The Gybe
When I told Jorgensen we were on our way to Norway, he was furious. He brushed past Dick and came aft to where I sat at the wheel. 'Put back at once,' he said. 'I demand to be put ashore.'
I said nothing. The centre span of Tower Bridge was above us now. The two uplifted sections of roadway threw back the sound of our engine. We were through just ahead of the tramp steamer. Beyond our bowsprit, the river lay like a dark road winding to the sea. On either side the warehouses stood like shallow cliffs. And behind us London glowed, reflecting the light of its millions on the low cloud that covered the city.
'You can't get away with this, Gansert,' Jorgensen shouted. I thought for a moment he was going to try and seize the wheel. I didn't say anything. I was filled with a crazy feeling of elation. Of course, I couldn't get away with it. I just couldn't kidnap the man. But if I could bluff him into staying on board… if I could get him so worried that he didn't dare go ashore for fear of missing something… I had three people with me who all knew something about Farnell. Cooped up in the narrow confines of the ship I'd get their stories out of them. And with Jorgensen on board, instead of on his way to America, I didn't have to worry about the time factor. 'For the last time, Mr Gansert,' he said in a quieter tone, 'will you kindly put me ashore.'
I looked up at him then. 'Are you certain you want to be put ashore, Mr Jorgensen?' I asked.
'What do you mean?' There was genuine surprise in his voice.
'Why did you come to see me this evening?' I asked.
'Because I wanted you to use your influence with Sir Clinton — to persuade him to agree to operate with us in the development of the mineral resources of my country.'
For the first time I noticed that he had a slight lisp. But it didn't make him sound effeminate. Rather the reverse, for his struggle to pronounce his r's gave his speech added emphasis.
'I don't believe you,' I said bluntly. 'You came to see me because you wanted to know what we'd found out about George Farnell.'
'That is absurd,' he answered. 'Why should I be interested in this man Farnell? Perhaps he was good once. But ten years is a long time.'
'He spent most of those ten years in Norway,' I reminded him. And then I said, 'Why did you come to see me precisely at six o'clock?'
He seemed to hesitate. Then he said, 'I had a conference at Norway House. I could not come earlier.'
'Are you sure you didn't come because Sir Clinton told you I'd be meeting some people who knew Farnell at six o'clock?' I asked. It was a shot in the dark. And when he didn't reply, I added, 'You wanted to know who was sailing with me to Norway, didn't you?'
'Why should I?'
'Because you are as interested as we are in George Farnell,' I answered.
'That is ridiculous,' he replied. 'What is all this about Farnell? The man is dead.'
'Yet I've had a message from him.'
I was watching his face and in the light from the open door of the chartroom I saw his eyes narrow.
'When?'
'Quite recently,' I told him. Before he could ask any further questions I stood up. 'Dick. Take the wheel, will you,' I said. Arid then: 'You don't need to worry, Mr Jorgensen,' I told him. 'I'll not take you to Norway against your will. But come below a moment and hear what I have to say.' I turned and went down the companion way.
In the saloon I found Curtis and Miss Somers seated where I had left them. Dahler was pacing up and down. He swung «round as I came in. 'Why are we going down the river, Mr Gansert? I wish to be put ashore, please.'
'Sit down,' I said. Jorgensen appeared in the doorway. I pulled up a chair and thrust him into it. 'I'll set anyone ashore who wants to go,' I told them. 'But first listen to what I have to say.' Dahler sat down at the table, resting his weight on his withered arm as he peered up at me. 'For one reason or another we're all here because of one thing,' I said, looking round at their faces. 'Because of George Farnell's death.' I had their attention then. They, were all looking at me. I felt like the chairman of some incredible board meeting — the sort of board meeting one could only imagine in the moment of waking up with a hangover. They were such an odd assortment. And the undercurrent of emotion was so violent. It was in the air, like some electrical disturbance. On the surface they were just four individuals. But I was convinced that in some strange way they were all linked — and George Farnell was the link. 'For myself,' I said, 'I'm not satisfied about George Farnell's death. I want to know how it happened. And I'm going to Norway now to find out.' I turned to Curtis Wright. 'Since you brought your things with you, I take it you want to come?'
His glance went to the girl. Then he said, 'Yes, I'd like to.'
'Why?' I asked him.
He grinned. 'For one thing I've got three weeks' leave and this seems as good a way to spend it as any. For another, I too want to find out more about Farnell's death. There are messages I have to deliver. You see, I was with him on the Maloy raid.'
'Why didn't you deliver the messages after the raid when you heard he was missing?' I asked.
'Because I knew he wasn't dead,' he replied. 'No reason why you shouldn't know about it, I suppose. I should have reported it at the time. But I didn't. One doesn't always do what one is supposed to do when one's on active service. And afterwards — well, there seemed no point.'
He paused. Nobody spoke. Everyone was watching him. He had taken a gold watch from his pocket and was toying with it. The girl gazed at it fascinated. 'I was acting as liaison between the Kompani Linge and our own crowd on the Maloy raid,' he went on. 'When we were going in to the assault, Olsen came to me and asked me to give messages to various people. 'But only when you're certain I'm dead,' he said. 'I shall be reported missing on this raid.' I asked him what he meant by that, and he replied, 'I'll do the job we're ordered to do. But when I've got my men back to the beach, I'll leave them there. I'm going into Norway on my own. There's something I've got to do — something I'd started before the war. It's important.' I argued with him — ordered him, as an officer, to report back with his men. But he just smiled and said, 'I'm sorry, sir. One day perhaps you'll understand.' Well, I couldn't put him under arrest when we'd be in action in five minutes' time. I just had to leave it at that.'
