The Saeter Hut
The shock of discovering that the body was Schreuder's and that Farnell was alive seemed to leave Jill completely stunned. She stood quite still, with a dazed expression on her face, as we put the coffin back and filled in the grave. The frozen slabs of earth rattled on the thin pine lid with a hollow sound. We replaced the sods and the little wooden cross with Bernt Olsen's name on it and then went down to the boat. Nobody spoke as we rowed back to the ship. Occasionally I glanced at Jill seated on the thwart opposite me. Her face was set and expressionless. I wondered what was going on in her mind. That it had been a shock was understandable. But there was something in her eyes and in the set expression of her face that puzzled me. There should have been excitement and happiness. But there wasn't. Only that dazed look that stirred something deep inside me. It hurt me to see her like that.
That I think was the first intimation I had that I was in love with her. I didn't consciously realise it at the time. That came later. But I felt disturbed and unhappy. She was so tense and strained. She ought to have been happy — happy at the thought that he was alive. But she wasn't happy. I remembered the urgency in her when she had first met me in that Thames-side pub. She had wanted so much to get to Norway and see his grave. And now… I didn't know what to make of it. Schreuder had been murdered — and by Farnell. Was that what hurt her so? Or was it the knowledge that he would do anything — lie, cheat, desert, even murder, for the thing that had driven him all his life? I suddenly realised how little she could have meant to him. She was just a side show — a pleasurable moment in a man's hard struggle to achieve what he had set his heart on. There was that conversation we had had coming up the Sognefjord. What was it she had asked me? What makes a man throw away love for something a woman can't understand?
I looked at her again. She was gazing out across the bows to where Diviner's spars showed against the black background of the pines shadowed by the mountainside. There was a stony, withdrawn look in her face. It was no longer the face of a girl. It was the face of a woman, tired and somehow forlorn. And I realised then that perhaps Farnell dead was more attractive to her than Farnell alive.
Jill wasn't the only one who was affected curiously by the discovery that Farnell was alive. Dahler sat in the stern, his sound hand gripping the gunn'l so that the knuckles showed white. He was excited. I could see it in his eyes, which glinted strangely in the moonlight. His face was taut, his whole body tense. He sat in the boat as though he were riding a horse in the Grand National. The lines at the corners of his mouth were etched deep and his lips were drawn back so that his teeth showed. His face looked cruel — cruel and excited.
As soon as we were on board I had the engine started and cast off. I got Wilson and Carter on deck and, leaving them to run the boat down the fjord, I went below to the saloon. The others were already there. Dick was pouring whisky into tumblers. Jill was seated on one of the settees, very still and silent, her face quite white against the dark red of the mahogany panelling. Dahler was standing in the doorway of his cabin, his hand plucking at his jacket and his eyes bright. 'Get Sunde,' I said to Curtis. 'I want to talk to him.'
'There is no need.' Dahler's voice was tense.
Curtis stopped and turned. We all looked at Dahler.
'I can tell you all you wish to know,' Dahler said. He sat down with a quick movement and leaned his weight on his withered arm. 'Sit down, please,' he said. 'Mr Sunde will not talk to you. He will do nothing without his partner. But to-day I have spoken with him. I used some persuasion — a little smuggling he has been engaged in with a man I know.'
'Was that why you telephoned from the hotel at Fjaerland?' I asked.
'Max Bakke? No.'
'Who did you telephone then?'
He smiled. 'That is my business, you know. Come, sit down — all of you, please.' He was leaning forward and there was that same strange glint in his eyes that I'd noticed in the boat. It was a savage, triumphant expression. I felt a shiver run down my spine. This cripple was suddenly in charge of the situation, dominating us all.
I sat down. 'You know where Farnell is?' I asked.
'That is better,' he said. 'Yes. I know where Farnell is.'
'Where?'
'He will be up in the mountains by now,' he replied. 'He is trying to escape. There is a warrant issued for his arrest.'
I looked at Jill. She was sitting motionless, staring at Dahler. 'How do you know?' I asked.
'What did you expect Jorgensen to do?' he demanded. 'He must find Farnell. So, he uses the police.'
'But what is he to be arrested for?' Curtis asked.
'For murder,' Dahler answered.
'But nobody but ourselves know that the body in that grave isn't Farnell's,' I pointed out.
He laughed. It was a quick, sharp sound and it grated in the expectant silence. 'You do not quite understand. Farnell is Schreuder now. It is Schreuder who is being arrested — he is to be arrested for the murder of. Farnell.'
'But-' I hesitated. The irony of it! 'Does Jorgensen know that it is Farnell who is alive?'
'But, of course. As soon as Kaptein Lovaas describes the man who escapes from his ship, Jorgensen knows it is Farnell. The little finger, you remember? No man can hide that. You did not know it was Farnell, eh?' He smiled as though it amused him.
'No,' I said. 'And nor did you.'
'Oh, but I did,' he answered. 'I knew as soon as Mr Sunde admitted that his partner and Einar Sandven had helped the man.'
'But how?' I asked.
'How?' His voice became suddenly harsh. 'Because Schreuder was an Austrian Jew and had worked for the Germans. You forgot that Sunde and Storjohann were of the Kompani Linge. Old Einar Sandven was also in the resistance. It had to be Farnell — Bernt Olsen, as they knew him. Listen. You wish to know how the message was placed in the whale meat. Well, I will tell you. Farnell came by boat from Fjaerland to Bovaagen after he had killed Schreuder. He came to Bovaagen because he had friends there who had hidden him during the war. He stayed at Nordhanger with Einar Sandven and his wife. It was Sandven who placed the package in the whale meat. It was Sandven who approached Kaptein Lovaas and got Farnell shipped as a hand on Hval Ti.'
