted to get rid of us with out even paying us the salary they owed us out in Southern Rhodesia. Then I located the copper. They couldn't have done more for us after that — the bastards.' His face seemed drawn and bitter. He hadn't had an easy road. He seemed lost in thought for a moment. Nobody spoke. Slowly he looked up and stared straight at Jorgensen. 'Jill was quite right, you know,' he said quietly. 'You're threat of prison wouldn't have made me tell you anything.'
Jill took a step towards him. Then she stopped. 'Why don't you tell Bill where the thorite is?' she said. 'He'll play fair with you — and he's got B.M. & I. behind him.'
'So it's Bill, is it? Big Bill Gansert.' He laughed unpleasantly. 'And you'll vouch for him, will you, Jill? My girl calls him Bill and she says she'll vouch for him, and I'm supposed to make him a present of my life's work. I'll see you in hell first,' he shouted at me. He turned on Jill. 'As for you — ' And then he stopped and rubbed his hand over his face. 'No,' he said. 'No. I guess it's not your fault. It's my fault. If only I could make you understand.'
'But I do understand,' she said softly.
He looked at her long and searchingly. 'Maybe you do,' he said with a sigh. 'But it's too late now.' He straightened up and looked us over, the muzzle of his luger following the direction of his gaze. 'I'll get away from you all — do you hear?'
'There are police down at Finse,' Jill said.
He nodded. 'Yes. I expected that. I expected that as soon as I saw Jorgensen here.' He crashed the butt of his pistol against the wooden wall. 'I'm hounded out of my own country. Now I'm being hounded out of Norway. Why? Why?' His voice was high-pitched, hysterical. 'I did what I had to do. These metals were my life work. I needed money for research. Would any institute in Britain give it to me? Would any of the big industrial concerns?
'No.' He looked angrily at me. 'Certainly not B.M. & I. So I stole the money. I stole it from my partner. He was a dull, unimaginative little man anyway. But now — now I've done the spadework and got something they want — now they'd be prepared to condone murder — if you can call killing a rat like Schreuder — a traitor — murder. Well, you won't get it — any of you. I'll get away. Right away. Somewhere where I'm not known. Then I'll make my own terms.'
'You can make your terms right here and now,' I said.
He looked at me. 'How do you mean?'
'I have full authority to act for B.M. & I.,' I pointed out.
He laughed. 'What will you offer?'
I hesitated. What offer could I honestly make him? 'Do you want an outright figure or a percentage of the ore lifted?' I asked.
'What's your outright figure?' He was watching me with a sneer.
'A hundred thousand pounds,' I said. 'Payable over five years provided the deposits hold out that long.'
He threw back his head and laughed. 'A hundred thousand! If you offered me a million, it wouldn't repay me for what I've been through — or Jill — or that poor little wretch, Clegg. It wouldn't bring Schreuder back to life or stop my father from committing suicide. You didn't know about that, did you? He committed suicide. A million! Those deposits are worth tens of millions to the company that gets hold of them.'
'What about a directorship in Del Norske Staalselskab and a part share in the business?' Jorgensen said.
He sighed. 'You don't seem to realise what I've got here. It's bigger than D.N.S. Bigger than B.M. & I. It could be the world's biggest industrial plant. And anyway I don't trust you,' he shouted. 'I don't trust any of you.'
'Well, who will you trust?' I asked. 'What about the person you sent those samples to — in the whale meat. Will you trust them? Who was it?'
He stared. 'You mean to say you don't know who it was? But I thought! — he looked across at Jill — 'I thought that's why you were here. Didn't you tip Gansert off?'
Jill stared. 'I don't understand.'
'Those samples — didn't you give them to Gansert?'
'I never received any samples. Mr Gansert got some, but that was from Sir Clinton Mann.'
'They were delivered to us as the result of an advertisement,' I explained. 'The address on the package had been obliterated by blood.'