'And what happened?' It was Jorgensen who put the question.
Curtis shrugged his shoulders. 'Oh, he did as he said he would. He brought his men back to the beach. Then he told them he was going back for a man who was missing. They never saw him again and we left without him. If I thought he'd deserted, I'd have reported the matter. But I'm convinced he didn't. He wasn't the type that deserts. He was tough — not physically, but morally. You could see it in his eyes.'
I leaned forward. 'What was it he had to do over there in Norway?' I asked.
'I don't know,' he answered. 'It may not have been important. But I know this. It was important to him.'
I glanced at Jorgensen. He was leaning forward, his eyes fixed on Curtis. Opposite him, across the cabin, the cripple sat back in his chair and smiled softly. 'What about you, Mr Dahler?' I said. 'Why have you come to see me?'
'Because I also wish to know more about Farnell's death,' he said.
Then why do you want to be put ashore?' I asked. 'The answer surely is to come with us to Fjaerland?'
'I should like to,' he replied. 'But unfortunately-' he shrugged his shoulders.
'You say you'd like to?' I was puzzled.
His fingers plucked at the cloth of the half-empty sleeve. 'There are difficulties, you see.' His face was working. His whole body looked taut.
'What difficulties?' I inquired.
'Ask Jorgensen.' His voice was violent.
I turned. Jorgensen's face was white. The rather leathery skin remained an impassive mask, but his blue eyes were narrow and watchful. 'Suppose you tell them yourself,' he said.
Dahler jumped to his feet. 'Tell them myself!' he cried. 'No. Why should I tell them that I can no longer enter my own country?' He thrust back his chair and took a step towards Jorgensen. Then he turned abruptly about. A few agitated paces and he was brought up by the door to the galley. He swung round and faced us. 'Never will I tell them that,' he said. His brown eyes fastened themselves on me with a strange intentness. 'I'll come, Mr Gansert. I owe Farnell a debt.' He glanced at Jorgensen. 'And I believe in paying my debts,' he added.
'What sort of a debt?' I asked.
'He saved my life,' he answered.
'You are making a mistake, Mr Dahler,' Jorgensen said quietly. 'In Norway you will be liable to arrest.'
'And which one of your employees will you get to inform against me this time, eh?' Dahler asked with a sneer. 'Or will you do your own dirty work?' He moved slowly across the room, his head thrust out towards Jorgensen and twisted slightly to one side. 'Haven't you done enough already?'
'Sit down, Mr Dahler please,' I said and put my hand on his shoulder.
He spun round on me and for a moment I thought he was going to bite my hand, there was such a look of venom on his face. Then suddenly he relaxed and sat down. 'Excuse me,' he said.
I looked towards Jorgensen. 'Finally there is you, Mr Jorgensen. You came here, you say, to discuss the possibilities of a B.M. & I. tie-up with your own organisation.' I leaned already told you, I don't believe you. You came here because you're as interested in Farnell as we are. You talked to Sir Clinton about nickel and uranium deposits. You were just guessing. You don't know what metal has been discovered in Norway.' I paused and then said very deliberately, 'But I do — and it isn't either nickel or uranium. As for knowing where the deposits are located, you haven't the faintest idea. Your visit over here is nothing but bluff.'
'So you know what metal it is that has been discovered, eh?' His eyes were without expression. It was impossible to read his thoughts. 'Was it Farnell who told you that?'
'Yes,' I answered.
'When did you hear from him?'
'The message was received after his death,' I said.
The girl started forward with a little cry. Dahler was watching Jorgensen.
'I'll set you ashore if you like,' I said. 'But remember — here in this cabin, I am convinced, is collected all the truth about Farnell — or as much as we require to know. And whilst you're in the States — I shall be in Norway.' I paused, watching him. Then I crossed over to the door. 'Think it over,' I said. 'If you like, I'll put you ashore at Greenwich. Only make up your mind quickly. We'll be passing the landing stage in about five minutes.'
I closed the door on them then and went up on deck. It was very dark after the glare of the cabin. All about us was a glitter of lights. The air was cold on my face. The deck throbbed under my feet. The swish-swish of water slipping past us was exhilarating. We were on our way.
I went aft to where Dick sat, a still, dark figure behind the wheel, the slender mizzen mast outlined like a spear against the glow of London. 'I'll take her now,' I said. 'You go down and get our passengers sorted out. Allocate cabins, issue blankets, sheets, clothes, anything they need. Keep them occupied, Dick, and separate Jorgensen from Dahler. Introduce the Somers girl to the galley and have her get a meal together. Don't give any of them time to think. I don't want anyone, least of all Jorgensen, coming up to me and asking to be put ashore.'
'Okay, skipper,' he said. 'I'll do my best.'
'Oh, and tell them to write down any messages they want sent,' I added as he moved off. 'Explain we've got transmitting as well as receiving sets.'
'Right,' he said and disappeared down the companionway.
I slipped into a duffle coat and took my place behind the wheel. Wilson was coiling down the warps. I called to him and he came aft. He was a Cornishman, not young, but a fine seaman. 'Get Number One jib and stays'! from the sail locker,' I said. 'And the jib-headed tops'l. If the wind doesn't increase we'll be able to carry them.'
'Aye, aye, sir,' he said. His seamed, weather-beaten face showed ruddy in the glow of the port navigation light. He paused. 'Is there any truth in what Mr Everard was saying, sir, that we're bound for Norway?'