I stared at him. I had no doubts about the truth of what he said. It all fitted in so easily with what I knew. It couldn't have happened any other way. Farnell had probably met Sunde or Storjohann at the whaling station when he was reporting for duty on board the catcher. Then, when his plan to get to the Shetlands failed, he had remembered the divers. He had probably known where they would be working and had planned his desperate escape from the catcher with that fact in his mind. Yes, it all fitted in. And I cursed under my breath to think that I had been talking to Lovaas on board his catcher and the man, locked up in the cabin below decks, had been Farnell himself. If I'd made Lovaas a high enough offer… But I hadn't. And now Farnell was up in the mountains, on the run with the police after him for murder — for murdering himself, It was a ridiculous situation. 'Where is he now?' I asked.
'I tell you — in the mountains.'
'Yes, but where?'
Again that crooked smile of his. 'First we go to Aurland.'
'And then?'
'Then we will see.'
I watched him, wondering what he was after. His eyes were black in the glare of the lights. His withered hand was crooked like a claw. In some peculiar way he was enjoying the situation. 'Get Sunde,' I told Dick.
When the diver came in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, I said, 'Where's Farnell — Bernt Olsen? Is he at Aurland?'
Sunde's eyes opened wide with surprise. 'Ehe, who's bin tellin' yer-' Then he broke off, staring at Dahler. 'Oi told yer not ter tell 'em nuffink,' he muttered angrily.
'Then he is at Aurland?'
The diver's expression became obstinate.
I caught Dick's arm. 'Fetch the chart, will you?' I said.
When he returned I spread the sheet on the table. Aurland was farther up the Sogne — the next fjord to the south. I looked up at Sunde. 'Have you any relations at Aurland?' I asked.
'No.' His voice was sullen.
'Has Sandven or Storjohann?'
He didn't answer.
'All right,' I said. 'We go to Aurland.' I looked at the chart again. Dahler had said Farnell would be up in the mountains. From Aurlandsvangen a valley ran up to Vassbygden and from there he could go on up the Stenbergdal to… My eyes followed the possible route with sudden excitement, for the Stenberg valley led up into the mountains towards Finse and the Jokulen. I looked across at Dahler. 'Farnell would know people up at Finse, wouldn't he?'
He smiled, but said nothing. He was like a cat — a cat that had been presented with a dish of cream. I could almost hear him purring. Damn the man! What infernal pleasure did he get out of the situation? I looked down at the map again. The railway running through Finse was marked quite plainly. That would be the Bergen-Oslo railway. I looked up at Dahler again. It would be quite easy to reach Finse from Bergen. And Jorgensen was at Bergen. 'Who did you telephone from Fjaerland?' I demanded.
He smiled. But he made no reply.
A sudden anger seized me. I wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him till he answered. 'Was it Jorgensen?' I asked, gripping the edge of the table.
'Why should I telephone Jorgensen?'
I straightened up. Why should he telephone Jorgensen? He hated the man. What had made me think he'd telephone him? I was being a fool. I looked round at the others. They were all tense, all watching Dahler. Jill's face was white, like the little church at Fjaerland in the moonlight. 'We'd better all get some sleep,' I said. 'We only need two on watch at a time.'
Dick handed me a tumbler of whisky. I drank it off and went up on deck. The moon stood like a silver ball above the white snows of the Jostedal. It struck down the fjord, turning the water to a bright glade of light between the sombre mountains. 'Call me at six,' I told Wilson. Then I went below again.
The saloon was empty. The tumblers rattled on the table to the shaking of the engine. Sunde was already back in bed when I slid open the door of my cabin. I sat down on his bunk and explained just why I wanted to contact Farnell. But all I got out of him was a promise to let me talk it over with his partner.
I undressed and got into my bunk. I was tired, but my mind was too full of problems for sleep to come easily. I lay in the dark, listening to the juddering of the engines and thinking of Farnell climbing up through the valley to the snow-capped mountains. Thank God I could ski. Then I was asleep and the next thing I remember was Dick shaking me. 'Come up on deck — quick,' he said. His voice was excited.
I jumped into some clothes and hurried after him up the companion. It was just past six and the sun was rising behind the mountains over our stern. Wilson was still at the wheel. Dahler was leaning against the chartroom, his small, crippled figure bundled up in a duffle coat that reached almost to his ankles. We were off to Balestrand. The white facade of the Kviknes Hotel showed bright in the glowing light.
'Look!' said Dick, clutching my arm and pointing for'ard.
Ahead of us lay the wide sweep of the Sognefjord. And fine on our port bow the grey shadow of a whale catcher showed, against the darker background of the mountains. It was tearing up the fjord at full speed like a corvette, a high bow wave showing white against its grey paint.
I dived for the chartroom and got the glasses. The twin lenses brought the catcher close and on the side of the bridge I was able to pick out the name Hval 10. I put the glasses down and looked at Dahler. He was watching me. 'So that's who you telephoned,' I said.
He turned his head and stared down the fjord towards the catcher. I took a step towards him and then stopped. I wanted to hit him. I wanted to get hold of his scrawny little neck and shake him until he was senseless. But it wouldn't do any good. 'Dick,' I said. 'Take Dahler below and have him fix some breakfast. Send Sunde up to me.' I went aft then and relieved Wilson at the wheel.
When Sunde came up, I pointed to the catcher. 'That's your friend Dahler's doing.' I said.
'No friend of mine,' he answered.
'He telephoned Lovaas — yesterday, from the hotel.' I seized his shoulder and swung him round. 'Listen!' I said. 'We've got to get to Farnell before Lovaas does. Do you understand?'
He nodded.
'We'll pick your partner up either on the way or at Aurland. If we don't will you guide me to Farnell?'