'Oh. So that's what happened.' He looked across at Jill again. 'I'm sorry. I thought — '
He rubbed his hands across his face. He was dead with tiredness.
'Why don't you trust Mr Gansert?' Jill said again. 'Please, George.'
She moved towards him. But he waved her back. 'Keep there against the table, Jill. And throw me a sandwich from that packet.'
She tossed him the packet. He took another swig at the flask of brandy and then began to eat. 'He could get you out of Norway,' Jill went on, pleadingly. 'He's got his yacht here. Everything could be arranged. We could start again. Please, George — trust him.'
'I'll trust nobody,' he snarled, his mouth full.
I was watching Jill and I saw her lower lip tremble. Her eyes were dull and lifeless. Dahler began to agitate his withered arm. His right hand plucked at his ski suit. 'Mr Farnell,' he said. 'I wish to speak to you. I want to ask something of you. Once you saved my life, you know. Now I wish for your help again. I want you to tell them how I escaped. Tell them that I didn't sell any secrets to the Germans. Tell them — '
'Shut up!' Farnell shouted violently. 'I'm trying to think.'
'But — please — they,must be told. They will not let me into Norway.'They say I am a traitor. I am not. I gave no secrets away. Tell them that, please. Tell them how you helped me escape from Finse.'
'Shut up — damn you!' Farnell almost screamed.
I looked across at Dahler. His face was no longer cunning and there was no sardonic smile on his lips. He looked just like a child that has been refused a sweet. And that moment I saw Lovaas's heavy body tense. Jill must have seen it too, for she cried, 'George! Look out!' And then Lovaas plucked Dahler up in his hands and, using him as a shield, flung himself at Farnell.
Farnell didn't hesitate. His Luger came up and he fired from the hip. The noise was shattering in that confined space. Lovaas dropped Dahler with a cry and spun round clutching at his left shoulder. Farnell crammed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. 'Next time I shoot to kill,' he said. Blood was oozing between Lovaas's fingers. His face looked white and his teeth were bared with pain. 'Gansert,' Farnell said. 'Come over here. I want a word with you.'
I crossed the room towards him. He watched me. The gun, still smoking, followed me. 'Where did you say your boat was?'
'Aurland,' I answered.
He came closer to me. Then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear. 'Take it round to Bjorne Fjord, south of Bergen. Contact Olaf Steer. Wait for me there. I may come or I may not.'
'Why not accept my offer?' I suggested. 'Or at least give B.M. & I. a chance to negotiate.'
'Do as I say,' he answered. 'We'll talk about that later. Now get back over there.' He turned to Dahler who was getting up off the floor where Lovaas had dropped him. 'Go outside and slide all the skis except mine down the slope. Go on, move.'
Dahler hesitated. But the violence in Farnell's eyes sent him out. 'My skis are by themselves to the left of the door.' Farnell picked up his rucksack and thrust his arms through the straps.
'You're being a fool,' Jorgensen said angrily. 'I can save you from all this trouble. We could have a development company, half English, half Norwegian if you like.'
'And you dictating your own terms — blackmailing me for Schreuder and this.' He nodded at Lovaas. 'By God, you must take me for a fool, Jorgensen,' he suddenly cried. 'Do you think I don't know who Schreuder was working for? No, I'll handle this my own way. And nothing you can do now will stop me.'
'George!' Jill took a step forward. 'You haven't a chance. The police — '
'To hell with the police.' He glanced at his watch. 'Have you got rid of those skis, Dahler?' he called.
'Yes,' came the faint answer, brought in by the cold wind that entered from the open door. Drifts of light snow were whitening the boards near the entrance.
Farnell backed away, easing the weight of the pack on to his shoulders. He stood for a moment in the doorway, his teeth bared in a smile in his stubble beard. 'I'll be on the Oslo train, Jorgensen, if you want me but your policemen won't find me.'
Then suddenly he was gone and we were staring at the closed door. And I became conscious again of the weight of the wind against the hut and the snow piling up against the windows.