'Quite true,' I said. 'Make any difference to you?'
His rugged features spread into a grin. 'There's better fishing in Norway than in the Mediterranean.' He spat over the lee rail as though to emphasise the uselessness of the Mediterranean and went for'ard. My gaze wandered to the masthead. The light, signifying that we were a sailing vessel under power, shone on the bare rigging. I settled myself down to the long vigil of conning the ship down to the mouth of the estuary. I didn't need the chart. I'd been up and down the Thames under sail so often. I knew every turn and twist, the buoy lights and the landmarks. Going down under power was comparatively straightforward. The only thing that worried me was whether Jorgensen would stay aboard.
It was with a sigh of relief, therefore, that I watched the Royal Naval College at Greenwich slide past in the darkness. He was not the sort of man who couldn't make up his mind. I'd said I'd set him ashore at Greenwich if he wanted me to. Since he hadn't requested me to, the odds were he had decided to stay. But I wouldn't be happy till I picked up the Nore. After that there'd be no turning back.
Half an hour passed and then Dick came up. 'Well, I've got them all sorted out,' he said. He glanced over his shoulder and in a mock whisper said, 'Believe it or not, Jorgensen, the great Norwegian industrialist, is helping Jill get grub.'
'Jill I take it is Miss Somers?'
'That's right. She's a pippin. Got stuck into it right away. Knows her way around already.'
'Where's Dahler?' I asked.
'In his cabin. I've given him the single one for'ard of the saloon on the starb'd side. The girl's got the port one. Jorgensen's in with you and Curtis Wright's sharing with me.' He produced a sheaf of papers. 'Shall I send these off right away?'
'What are they?'
'Messages for transmission.'
'Leave 'em in the chartroom,' I told him.
They're quite straightforward,' he said. 'Three from Jorgensen, one from Dahler and one from the girl.'
'I'd still like to look them over,' I replied. 'And get below again, will you, Dick. I don't want them left on their own till we're at sea.'
'Okay,' he said, and went below.
It was cold, sitting there at the wheel, and the time passed slowly. I was impatient to be out of the river. Gradually the lights of the docks and warehouses on either side thinned out until black areas of darkness marked open countryside and mudflats. We passed a big freighter moving slowly upstream. Her deck lights slid quickly by and in a few minutes she was swallowed up by the night. At full ahead we made a good eight knots. Add to that a four knot tide and we were going downstream at a fair rate. At a call from Dick, Wilson went below and returned with mugs of steaming coffee and sandwiches for Carter and myself. By eight we were running past Tilbury and Gravesend and half an hour later we could see the lights of Southend. We were out in the estuary now and the ship was beginning to show a bit of movement. The wind was south-east Kid piling up a short, steep sea that hissed angrily in the darkness i& it broke against our sides.
Dick joined me just as I picked up the Nore light, blinking steadily far ahead. 'Dirty looking night,' he said. 'When are you getting the sails on her?'
'We'll run out to the Nore,' I answered. 'Then we'll be able to steer our course with a good reaching wind. How's everything below?'
'Fine,' he said. 'Dahler went straight to bed. Said he's a bad sailor. Wright and Jorgensen are talking skiing over a bottle of Scotch. And the girl's changing her clothes. What about tonight — are we splitting into watches? Wright's done some sailing and Jorgensen says he can handle small boats.'
That was better than I'd hoped. The boat was an easy one to handle, and the four of us could have managed her quite comfortably. But if there were much sail changing to do, we'd soon tire ourselves out and then we'd have to heave-to for sleep. And I was anxious to get across to Norway as quickly as possible. 'Right,' I said. 'We'll split into watches. You take the starboard watch, Dick, with Carter, Wright and Jorgensen. For the port watch I'll have Wilson and the girl.'
That choice of watches was made without thought. Yet it was of vital importance to what followed. Almost any other split-up would have made the difference. It would have put Jorgensen in my watch. But how was I to know then the violence that would be bred in the close confines of the ship.
I handed the wheel over to Dick and went into the chart-room to work out our course. I read the messages through and transmitted them. They were simple notifications of departure to Norway — Jill Somers to her father. Dahler to his hotel and to the London and Oslo offices of Det Norske Staalselskab. When I emerged I found Wright, Jorgensen and the girl all sitting in the cockpit. They were talking about sailing. The Nore Tower was quite close now, illuminating the ship each time the powerful beams swept over us.
'Take over the wheel, will you, Miss Somers,' I said.
'Keep her head to the wind.' As soon as she had relieved Dick, I called to Carter and we got the mainsail up. The canvas cracked as the boom slatted to and fro in the weird red and green glow of the navigation lights on either side of the chartroom. As soon as peak and throat purchases were made fast and the weather back-stay set up I had the engine stopped and I ordered Jill Somers to steer up Barrow Deep on course north fifty-two east. The mainsail filled as the ship heeled and swung away. In an instant we had picked up way and the water was seething past the lee rail. By the time we had set jib, stays'l and mizzen the old boat was going like a train, rocking violently as she took the steep seas in a corkscrew movement that brought the water gurgling in the scuppers at each plunge.
I sent Dick and his watch below. They were due on at midnight. Wilson was stowing gear down below. I was left alone with the girl. Her hand was steady on the wheel and she eased the boat over each wave with a sure touch, keeping steadily to her course. The light from the binnacle was just sufficient to show her features in silhouette against the howling darkness of the sea. Her fair hair blew free about her head. She was wearing a polo-necked sweater under a rainproof windbreaker. 'You're quite at home on a ship,' I said.