'Yes,' he said. Then he looked at the slim lines of the catcher ploughing up the water as it raced down the fjord. 'Lovaas is a proper bastard.' He turned to me again. 'Mr Gansert,' he said, 'I'll do anyfink you say, 'cos Oi reckon you're the only bloke wot can get Bernt Olsen safe a't o' Norway. Pity we didn't know you was a friend o' his. We could 'ave smuggled 'im aboard your boat instead of runnin'
'im up inter the mountings.' He struck his fist violently against the chartroom roof. 'Ter fink o' Bernt Olsen on the run again. As if 'e 'adn't 'ad enough of it during the bleedin' war. Peer and Oi worked wiv 'im up 'er in the mountings. We was busy derailing trains on the Bergen-Oslo line at one time. Olsen was a brave man. The Jerries caught 'im, but they couldn't make 'im talk. Me an' me partner owe our lives to him. An' a'terwards, 'e still went on working wiv us, till we was sent down to Bergen to sabotage shipping.' He seized my arm. 'Oi don't care wevver 'e did kill Schreuder. It was no more than wot the little swine deserved. Schreuder was up at Finse working for the Jerries. Oi don't care wot Olsen done. If Oi can 'elp 'im ter escape, Oi will.'
The violence in his voice surprised me. 'Why did you tell Dahler where Farnell had been taken?' I asked.
'Cos 'e threatened me,' he answered. Then he looked at me quickly. 'Oi wouldn't 'ave told 'im then only I knew wot Olsen done fer 'im up at Finse an' Oi thought he were a't to 'elp 'im, Mr Gansert,' he added, 'I reck'n Dahler must be mad.'
'Why?' I asked.
'I dunno. 'E says 'e wants ter get ter Olsen sos 'e can disprove the charges wot've bin made against 'im. But Olsen can't disprove them charges. They're true.'
'But I thought Olsen got him and five others away in aero engine cases.'
'That's roight. So 'e did. But 'ow did Dahler fix fer the guard to be relaxed? Oi dunno. But it looks sort 'o fishy ter me.' His gaze wandered again to the catcher, now disappearing round the headland which I was cutting fine. 'As fer Lovaas,' he murmured. 'If the war were still on an' Oi 'ad a tommy-gun-' He made a motion of mowing an enemy down.
'Did Lovaas work for the Germans?' I asked.
'Course 'e did,' he replied. 'Lovaas goes where the money is. Why d'yer s'pose 'e's a'ter Olsen now?'
The catcher had disappeared. 'I suppose he is bound for Aurland,' I said.
'Why else would 'e be racin' up the Sognefjord?' Sunde answered. 'Ain't no whales in the Sogne. An' every minutes 'e's away from the whaling' gra'nds, is money lost. That means there's bigger money up 'ere — an' from wot Oi've gathered, that means 'e's a'ter Bernt Olsen. 'Course 'e's makin' fer Aurland.'
As we rounded the headland, the catcher came in sight again.
But she was stem on and fast disappearing into a light haze. The best Diviner could do was eight knots. Hval 10 was doing a good twelve.
I stayed on at the wheel, wondering why Dahler had phoned Lovaas. What did he hope to gain? What was going on in that warped mind of his? I'd have stopped and dumped him ashore at Leikanger or Hermansvaerk if I could have spared the time. But I felt that every moment was vital. The hours passed slowly. Jill came up on deck as we reached Solsnes and turned south into Aurlandsfjord. Her face was a white mask. She didn't say anything. She just stood gripping the rail for a long time and then went below again. Clouds had gathered. The sun had vanished and the day was cold. The mountains in Aurslandsfjord were different. There were no tree-clad slopes and deep gullies full of water roaring down from the melting snows. The mountains were a wall of rock, rising sheer for 5,000 feet on either side of us. Their tops were bald and rounded, the ice-worn rock smooth and grey. And behind, the snow piled up like sugar icing.
Aurland was kinder than Fjaerland. It wasn't so wild. No vast ice fields stood over the little wooden town and it was set at the bottom of a fertile valley. But all round it were the mountains, a gloomy background of black rock and cold, grey-looking snow. It was raining and the clouds swept down like a curtain across the fjord. It was just short of midday as I picked up the glasses and focused them on the town. A steamer was moving into the quay. A plume of steam showed at the funnel-top and the sound of her siren echoed and re-echoed through the mountains till it died away in the stillness of distance. For a moment I thought Lovaas wasn't there. Then I saw the grey lines of the catcher, barely visible in the mist, emerge from behind the steamer.
I left Dick to run Diviner in to the quay farthest away from Hval 10. Sunde was with me in the bows and as we slid into the wooden piles, I jumped. He followed me. 'Which way?' I asked. I knew we were too late. But I was still in a hurry to get there.
'Up there,' he said and led me through a cutting between wooden warehouses.
We reached the main street and turned right into a small square with an old stone church. We crossed it and reached a bridge spanning a wide river, that sucked and eddied round the wooden piles of the bridge. The water was a cold green and very clear. The bed of the river was all boulders torn down from the mountains and the water curled in a thousand little white-caps as it bubbled over the rocks. Our feet made a hollow, wooden sound as we hurried across the bridge plankings. Sunde turned in at the gate of the second house on the right past the bridge. Two kittens, one white and one ginger, stopped their play and watched us out of wide, interested eyes. They ran mewing towards us as we knocked on the door.
'Who lives here?' I asked.
'Peer's sister,' Sunde replied. 'She's married to an Aurland man.' He pushed the kittens away with his boot and knocked again. The iron knocker made an empty sound on the wooden door. He looked down at the kittens who were sitting, mewing at him. 'They're hungry,' he said and beat violently on the door.
'Hva vil De?' called a voice. A fat woman with a white apron had come out of the neighbouring house. 'Men det er jo hr. Sunde,' she said.
'Hvar er?' he asked.
There followed a quick conversation in Norwegian. Finally Sunde broke a pane of glass and climbed in through the window, taking two kittens with him. I followed. 'Where are they?' I asked.
'They left early this morning,' he answered. 'Gerda, her husband, Peer and a stranger.'
'Farnell?'
He nodded, and led the way through to the kitchen. The kittens followed him, mewing plaintively. He poured some milk into a saucer and placed it on the wooden floor. 'They all had heavy packs and skis.' He opened the door of the food store and put a plate of fish on the floor for the kittens, together with the remains of the milk in a bowl. 'Gerda would never have left the kittens with nothing to eat unless she was upset.'
'But why did she go with them?' I asked.