She laughed. And by the way she laughed I knew she was enjoying the wind and the feel of the ship under her. 'It's a long time since I've done any sailing,' she said. And then a shade wistfully: 'Nearly ten years.'
'Ten years? Where did you learn?' I asked.
'Norway,' she answered. 'My mother was Norwegian. We lived in Oslo. Daddy was a director of one of the whaling companies at Sandefjord.'
'Is that where you first met Farnell?' I asked.
She looked up at me quickly. 'No,' she said. 'I told you. I met him when I was working for the Kompani Linge.' She hesitated and then said, 'Why do you suppose poor Mr Dahler queried George's death?'
'I don't know,' I said. It was a point that had been puzzling me. 'Why do you speak of him as — poor Mr Dahler?'
She leaned forward, peering into the binnacle, and then shifted her grip on the wheel. 'He has suffered so much. That arm — it quite upset me to see him like that.'
'You've met him before?' I asked.
'Yes. Long, long ago — at our home.' She looked up at me, smiling. 'He doesn't remember. I was a little girl in pigtails, then.'
'Was he a business contact of your father's?'
She nodded and I asked her what sort of business he had been engaged in.
'Shipping,' she replied. 'He owned a fleet of coastal steamers and some oil tankers. His firm supplied us with fuel. That's why he came to see my father. Also he had an interest in one of the shore whaling stations, so they liked to talk. Father enjoyed being with anyone who was prepared to talk whaling.'
'Why is Dahler scared to go back to Norway?' I asked. 'Why does Jorgensen say he's liable to be arrested?'
'I don't know,' She was frowning as though trying to puzzle it out. 'He was always such a dear. Each time he came he brought me something from South America. I remember he used to say that's what he kept tankers for — to bring me presents.' She laughed. 'He took me skiing once. You wouldn't think it now, but he was a fine skier.'
We fell silent after that. I was trying to visualise Dahler as he had been. She, too, I think was lost in the past. Suddenly she said, 'Why doesn't Major Wright deliver those messages he talked about?' She did not seem to expect any reply for she went on, 'All these people on board your ship going to look at his grave; it's — somehow it's frightening.'
'Did you know him well?' I asked.
She looked at me. 'George? Yes. I knew him — quite well.'
I hesitated. Then I said, 'Does this mean anything to you — if I should die, think only this of me?'
I wasn't prepared for the jolt my question gave her. She sat for a moment as though stunned. Then like a person in a trance, she murmured the remaining two lines — 'That there's some corner of a foreign field — that is forever England.' She looked up at me. Her eyes were wide. 'Where did you hear that?' she asked. 'How did you know-' She stopped and concentrated on the compass. 'Sorry. I'm off course.' Her voice was scarcely audible in the sound of the wind and the sea. She put the wheel over to port and the ship heeled again until her lee scuppers seethed with water and I could feel the weight of the wind bearing on the canvas. 'Why did you quote Rupert Brooke to me?' Her voice was hard, controlled. Then she looked up at me again. 'Was that what he said in his message?'
'Yes,' I said.
She turned her head and gazed out into the darkness. 'So he knew he was going to die.' The words were a whisper thrown back to me by the wind. 'Why did he send that message to you?' she asked, suddenly turning to me, her eyes searching my face.
'He didn't send it to me,' I replied. 'I don't know who it was sent to.' She made no comment and I said, 'When did you last see him?'
'I told you,' she answered. 'I met him when I was working for the Kompani Linge. Then he went on the Maloy road. He — he didn't come back.'
'And you never saw him after that?'
She laughed. 'All these questions.' Her laughter trailed away into silence. 'Don't let's talk about it any more.'
'You were fond of him, weren't you?' I persisted.
'Please,' she said. 'He's dead. Just leave it at that.'
'If you wanted it left at that,' I answered, 'why did you come along this morning, all packed and ready to go to Norway? Was it just a sentimental desire to see the grave?'
'I don't want to see the grave,' she said with sudden heat. 'I don't want ever to see his grave.'
'Then why did you come?' I insisted.
She was about to make some angry retort. But suddenly she changed her mind and looked away from me. 'I don't know,' she said. She spoke so softly that the wind whipped her words away into the night before I could be sure of what she said. Then she suddenly said, 'Will you take the wheel now, please. I'm going below for a moment.' And that was the end of our conversation. And when she came up on deck again she stood out in the wind by the port navigation light, a tall, graceful figure, even in a duffle coat, moving rhythmically to the dip and climb of the ship. And I sat on at the wheel, talking to Wilson who had sat himself down in the cockpit and wondering how much she knew and what Farnell had meant to her.
We were near the Sunk Lightship now. I altered course for Smith's Knoll Lightship. An hour later we called the starboard watch and I took the log reading and marked up our course on the chart. Since setting sail we'd made a steady eight and a half knots. 'Course is north thirty-six east,' I told Dick as I handed the wheel over to him.
He nodded vaguely. He was always like that first day out. In the six years he'd been in the Navy he'd never been able to conquer sea-sickness. Wright was feeling bad, too. His face looked green and sweaty and in contrast his hair flamed a brighter red in the glare of the chartroom light. Jorgensen, on the other hand, attired in borrowed sweaters and oilskins, was as unaffected by the movement of the ship as Carter, who'd acclimatised himself by many years in the stoke-holes and engine-rooms of aged freighters.
My watch was called again at four in the morning. The wind had strengthened to about Force 5, but the ship was riding easier. They had taken a tuck in the sails. Nevertheless, the movement was considerable. The sea had increased and Diviner was plunging her bowsprit like a matador's espada into the backs of the waves. All that day the wind held from the south-east, a strong, reaching wind that sent us plunging on our course across the North Sea at a steady seven to eight knots. By dusk we were 155 miles on our way to Norway. Watch and watch about, and with every bit of sail we could carry, it was like real ocean racing. I almost forgot about the reason for the trip to Norway in the sheer exhilaration of sailing. The weather forecasts were full of gale warnings and shortly before midnight we had to shorten sail again. But the next day the wind lessened slightly and backed to the north east. We shook out one of our reefs and, close hauled, were still able to steer our course.
During those two days I got to know Jill Somers pretty well. She was twenty-six — tall and active, and very calm in a crisis. She wasn't beautiful in the accepted sense of the word, but her boyish ease of movement and her zest for life gave her a beauty of her own. Her charm was in her manner and in the way her rather wide mouth spread into a smile that was slightly crooked. And when she smiled her eyes smiled too. She loved sailing and in the excitement of the wind's driving force we forgot about George Farnell. Only once was his name mentioned. She was telling me about how she and her father had got out of Norway just before the German invasion and how after some months in England she had got in touch with the Kompani Linge through the Norwegian military authorities in London and arranged to work for them. 'I just had to do something,' she said. 'I wanted to be in it with everybody else. Daddy wangled it. He was in the Norwegian Shipping and Trade Mission in London. I went up to Scotland and began work right away at their headquarters — I and five other girls kept a twenty-four-hour radio watch. That was how I met Bernt Olsen.'
'Did you know his real name was George Farnell?' I asked.
'Not then. But he was dark and short and one day I asked him if he was really Norwegian. He told me his real name then.'
'Did he also tell you he was an escaped convict?' I asked.
'Yes,' she said, smiling quietly to herself. 'He told me everything there was to tell me about himself then.'
'And it made no difference to you?' I inquired.
'Of course not,' she answered. 'We were at war. And he was training for one of the first and most desperate raids into what was by then enemy territory. Three months later he went into Norway on the Maloy raid.'
'He meant a lot to you, didn't he, Jill?' I asked.
She nodded. She didn't speak for a moment and then she said, Yes — he meant a lot to me. He was different from the others — more serious, more reserved. As though he had a mission in life. You know how I mean? He was in uniform and training hard for a desperate job — and yet he wasn't a part of it all. He lived — mentally — outside it.'
It was this description of Farnell before the Maloy action that intrigued me. Farnell's interest in life was metals. In this respect he had been as much an artist as a painter or a musician. War and his own life were small matters in the balance against the excitement of discovering metals. Curtis Wright's description of Bernt Olsen at the moment of going into Maloy and Jill's account of him prior to embarkation all added up in my mind so one thing — Farnell had been after new metals in the mountains of Norway.
Farnell wasn't mentioned again. On watch our minds were fully occupied with the sailing of the boat, and keeping awake. Unless you have done any passage-making it is difficult to realise how completely one becomes absorbed in the operation of a ship. There is always something to concentrate on, especially for the skipper. When I wasn't at the wheel there were log readings to take, the dead reckoning to work out, position to be fixed by shooting the stars or the sun whenever opportunity offered, radio watch to be kept at certain times, forecasts to be listened to, sails to be checked. And over everything was the dead weight of sleepiness, especially in the early watches.
And there was little chance to get to know Jorgensen or Wright. Certainly no opportunity to discuss Farnell with them. As long as the wind held it was watch and watch about. The watch on duty went below as soon as it was relieved by the other watch. And during the day there were meals to get and the other chores to be done. And every now and then the watch below had to be called to help change sails. All I had time to notice in those first two days was that Jorgensen was a first-rate sailor and seemed to be literally enjoying the trip and that Curtis Wright settled down quickly.
The third day out the wind veered back to sou'-sou'-east. We were able to take out our last reef, set main tops'l and yankee. The sea lessened to a steep swell. We were nearly four hundred miles on our way by then and the sun was shining. We began to sight some of the trawlers of the Aberdeen fleet. There were gulls about and occasionally a stormy petrel skimmed low over the tumbled waters like a flying fish.
That was the morning on which things began to develop. We were able to relax, and think of other things besides sailing. At noon I handed the wheel over to Jorgensen. Dick had taken both watches for'ard to get the main tops'l down and replace a jammed swivel shackle. For the first time since we'd started I was alone with the Norwegian. 'Course north twenty-five east,' I told him as I climbed stiffly out of the wheel seat.
He nodded and took the wheel, peering forward at the compass. Then he raised his eyes to the group busy on the halyards round the mainmast. Finally he looked up at me. 'Just a moment, Mr Gansert,' he said, for I was going for'ard myself to lend a hand. I stopped then and he said, 'my health is benefiting greatly from this little trip. But I do not think my business will — unless we can come to some arrangement.'
'How do you mean?' I asked.
He leaned back, holding the wheel easily in his strong fingers. 'I admit that I was not being honest with you when I said I was not interested in Farnell. I am — and particularly now that I know he has communicated with you recently. He told you, I suppose, that he had made important mineral discoveries in Norway?'
There was no point in denying it. 'His message implied that,' I answered.
'Did he tell you what metal he had discovered?' he asked.
I nodded. 'Yes,' I said. 'And sent samples.''