'Why?' He laughed. 'You ain't got much idea of wot the mountings is like, eh? Olsen goes inter 'idin', see. Maybe 'e's makin' fer one of the turisthytten, maybe fer one o' the old saeters — that's our summer farms. Well, there ain't nobody up there this time of the year. It's all snow. So every bit o' food's got ter be taken up. That's 'ow we lived durin' the war. We lived in the mountings an' people like the Gundersens next door an' Gerda — yes, women as well as men — brought food up to us.' He went over to the kitchen range and put his hand up the chimney.
'What are you looking for?' I asked.
'War souvenirs,' he answered. 'Gerda's husband kep'
'em up the chimney. But they're gone now.'
'What sort of war souvenirs?'
'Pistols. Two Lugers we took off some Jerries.'
'So Farnell is armed?'
'That's roight. An' lucky 'e is, too — 'cos they only got aba't four hours' start.'
'How do you mean?'
'Lovaas was 'ere only an our an' a 'alf back. 'E'll be on is way up inter the mountings by now.' He went to the window and peered out. The rain was little more than a light mist. 'If it's snowin' up in the valley they'll be orl roight. But if it ain't snowin'.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'Listen, Mr Gansert. Oi'm goin' after Peer. Can you ski?'
I nodded. 'I'm pretty fair,' I said.
'Okay. I'll be at the ship in half an hour. I'll 'ave rucksacks, skis, food — everyfink. What size boots do you take?'
I told him. His air of command had taken me by surprise. Before the next few hours were out Alf Sunde was to give me several surprises. 'We gotter move fast,' he said as he went through the front door and turned back towards the bridge. 'Yer'll want light oilskins an' warm clo'ves,' he said. 'Got a gun?'
'Yes,' I replied. 'I've got two Smith and Wesson three-eights.'
'Bring 'em bo'f.'
'Good God!' I said. 'Lovaas wouldn't risk a shooting.'
'Wouldn't 'e?' He laughed. 'Not normally 'e wouldn't. But this is different. From wot I've gavvered o' this business it's big enough fer 'im ter go a'tside the law an' get away wiv it. Wot's the deaf of a few men when a new industry's at stake, you just tell me that?'
I remembered the scene that night in the whaling factory. Sundt was right. Lovaas, knowing what the prize was, would stick at nothing. 'I'll bring the guns,' I said.
We parted in the square and I hurried back to the ship. Jill was leaning against the rail with Curtis as I stepped on board. 'Where is he?' she asked. 'Captain Lovaas left over an hour ago with Halvorsen, his mate, and one of his men — a man named Gaarder. They had rucksacks and skis. What's happened, Bill?'
'Farnell's gone up into the mountains,' I said. I glanced round the deck. 'Where's Dahler?' I asked.
'He's gone,' Curtis answered. 'He caught the steamer.'
'Back to Bergen?' I asked.
'No. It went up the fjord towards Flamm.'
'Flamm?' The name meant something to me. I dived into the chartroom and looked at the map. Jill and Curtis crowded round me. Flamm was at the head of Aurlandsfjord. And from Flamm there was a mountain railway which had joined the main Bergen-Oslo line at Myrdal. From Myrdal he was within an hour's run of Finse. I swung round. 'Can you two ski?'
'Yes,' said Jill.
'A bit,' Curtis replied.
'Right. As soon as I've got my things together, Dick will run you up to Flamm. You may catch up with Dahler there. If so, don't let him see you. If he's gone, take the next train to Myrdal and from there catch the Oslo train to Finse. If my guess is right, you'll pick up Dahler's train there — or if not Dahler's, Jorgensen's. Wait at Finse for them. Understand?'
Curtis nodded. But I saw an obstinate look come into Jill's face. 'Where are you going?'
'Sunde and I are going up into the mountains.'
'I'm coming with you,' she said.
'No.' She began to argue, but I stopped her. 'You'll only slow us up. We've got to move fast. We've got to catch Lovaas up before he gets to Farnell. Oh, for God's sake!' I cried as she started to argue again. 'Do as I say. Follow Dahler. I know what Lovaas is up to. But I don't understand Dahler's game. For all I know he may be the more dangerous of the two.' I went down to my cabin then, calling for Dick. 'Dick,' I said. 'You'll stay with the boat. Run Jill and Curtis up to Flamm and then return here. Lie off in the fjord and keep watches. Wilson and Carter will remain with you. Don't move from here for any message whatever.'
I reached down into the bottom drawer of a locker and brought out the two service revolvers. I saw his eyebrows lift. 'Okay,' he said. 'You'll find me lying off wherever the water's shallow enough to take my hook. If you want to come aboard at night flick me G-E-O-R-G-E on a torch.'
'Right,' I said. I opened my wallet. 'Here's fifty thousand kroner. Give Curtis twenty and Jill ten. Keep the rest yourself. If you want Ulvik, his number is Bergen 156 102.'
I was running through drawers, taking out things I needed — socks, sweaters, gloves, oilskins. 'Get me some cigarettes, matches, chocolate and a half bottle of whisky,' I told Dick. 'And a couple of candles. They're in the galley. There's a small torch there, too.'
In five minutes I was ready with everything jumbled into an old kitbag. I dumped it over the side on to the quay. 'Let go for'ard,' Dick ordered. Wilson ran to the warps. Jill came towards me. 'Good luck!' she said. Her grey eyes were clouded as though with pain. 'Please God you reach him in time,' she whispered. Then suddenly she leaned forward and kissed me on the mouth. 'Thank you,' she said softly and turned quickly away.
'Let go aft,' Dick called to Wilson. The engine came to life with a roar. I turned to Curtis. 'I'm relying on you to catch up with Dahler,' I said. 'Don't follow him if he goes to Bergen. Go on to Finse. I want you there, between us and Jorgensen.'
'Okay,' he said.
'I'll get in touch with you at the hotel at Finse just as soon as I can.'
He nodded and I jumped down on to the quay as the ship went slowly astern. In the thin drizzle I stood and watched Diviner swing gracefully on the flat surface of the water. The propellers frothed at her stern and she glided away up the fjord, her slender spars devoid of sail, but her brasswork gleaming proudly even in that dull light. I watched her until she was no more than a ghostly shape in the thickening curtain of mist.
An open tourer swung into the quay, hooting furiously. Sunde jumped out from the seat beside the driver as the drosje came to a standstill. The back was littered with rucksacks and skis. 'You jump in the back,' he said, grabbing the kitbag. 'You can get yer rucksack packed then.' He opened the door and threw the kitbag on top of the rucksacks. I climbed in and the car started off before he was back in his seat. 'We can go as far as Vassbygden by car,' he said, as we tore up into the square and turned left along the bank of the river.
That was one of the wildest drives I have ever had. The driver was one of Sunde's resistance friends and evidently he knew something of the urgency of the matter, for he drove as though the devil was behind us. The road was little more than a stone track. We bumped and swayed up the valley. The mountains ahead were a grey-white world of snow half obscured by mist. On either side they closed in on us till we were winding along under beetling cliffs that looked as though they would rain boulders down on us at any minute, so cracked was the rock by the ice of countless winters, Sunde turned in his seat as I was struggling to pack my rucksack and still prevent myself from being jolted out of the car. 'Lovaas is exactly an hour ahead of us,' he said. 'Harald here' — he nodded towards the driver — 'had only just returned from driving him up to Vassbygden when I sent for him.'
An hour! If we went really fast we could still catch up with him. I thought of Lovaas's big girth. Then I remembered how quick he had been on his feet. An hour was quite a lot to make up. But we had one advantage. We knew he was ahead of us. He did not know that we were behind him. 'Who was with him?' I asked.
'His mate and another man,' was the reply.
The cliffs above us flattened back to pine-clad slopes. A long sheet of water filled the valley. 'Vassbygdi,' Sunde shouted. Houses huddled at the farther end, their reflections clearcut in the soft green water.
We skirted the lake and went on for another mile up the valley to the village of Vassbygden. There the drosje stopped. It was the end of the road. We piled out and got our rucksacks on to our shoulders. They were incredibly heavy. Apart from clothing, we carried food — cheese and chocolate mainly. The skis were tied across the top. Harald and the drosje disappeared down the track and we turned our faces to the mountains. The air was cold and damp. The rucksack dragged at my unaccustomed shoulders. My borrowed ski boots were too big. I cursed Farnell and began to sweat.
For all that he was a skinny little man about half my size, it was Sunde who set the pace. And when I asked him whether he thought to catch Lovaas up that afternoon, he said. 'We gotter get to Osterbo turisthytte by nightfall. That is unless yer want ter sleep in one of the old disused saeters.'
'There's a moon,' I panted in reply. 'We'll push on by moonlight.'
'Per'aps,' he said. 'But wait an' see 'ow yer feelin' by then. Osterbo's quite a way — over two Norwegian miles; an' there's seven English miles to each Norwegian.'
We climbed in silence after that. We were moving up into the mist, climbing along the side of a valley. Below us the river thundered by narrow gorges down to Vassbygdi. Every now and then the track flattened out and the river rose to meet us. We trudged through a narrow gorge where the water ran deep and swift. Damp-blackened rock rose sheer on either side, its summit lost in a cloud so that it seemed as though it might go up and up into infinity. Ahead of us was the thunder of water. It grew louder and louder until the white froth of a fall emerged like a broad grey ribbon out of the mist. Speech was impossible as we climbed beside the live, swirling water. The river was full of the early melting of the snows and the water curved over the rock ledges in thick green waves. The whole rock-walled valley seemed to shake to the weight of the water thrusting down it to the fjord.
At the top of the fall the rock fell back a little and slopes of lush spring grass ran up to black buttresses that had no summit. Lone rocks as big as houses lay scattered up this valley. In the shelter of an up-ended slab stood the broken remains of a wooden hut. 'Almen saeter,' Sunde shouted in my ear. 'It's over two hundred years old, this saeter. A long time ago an old fellow used ter live 'ere winter and summer. An 'e killed every soul wot come along this valley. Proper myffylogical, 'e was.'
The hut was old and broken. Its walls were made of great beams axe-cut to dove-tail into each other, the ends protruding at the corners like a pile of sticks. The roof was turf on a layer of birch bark. The huge, up-ended slab of rock protected the building from rock falling from the cliff buttresses high above us. I paused to get my breath and ease the suffocating beating of my heart. 'Come on nan, Mr Gansert,' Sunde called. 'You ain't started yet.' He turned and continued up the defile. His small body seemed dominated by the heavy pack. He was like a snail with his house on his back. And he didn't seem to hurry any more than a snail. Yet there was a rhythm about the steady movement of his legs. Unhurriedly, steadily he covered the ground. His bare legs above the white ankle socks were hard with muscle at each forward thrust. Those muscles were the legacy of a youth spent in the mountains on foot and on ski.
I started after him again, trying not to hurry, trying to catch the swing of his easy movement. But my legs ached and my heart pounded. The sweat was pouring down my face, oozing from every pore, soaking my clothes. I thought of Farnell out ahead, not knowing that he was being followed, and I pressed on. I had to reach him before Lovaas. I had that to drive me. If I was out of condition for this sort of thing then my willpower would have to see me through.
The valley widened and split in two. We took the left fork, crossed a flimsy wooden bridge and worked our way over the shoulder of a hill to the other fork of the valley. Here we saw our first snow — a long, white streak lying in a gully across the river. This and the fact that we were in one of the brief descents raised my spirits. I increased my pace and caught up with Sunde. I pointed to the snow. 'We'll be on ski soon,' I panted. I was thinking of the relief to my aching limbs of gliding across snow.
He looked at me. His face was fresh and barely sweating. 'The less ski work we 'ave ter do the better. Nah, just you try an' go steady. Keep the same pace all the time. 'Um a toon — Tipperary or somefink. Get a swing into it. We're going too slow.'