'By post, I suppose?' His eyes were watching me narrowly.
I smiled. 'His method of dispatch was rather more unorthodox,' I said. 'However, I imagine it's sufficient for you to know that I got the samples safely.'
'And you know where the mineral is located?' he asked.
I saw no reason to disabuse his mind of what was a natural supposition. 'The samples wouldn't have been of much use to is without that information,' I pointed out.
He hesitated and then said, 'I think we could come to some sort of an arrangement. Suppose we make straight for Bergen? I can then put specific proposals before you and you can get Sir Clinton-'
His voice died away. He was gazing past me. I turned. Dahler was standing at the top of the companionway. I hadn't seen him since we left the Thames, except once when I'd stumbled into him in the half darkness as he made his way to the afterheads. Jill had been looking after him. The sun emerged from behind a cloud and his lined face looked grey in the bright light. He had on a sweater of Dick's that was several sizes too large for him and a pair of old grey trousers turned up twice at the bottom. He was looking at Jorgensen. Once again I was conscious of me latent enmity of these two men. Dahler weaved his way awkwardly across the pitching deck. He must have heard what Jorgensen had been saying for he said, 'So it's reached the stage of specific proposals, has it?'
'What is that to do with you?' Jorgensen snapped.
'Nothing,' the cripple replied with that crooked smile of his. 'I am interested, that is all. You are like a dog worrying over a bone. You have buried it, but you are afraid some other dog will come along and dig it up. You were even questioning Miss Somers.'
Jorgensen said nothing. He was watching the other with a strange intentness. The man's nerves were plucking at a little muscle in his jaw.
'I told her to tell you nothing,' Dahler added.
'Since when have you become her guardian?' Jorgensen asked with a sneer.
'I was a friend of her father,' the other answered. 'Fortunately you got nothing out of her — or Major Wright.' He smiled. 'Yes you didn't know my cabin door was not properly shut, did you?' He turned to me. 'Before you discuss specific proposals, Mr Gansert, I suggest you find out what he knows about George Farnell.'
Jorgensen's knuckles were white as his grip on the wheel tightened. 'Why are you so interested in Farnell?' he asked Dahler.
The cripple leaned on the chartroom roof to steady himself against the pitch of the ship. 'Bernt Olsen smuggled us out of Finse.' He thrust his head suddenly forward. 'Also he told me who had instructed the Germans to raid my house that night. You didn't know I knew about that, did you?'
'Your house was raided because you talked too much about what you pretended you were doing.'
'Mueller, your Bergen representative, had nothing to do with it. I suppose?'
'If he did, then he's paying for it with a six-year sentence for aiding the Germans.'
'For doing what you ordered him to do.'
'Det er logn.' In his excitement Jorgensen dropped into Norwegian. His face was flushed with anger.
'It is not a lie,' Dahler answered.
'Prove it then.'
'Prove it?' Dahler smiled. 'That is why I am here, Knut. I am going to prove it. I am going to prove that you ought to be doing the sentence that Mueller is serving now. When I've found Farnell-'
'Farnell is dead,' Jorgensen cut in, his voice sharp and controlled again.
Dahler didn't say anything after that. The curt reminder that Farnell was dead seemed to bring him up with a jolt. He turned and started to move back towards the companion way. But he stopped and looked round. 'Before you discuss his proposals, Mr Gansert,' he said quietly, 'remember that he worked for the Germans till the tide turned, just as hard as he worked for the British later.' And with that he disappeared down the companionway.
There was a sudden shout from Dick — 'Watch your course.' The boat's head was right up into the wind and canvas everywhere was slatting madly. Jorgensen paid her off on to course.
Then he sighed. 'That is what happens, Mr Gansert,' he said quietly, 'in a country that has been occupied.'
I made no comment and after a moment, he went on: 'Before the war Jan Dahler and I did business together. His tankers supplied my metal plant. Now-' He shrugged his shoulders. 'He was foolish. He helped some British agents and then went and talked too freely about it. And because Mueller was pro-German and informed against him, he blames me. And his escape from Finse.' He looked up at me. 'A German officer has admitted that the price of his escape was certain information they wanted. The information concerned new types of marine engines planned by my engineers. The plans were 'lost' when Norway was occupied. But Dahler knew about them because I'd promised to fit his tankers before accepting any other orders. And — well, there was a leakage and the plans were extracted from us.'
'And Dahler was responsible?' I asked.
'There's no proof — apart from the German officer who broke down under cross-examination by our Intelligence. But the demand for the plans was made just after Dahler's escape from Finse. That is why the authorities do not want him back in Norway.'
'What was he doing up at Finse?' I asked.
'Forced labour,' he answered. 'The Germans had some fantastic scheme for an ice dome on the Jokulen.' He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. 'You see how it is, Mr Gansert. To cover himself, he must make counter-allegations. And' — he hesitated — 'the trouble is that a man in my position is awkwardly placed under an occupation. I had to carry on, publicly showing friendship for the Germans, in order to work for the liberation of my country. If they did not trust me, then I should have ceased to be useful. Many people who do not know what I did secretly are prepared to believe that I was pro-German. That is why it makes me angry to hear a man like Dahler make wild accusations. I know how vulnerable my work has made me.' He smiled a trifle sadly. 'I thought it better that you know,' he said. And then he added, 'Now, what about running straight into Bergen and arranging things?'