'You mean Lovaas will be going faster than this?' I asked.
He nodded. 'Orl roight,' he said. 'Oi know it ain't your fault. We're used ter this sort o' walkin'. You ain't. Just shut yer ma'f, get yer 'ead da'n an' keep goin'. An' remember, Oi'm settin' the pace. Nah yer loosened up a bit, we'll get goin'.'
He went on then. I watched his feet. They began to twinkle, moving with supple, effortless ease — a long, lithe movement, the stride never varying in length or pace whether going up or down. For a while we were close to the river, the spray of several small falls whipping across our faces. I kept pace with him here, imitating the supple movement of his limbs regardless of the ache of my knees. Then we began to climb, a steady, relentless climb. Try as I might, he began to draw ahead. I put my head forward and my hands on my thrusting knee-caps. I must get to Farnell in time. I gritted my teeth and thought of Farnell. I must reach him in time. I began to hum a tune, hissing it through my teeth with each gasp of breath. It fitted the beat of my feet. And the beat of my feet fitted the words — I must reach Farnell in time. I must reach Farnell in time. My feet were hot and tired through to the very bone. My legs ached — ached so that my boots were a leaden weight. My body poured out sweat, blinding my eyes, suffocating my lungs. And over all, the heavy rucksack dragged at my shoulders, cutting into the light flesh over the collar bone, tearing at my neck muscle's. Determinedly, doggedly, I clung to the beat of those words — I must reach Farnell in time. But gradually my mind became too numb and too dazed even to breathe through my teeth the beat of my feet. Soon the words were wiped away. My mind was blank. I forgot Farnell. I forgot everything. My world became bound by a stony path winding up, ever up, and the little figure of Sunde with the enormous rucksack bobbing ahead.
We were swinging away from the river now, climbing the side of the valley. At the top the mist was thicker. There were little patches of snow. There was little sign of a path. We were in a wild place, a jungle of huge, lichen-covered stones topped with snow. Every now and then we came upon a large red T painted on the rock — the tourist association, blazing the trail. Then suddenly among some desolate, gnarled-rooted trees — BJORNSTIGEN in large black letters on a flat slab with an arrow pointing to the left. Sunde was waiting for me here. 'The Bear's Ladder,' he said. 'It's a short-cut. If Lovaas takes the easier route we may catch up wiv 'im. It's a bit of a climb this.'
My heart sank. I had no illusions about what Sunde meant when he talked of 'a bit of a climb.' He started off to the left up an easy slope. 'We'll pause for a bite at the top,' he said over his shoulder by way of encouragement.
'Why the Bear's Ladder?' I asked. I was following so close my face was almost touching the battered canvas of his rucksack.
'An ol' bear used the route, I expect that's why.', 'Were there bears up in these mountains?'
'Course there were. Me fa'ver used ter 'unt them. There's still a few fa'nd. But they don't 'unt them nah.'
We fell silent as the slope became steeper. Soon we were struggling up under a sheer, buttressed wall of rock. The blood pounded in my ears. The sweat trickled down the small of my back. Mist and sweat gathered in beads on my eyebrows. We went through a drift of snow. The marks of nailed boots showed deep in the drift. Sunde pointed to them. 'All goin' up. None comin' da'n. We may meet Peer yet.'
'Has Lovaas been this way?' I panted.
'Can't tell,' he answered.
The world was very still in the mist. The river was no more distant than a rumble of water. A small grey bird chattered on a rock, dipping his body as he talked. Another drift and then the loose rock covered by snow rising right up into the mist. Beyond the mist, there was probably mile on ghastly mile of piled-up, snow-capped peaks. But I could see nothing through the sweat but that treacherous, snow covered trail winding up under the blank wall of the mountains we were climbing. Sliding and cursing, gripping with my hands as well as my feet, thrown off balance by the weight of my pack, sweating and panting, I worked my way up, I thought of the old bear whose ladder this was. He'd had four legs and had not been encumbered by pack and skis. There were patches bare of snow and there Sunde's feet dislodged rocks that rolled down against my legs. I, in turn, dislodged others that clattered below us, some losing themselves in the snow in sudden silence, others rattling down till the sound of them was lost in the distance.
More and more often Sunde paused to give me a hand. But at last we reached the top and in a wild spot of giant boulders loosened from the mountains by the frozen wedges of winter ice, we paused and slipped off our packs. I flung myself against a rock, tired, exhausted, throbbing with heat and weariness. Sunde produced what he called heimebaktflatbrod — wafer-thin home-made bread and brown goat's cheese. 'Better eat quick,' he said. 'We can't stop more than a minute or two. An' don't eat no snow.'
Whilst I lay back, trying to eat, he cast about in the snow patches, examining the footprints. But in the end he shook his head. 'Impossible ter tell 'ow many people bin past 'ere.'
I closed my eyes. I didn't care. I didn't care if Farnell were killed. I wouldn't have cared if Lovaas had materialised out of the mist and pointed a gun at me. To be shot would be a merciful relief. I was dead beat. The mist wrapped round me like a clammy blanket. It seeped through my sweat-damp clothing and right into my bones. From being hot I was in an instant shivering with cold. 'Okay,' Sunde said. 'We'll move on now.'
I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with a kindly smile. 'Yer'll soon get used to it,' he said.
I struggled to my feet, every muscle in my body crying out with pain. In that brief rest I seemed to have stiffened up so that every joint seemed rusted, immovable. Sunde helped me on with the rucksack. We struggled on through deepening snow across a shoulder of the mountain. Soon we had to put on skis. Sunde waxed them first. The Norwegians use different waxes, not skins, for climbing through snow. The skis felt heavy and clumsy on my tired feet. It was as though I had strapped a pair of canoes to them. New muscles began to cry out in agony as we sidestepped up the shoulder. Then for a brief spell we were running downhill, following the tracks of other skis. There were several ski tracks in all. The snow ended in rock. I stemmed. The heavy rucksack swung and I fell. Sunde helped me to my feet. 'Lovaas is ahead of us,' he said.
I nodded. I had already realised that.
More climbing. Then another run on skis, in and out amongst huge, snow-capped rocks. At one point Sunde swung backwards and forwards across the mountain side, quartering it as though in search of something. At last he stopped by a large rock. I saw the pistol I had given him in his hand. He moved forward quietly on his skis. I ran up carefully towards him. He disappeared as I approached. A moment later I stemmed and came up facing the back of a smaller saeter hut almost buried in snow.
Sunde emerged from the side, shaking his head. 'Holmen Saeter,' he said. 'No one there. The ski tracks pass above it. But Oi thort Oi'd just make sure.' He pulled a map out of his pocket. 'Just wonderin' if we can make anuvver short cut 'ere.' But after a moment he shook his head. 'No. We follow the others.'
We began to climb then. The ache of my shoulders was less now the rucksack was freed from the skis. But my legs felt like the legs of a sawdust doll from which the sawdust is gradually seeping. The bones seemed to be no longer solid, but liquid sticks that bent and folded. I had difficulty in keeping my skis straight. If only we could get a nice long run down. But I had a vivid picture in my mind of the route. It was steadily up-hill all the way from Aurland to Finse — a good fifty miles the way we were having to come.
From Holmen Saeter we climbed in a steep zigzag, sometimes on foot. At the top there was a chill breeze. The mist was being blown to the head of the valley. It was like a white fog, one moment drawn aside to show the silver line of the river far below us and the black cliffs opposite, the next sweeping down, thick, impenetrable, choking. The snow was crisper here. But after only a short, downhill run boulders began to show like white molehills and we had to tramp forward on foot. Soon we were at the river again on a broad path where skiing was possible. The valley.widened and the river became a series of lakes. Beside the largest of these was a well-cared-for saeter. But again the marks of the skis ahead of us ran on past it. Doors and windows were bolted. An outhouse was similarly locked.
Sunde stopped and pointed to the ski tracks. Three ski tracks ran off at an angle, crossing the tracks we were following. 'Peer has gone back,' he said. 'See their marks?'
'Why didn't we meet them?' I gasped. I didn't really care. I was past caring. My mind was a haze in which the ability to keep going was all that mattered.
'Probably they went the long way round for the ski-ing,' he answered. 'Besides, the Bjornstigen would be difficult going down.'
He went on. I stumbled after him, trying to hold the killing pace. I wanted to pick up snow and cram it into my mouth. I wanted to lie down in the white softness of it that packed so easily with a crunching sound under our skis. But above all those desires was the thought of Farnell, alone now, sitting by a log fire in some lonely saeter farther up in the hills. The ski tracks would be plain — plain as though his route had been marked off on a map. And whilst he sat there, tired and lonely, Lovaas and his two companions would be approaching him. It was that thought that spurred me on. We had to catch up with Lovaas. We had to warn Farnell. If we got there too late… I wasn't afraid that Farnell would talk. He wouldn't tell Lovaas where the thorite deposits lay. Nothing would induce him to do that. But if they killed him… I remembered the hot temper that had blazed in Lovaas's grey eyes. I remembered what Dahler had said of him. Frustrated, he might well kill Farnell. And if they killed him, then all that he had worked for would be lost for ever.
Near the end of the lake the path hugged a sheer cliff. Wooden boards on iron supports took us across a gap below overhanging rock. Beneath us the lake lay black and cold. It was then I think that I first noticed that the light was beginning to fade. I looked at my watch. It was nearly seven. We climbed again for a few minutes. Then we were out on a hillside and looking up a widening valley. The mountains fell back as we advanced, opening out till they were no more than grey shapes, slashed with cold, dirty white. The mist swept down again, as though in sudden alliance with night. The grey of the valley deepened to a sombre half-dark in which rocks and river had a remote, unreal quality.
Soon it was dark. It came slowly and our eyes were given a chance to accustom themselves to it. But even so, it was pretty dark. Only the snow at our feet glimmered faintly to prove that we had not been struck with blindness. Sunde went slowly now, picking his way with care, his head thrust forward as though he were smelling out the route. He had a compass and he worked on that. Sometimes we were close to the water's edge, going forward by the sound of it rippling over the stones, at other times we were clambering over some shoulder of land. The rocks were thick and dangerous on these shoulders. But at last we were out in the open, clear of rocks and river, with the vague, white glimmering of snow all around us. Our skis slid crisply over the even surface. And then he found the ski tracks of the others and followed them through the black and glimmering white that was night in the mountains. There was not a sound in all the world. It was as though time stood still. This might be that world of shadow between life and death; it was chill, remote and utterly silent. The only sound was the slither and hiss of our skis. I wasn't panting now. The blood no longer throbbed in my ears. I felt numb and cold. The loneliness of the place ate into me.
Sunde slithered up beside me. 'Listen!' he said.
We stopped. A distant murmur could be heard through the sound of the stillness. It was water running over rocks. 'That's Osterbo,' he said. 'Wiv any luck we'll find 'im there.'
'What about Lovaas?' I asked.
'Dunno,' he replied. 'He ain't come this way. See — there's four ski tracks here. So that's Farnell's party. Maybe Lovaas stayed back at Nasbo, that saeter by the lake. He could rest up there and go on to Osterbo by moonlight.'
'But it was all locked up,' I said.
'Maybe he turned back when it began to get dark.'
'But we'd have heard him if he'd passed us,' I pointed out.
'Not if he passed us da'n by the river.' He gripped my arm. 'Look! Stars showin' nan. Goin' ter be a fine night.'
We went on then, following the four dim ski tracks. The sound of water grew louder. We reached a stone wall, followed it and came to a bridge across a torrent. The snow on the wooden cross-planks had been churned up by many skis. It was impossible to tell how many people had crossed. Across the bridge we swung to the right. And there, straight ahead of us, was a faint glimmer of light — red and soft, like the flicker of a camp fire.