I hesitated. Two things were occupying my mind. One was the information that at some period of the war Farnell had been up at Finse. The other was that Jorgensen was no longer dictating terms to B.M. & I., but seeking them. I glanced for'ard for an excuse to break off the conversation. Dick was hoisting the tops'l again and it was jammed. 'Hold it,' I called out to him. 'You haven't cleared the topping lift. We'll talk about this later,' I said to Jorgensen and hurried for'ard to give them a hand.
As soon as the tops'l had been set and everything made fast I took my watch below for food. I needed time to think over Jorgensen's change of attitude. Dahler was seated in the saloon when we came down. Jill poked her head in from the galley. 'Four is it?' she asked.
I nodded. I was looking at Dahler. He was rocking gently backwards and forwards with the movement of the ship. 'Bit hard on Jorgensen, weren't you?' I said.
'Hard?' He gave a mirthless laugh. 'Knut Jorgensen is-' he hesitated and then said, 'He's a business man.' He leaned towards me across the rocking table. 'I tell you, Mr Gansert, the only dangerous Norwegian is a Norwegian business man. I'm a Norwegian and a business man. I know. We're an open-air, easy-going, comfortable people — until it comes to business.'
'And then?' I asked.
He fastened on to my sleeve with his sound hand. 'And then — anything is possible,' he replied. The way he said it made me feel cold inside. Jill came in then and immediately everything seemed normal. But after the meal, when I had gone to my cabin to sleep, the scene between Dahler and Jorgensen came back to me. I lay with my eyes open, listening to the movement of the ship, sensing the violent antagonism of the two Norwegians, and wondering what the hell to do about it. To keep them apart was out of the question on a small ship. To let them come together… They'd have to be watched, that was all. I swung myself out of my bunk and went up on deck to find Jorgensen at the wheel and Dahler seated in the cockpit watching him. Jorgensen looked paler than usual under his rather leathery skin. His gaze alternated between the binnacle and the burgee at the mast-head — anywhere but in the direction of Dahler. The tension between them was noticeable, even up there on deck, with the wind blowing and Diviner lifting and surging with each wave.
'Mr Dahler,' I said. 'Now you're recovered, you'll join my watch, please.'
'Good,' he said.
'We're the watch below now,' I added pointedly.
He smiled. 'I like it very well up here,' he answered. 'My stomach is happier.'
So I, too, stayed up on deck. But I knew it was useless. If Dahler wanted to sit and watch Jorgensen he could do it any time the starboard watch was on duty. If only I'd arranged it so that they were both in my own watch. I could have kept my eye on them then. As it was I had to sleep sometime.
That night my watch came off duty at midnight. The forecasts were of gale warnings on practically all coasts of the British Isles. The wind had already veered to the sou'-west. We had gybed in the course of our watch and for the first time since we left the Thames estuary we were leaning our starboard scuppers under. I had stowed the mizzen to avoid it blanketing the mainsail. 'Watch it,' I told Dick. 'I don't think the wind will back, but if it does suddenly, you'll have to gybe. And keep an eye on the wind force. If it blows much harder that yankee will have to come off.'
I left him then and went below. Dahler had already gone to his cabin. I could see the light on under the door. Jill and Wilson were drinking tea laced with rum. She filled a mug for me. 'Rum?' she asked, and poured it without waiting for my reply. Her face was very pale and her eyes looked bright, almost feverish. She handed me the mug. 'Cheers!' I said, watching her over the rim of it.
As soon as Wilson had gone for'ard to the foc's'le she said, 'Are you doing a deal with Mr Jorgensen, Bill?' Her voice was jerky and pitched a shade high.
'How do you mean?' I asked.
'That's what Mr Dahler told me,' she said. 'He said you and Jorgensen were joining forces — against George Farnell.'
'Against George Farnell — ' I didn't get it. 'George Farnell's dead,' I reminded her.
She nodded. 'That's what I told Mr Dahler. But he only said, "Don't lose Gansert — that's all".'
'Did he ask you to have a talk with me?'
'Not exactly. But-' She hesitated. Then she took a step towards me and caught my arm. 'Bill. I'm scared. I don't know why. There's something about this boat to-day. Everybody's on edge. Everybody's asking questions.'
'Who's been asking you questions?' I asked.
'Oh, Jorgensen this morning. Curtis this afternoon. You're about the only person who hasn't.' She suddenly laughed. 'Instead, I'm asking you. What about Jorgensen?'
'I'll decide that when I get to Norway,' I said. 'Right now you'd better turn in and get some sleep.'
She nodded and downed the rest of her drink. I waited till she'd switched her cabin light on, then I turned off the saloon light and went aft to my own cabin.
I was dead tired and fell asleep on my bunk with my clothes on. The movement of the ship was like the rocking of a cradle. I was conscious of it whilst I slept and it added to the sense of deep luxury. I dreamed of soft things, of deep purples and velvets, and of the rocking, swaying, lurching of the tree tops. Then the motion changed. It became slower, heavier. It shook with the crash of each onslaught. It leaned more steeply, more terribly. I clawed at the blankets, clutched at the side of the bunk at each roll. And suddenly I was awake, and I knew that I had to go up on deck. Down there in my cabin I could feel it. I'd sensed it in my sleep. The wind was holding her down. She was carrying too much canvas. I slipped into my sea boots. As each wave slid under her I could feel her reluctance to lift to the next.
I opened the cabin door. There was a light on in the saloon. At the foot of the companionway, I paused. I could hear voices raised in altercation. I turned and peered through the crack of the half-open door. Jorgensen and Dahler faced each other across the saloon table.