Stars were patterning the sky ahead of us as we glided across the snow towards that light. The drawn veil of the mist gave shape to things — stone wall, a graveyard with two solitary crosses, the dull steel of a lake beyond. I drew my pistol from my rucksack. Soon we could see the sprawling shape of the Turisthytten. Nearest the lake was the old, original saeter, stone-built with turf roof. Behind it ran a new, wooden building. It was from this that the light shone. And as we got nearer we could see that it was a flicker of a fire. The snow ran smooth and white to the edge of the building. No shadow moved. Complete silence save for the murmur of the stream. The ski tracks ran to the door of the hut. And coming in from the left, other tracks ran to the window and thence to the door.
The click of a lock sounded through the starlit darkness. The click of a lock or was it the cocking of a gun? We froze in our tracks. There it was again. It came from the house. Sunde suddenly gripped my arm. 'The door,' he said.
The door swung to with a click. A moment later there was a dark gap. Then it swung to again. Someone had left the door to the hut open and it was swinging in the chill breeze. Somehow it made me think of the heels of a hanging man. 'You take the winder,' Sunde said. 'Oi'll take the door.'
I nodded. It was only later that I realised to what extent my weariness had allowed him to assume direction of the situation. I skied up to the dark wall of the hut and then worked my way along. What should we find? That open door — surely Farnell wouldn't have left the door open? Or was he standing there, watching and waiting for visitors?
Sunde's shadow slid up to the door. I saw him remove his skis and creep in through the entrance, pistol in hand. I glided along to the window and peered quickly in. At first glance the room looked empty. But as I drew back out of sight I realised that there had been a bundle of something in the far corner. I looked again. There in the far corner were three rucksacks. Around them lay a litter of clothes and food. There was more, food on the table. And an axe and a pile of logs lay beside the fire. I nearly cut my nose on a broken pane trying to peer more closely into the room. I touched the framework of the window. It moved. I pulled it open and felt the warmth of the fire. The door was flung wide and Sunde stood there, his pistol in his hand. He looked at three rucksacks. Then at me, peering in through the open window.
'So, he's gorn, 'as 'e?'
My numbed mind didn't think as fast as that. All I saw was the warmth of the fire. Farnell could wait. There was no hurry now. There were his rucksacks. He had a warm fire blazing. I thought of a cup of tea. I took off my skis and hurried round to the door. I dragged myself along a dark corridor with little cubicles leading off. Then I was in the room with the fire. I staggered toward it and slipped my rucksack to the ground.
God, it was wonderful, that fire! My numbed body received its warmth with unbelievable gratitude. If I could have purred, my life would have been complete in that moment.
'Can't 'ave left long,' Sunde said, scratching his head and spreading his hands to the blaze. He still had his rucksack on his back. He carried it as though it were part of him.
'What do you mean?' I asked.
Sunde stared at me. 'Gawd!' he said. 'This ain't like you, Mr Gansert. 'Ow many rucksacks d'you see?'
'Three,' I answered sleepily. But some little thought was nagging at my mind, burrowing up into consciousness. Then I got to my feet. 'My God!' I said. 'Three. There should be four.'
He nodded. 'That's roight. They bin ahead o' us.'
'Lovaas?' I asked.
'That's roight. Came in by the winder. Opened it by that broken pane.' He looked at me sharply. Then he dropped his pack to the floor and burrowed deep into one of the pockets. 'Ere, you 'ave a nip o' that, guv'ner,' he said, handing me a flask. 'Oi'm gonna 'ave a look ra'nd.'
I unscrewed the cap and took a swig at the fiery liquor. It was brandy. The fire of it warmed me deep inside. Sunde was back in a few minutes. 'Place is empty,' he said. 'No sign of a struggle. Everyfink in order. There weren't no trouble.' He scratched his head and took a swig at the flask. 'The way I see it, Olsen went part of the way down with Peer an' the others an' then coming back 'e saw Lovaas an' party before they saw 'im. Probably 'e 'ad glasses.' He looked across at me. 'Ow yer feelin', eh?'
'Better,' I said. 'Much better.' What he said seemed to make sense. And it cheered me. For it meant that there was still hope of our getting to Farnell before Lovaas. Farnell warned was a vdry different matter to Farnell lying in a saeter, unsuspecting. I looked into the embers. 'He can't have left long,' I said. 'The fire is too bright.'
'Ere, take anuvver swig o' this.' He passed the flask across to me and, putting his gun down on the table, got out a knife and began cutting bread and butter and cheese from the food on the table. 'We'll 'ave a bite to eat. Then we'll get movin'.'
Get moving! My limbs cried out in one great ache at the thought. But he was right. Our only hope of catching up with Lovaas was to get moving and keep moving. 'All right,' I said and got stiffly to my feet.
And at that moment a voice said, 'Sta stille!'
I saw Sunde freeze in the act of cutting the square slab of brown cheese. He dropped the knife and started for his gun which lay at the other end of the table. 'Sta stille ellers sa skyter jeg.' He stopped and stared at the window. I followed the direction of his gaze. Framed in the opening were the head and shoulders of a man — and the muzzle of a gun. The flickering firelight shone on him with a ruddy glow. His face was dark and bearded. His eyes were like two coals. He wore a fur-skin cap with ear flaps. 'Hva er del De vil?' Sunde asked.
The man's voice was harsh as he replied in Norwegian. And when he finished his teeth showed white in his beard as he grinned.
'What's he say?' I asked.
'E says 'e won't do us no 'arm, s'long as we don't cause no trouble. 'E's the third of Lovaas's party — Lovaas an'
'is mate ave gone on a'ter Farnell. Seems they spotted us just as it were gettin' dark. 'E's bin 'anging ara'nd, waitin' fer us ever since. Gor blimey! Couple o' mugs we are.'
I looked at my revolver. It lay more than a yard away from me. And suddenly a deep sense of drowsiness crept over me. This meant I couldn't go on. I could just stay here and rest. But something in Sunde's eyes caused my lethargy to vanish in a flash. His small body was tense, his hands crooked like claws under the table. 'Kom in,' he said quietly.