'So del er det De tenker a gjore, hva?' Jorgensen's voice was low pitched and violent. The ship heaved and he clutched the centre support. Behind him Jill's cabin door opened. She was fully clothed. Presumably their argument had woken her. 'De far ikke anledning,' Jorgensen continued, still speaking in Norwegian. 'Sa fort vi kommer til Bergen skal jeg fa Dem arrestert.'
'Arrested?' Jill cried, and he spun round. 'Why will you have him arrested? What has he done?'
'Sold secrets to the enemy during the war,' Jorgensen answered.
'I don't believe it,' she replied hotly.
I threw open the saloon door. 'On deck, please, Mr Jorgensen,' I called. 'We're going to shorten sail.' I didn't wait for his answer, but hurried up the companionway. Out on deck the night was a howling wilderness of water. I dived for the weather rail and scrambled aft to the dim shapes gathered in the cockpit. The wind would soon be reaching gale force. I could sense the growing weight of it as gust after gust buffeted me. 'Dick!' I shouted, 'time you shortened sail. That yankee's far too much for her.'
'I was just going to,' he answered. His voice betrayed his anxiety. He knew he'd left it later than he should. Jorgensen came out on deck, followed by Jill. Then Dahler emerged. I cursed the cripple for coming up. But I hadn't time to worry about it. If he got swept overboard it would be his own fault. Curtis was at the wheel. 'Keep her running before the wind,' I ordered him. 'Dick. You and Carter out on the bowsprit. Jorgensen. You work with me.'
We scrambled for'ard. The ship was pitching violently. Dick and Carter stepped over the bows on to the bowsprit strands and worked their way out. Jill eased off the sheets and, as the yankee emptied itself of wind and began to flap, Jorgensen and I let the sail down with a run. Dick and Carter out on the bowsprit gathered it in and passed it aft to us. We set the ordinary jib and then began to get the main tops'l in. With a following wind and the main booms swung right out we were still carrying far too much canvas. The wind was driving us into the sea. You could feel it.
In the light of the spotlight I had switched on in the rigging for'ard we manned the halyard and sheet of the tops'l. But she jammed as we ran her down. The weight of the wind was pressing the sail against the gaff of the mainsail and the canvas had caught. As we worked to free it, I felt the wind shift and saw the clew of the mainsail lift as the wind got behind it. 'Curtis,' I shouted. 'Port your helm or you'll gybe her. Wind's shifting.' But he'd already seen the danger and swung the wheel over. 'Don't worry about course,' I told him. 'Just keep her running before the wind.'
'Okay,' he called back.
That's the danger with a following wind, especially at night. The main boom is swung right out. If the wind changes or you get off course without noticing it and a sudden gust swings in behind your canvas, then your boom comes across with a rush, sweeping the ship, and fetching up with a crash on the other tack that's enough to rip the mast out of her. That's gybing the way it shouldn't be done.
We tried setting the tops'l again. But she wouldn't budge. We needed more weight to clear her. 'Curtis,' I called. 'Hand over the wheel to Jill. And come for'ard.' With his extra weight we managed to clear the jam at the expense of the canvas. With a ripping sound the sail came down with a run. 'Hold it,' I yelled. 'Jorgensen. Take the jackyard as it comes down, will you.' He went a little further aft and, standing on the main hatch, reached up for the yard. 'Right,' I called. 'Lower away.'
The sail came down then, a flapping, billowing bunch of canvas that lashed at us as we gathered it in. And in that moment I sensed rather than saw the swing of the boat. I pulled the canvas aside just in time to see the wind get behind the leach of the mainsail. The great pile of canvas filled from the other side. The boom began to swing inboard. 'Gybe-ho!' I screamed. Jorgensen! Down! Get down!'
I saw him glance to starb'd. 'Duck!' I shouted. 'Everyone.' Jorgensen raised his hand as though to ward off the blow. Then suddenly he dived full length on to the hatch cover. I felt the ship straighten up as the weight lifted from the starb'd side. I seized canvas and jackyard, slung it over my head and rolled on to the deck. Next instant it was torn away from me as the great mainsail Doom came swinging inboard. I felt the weight of it fling past me and heard Jill scream. The ship heeled and then plunged into a wave in a burst of spray as the boom roared out to port. There it fetched up with a crash that shook the ship to her keel and brought crockery clattering down in the galley below. There was a splintering of wood and the port backstay was ripped out of the bulwarks and catapulted into the rigging with a clang of metal.
Jorgensen picked himself up. He was white. I pulled the tops'l clear of Dick, Curtis and Carter, wondering whether any of them had been hit by the boom. Only Curtis was hurt. He seemed to have caught his shoulder. I left him to Dick and went aft. Jorgensen was before me though. Dahler was at the wheel. His face was a pallid mask. Jorgensen took hold of him by the collar of his coat and pulled him out from behind the wheel.
I thought for a moment he was going to fling the cripple overboard. I shouted to him. Instead he smashed a vicious right into the man's face. Dahler ceased to struggle. His muscles went slack and Jorgensen dropped his inert body back across the wheel.
'Stand back, Jorgensen!' I ordered. 'You've no right to do a thing like that. It wasn't Dahler's fault. He's not a sailor. Curtis shouldn't have handed the wheel over to him.'
'Not Dahler's fault!' Jorgensen laughed unsteadily. That wasn't an accident,' he said. 'Ask Miss Somers.'
I looked at Jill. 'What happened?' I asked.
But she seemed too frightened to speak. She just stood, staring down at Dahler's inert body.