The Blue Ice

Curtis came on deck and stood for a while by the rail, gazing out towards the land. A ship was steaming along the coast — a little, painted thing, trailing a wisp of smoke. A fjord had opened up — a long rift between the islands. A small town gleamed fresh and clean on a headland. It was Solsvik. Beyond lay the Hjeltefjord and the way to Bergen. Curtis came aft. 'First time I saw Norway,' he said, 'was from the deck of a destroyer.'

'Where was that?' I asked.

'Farther north,' he answered. 'Andalsnes.' He was gazing out again to the islands. He sighed and shook his head. 'It was a bad business. The Norwegians had nothing. We weren't properly equipped. Jerry had it all his own way in the air. They hadn't a hope. But they kept on fighting. We were driven out. But they wouldn't give up. We gave 'em help up in the north, in Finnmark, and they started to fight back. We got as far as Tromso, pushing Jerry back all the way, then the break-through in France came and we had to go. All that effort wasted.' He was still staring out towards Norway. 'Still,' he said, 'there were sixty thousand less Germans.'

'You came back later — after the war, I mean — didn't you0' Jill asked.

He turned and looked at her steadily for a second. 'Yes,' he said. 'I was in Norway from the beginning of 1945 until the middle of the following year. In Bergen,' he added.

They stared at one another for a moment. And then Jill looked away. She picked up the glasses and began sweeping the coast. Curtis turned to me. 'When will this Captain Lovaas get in?'

'I don't know,' I answered. 'Jorgensen said last night that he'd be able to get in touch again by radio at nine this morning.'

'We'll be at the whaling station by then, won't we?' Curtis said.

'Just about,' I replied.

'What is this about Kaptein Lovaas?' I turned. It was Dahler. He had got down from his perch on the chartroom roof and was standing over me where I sat in the cockpit. His hand was plucking agitatedly at the cloth of his jacket.

'He's the captain of one of the Bovaagen catchers,' I said. 'He has information for us that may have a bearing on Farnell's death. Why — do you know him?' I asked.

'Yes, I know him.' I watched his hand slowly clench into a fist. 'Kaptein Lovaas!' He hissed the name out between clenched teeth. Then suddenly he caught at my shoulder. 'Be careful of him, Mr Gansert — he is dangerous, you know. He is a violent man, and he is not straight.' He turned to Jill. 'He worked for your father once, Miss Somers. But not for long. I remember your father saying at the time «If there was not a skytter in all Norway, I would not employ Paal Lovaas».'

'Why?' Jill asked.

.'For many reasons. But chiefly because he killed a man. Nothing was proved. His crew were all so frightened of him, they said the fellow was washed overboard. But your father was certain Lovaas had killed him. He had his sources of information. Lovaas had violent rages. Once, on a factory ship in the Antarctic, he was said to have chased a man with a.flensing knife for bungling the winching up of one of his whales.' He gripped my shoulder. 'What does Lovaas know about Farnell's death?'

There was no point in not telling him. 'He says he's got a man on board who was with Farnell at the time of his death. This fellow, Hans Schreuder, was trying to get to-'

'Hans Schreuder?'

I looked up in surprise. 'Yes,' I said. 'Does that name mean anything to you?'

'Was he a metallurgist?' he asked.

'Quite possibly,' I replied, 'if he was with Farnell.' Actually I was thinking of the samples of ore Lovaas said he had found among the man's possessions. 'Why?' I asked. 'Who was he?'

I felt him stiffen. His hand relaxed on my shoulder. I looked up. Jorgensen was emerging from the main hatch. His face was tired and grey in the early sunlight and little pouches showed under his eyes. I wondered how long he'd lain awake during die night. 'Well?' I inquired, looking up at Dahler.

'Ask Jorgensen,' he replied with a violence that I did not understand. 'Ask him who Hans Schreuder is.'

Jorgensen stopped at the name. Then he came slowly aft. His I eyes were watching Dahler. With a sudden assumption of carelessness, he said, 'Good-morning, gentlemen. Good-morning, Miss Somers. I see we're off Solsvik. We'll be at Bovaagen in time for breakfast.' His eyes swept over our watchful faces and then gazed out towards the islands.

'Who is this Hans Schreuder, Mr Jorgensen?' I asked.

He swung round on me. 'How should I know?' His voice was angry. Then he turned to Dahler. 'What do you know I about Schreuder?'

The cripple smiled. 'I would prefer you to tell them about | him,' he said. 'He was your man.'

'I have never heard of him. What are you talking about?' Jorgensen's voice had risen. It was trembling with anger.

'I think you have heard of him, Knut.'

Jorgensen took a cigarette out of his case and lit it. 'Knocking | you out yesterday seems to have upset your mind. The name Hans Schreuder means nothing to me.' He flicked the match overboard. The flame made a little hiss as it hit the water. 'What speed are we making?' he asked me.

'About five knots,' I answered. I was watching his face. 'Jorgensen,' I said, 'I'd still like to know who Hans Schreuder is?'

'I tell you I don't know.' He emphasised the point by striking the roof of the chartroom with his clenched fist, I waited and in the silence he said, 'Don't you believe me?'

'N6,' I said quietly. I turned to Dahler. 'Who is Hans Schreuder?' I asked.

'A metallurgist employed by Del Norske Staalseskab,' Dahler replied.

I looked at Jorgensen. He was watching Dahler, his body taut and his right hand clenched. Dahler stepped down into the cockpit and seated himself on the farther side. He was smiling quietly. 'Know anything about him?' I asked.

'Yes,' Dahler said. 'He was a German Jew. He left Germany in 1936 and settled in Norway. He became naturalised. When war broke out he was in the research department of D.N.S. After the invasion of Norway he worked for the Germans.'

'Where did you meet him?'

'At Finse.'

'What was he doing there?'

'He was an expert on metal alloys. He was engaged on certain low temperature tests in the German test sheds by Finsevatn.'

'Did Farnell meet him up at Finse?'

Dahler shrugged his shoulders. 'I do not know,' he said. He looked up at Jorgensen. 'What was Schreuder doing up on the Jostedal with Farnell?' he asked.

But Jorgensen had recovered his ease of manner. 'I don't know,' he said. 'And I must say, Mr Gansert, that I am surprised that you took the attitude you did just now. I have never heard of this man Schreuder until last night. He may have been a collaborator, as Dahler says. He may work for D.N.S. But you must remember that because I manage the affairs of the company, it does not mean that I know everyone who works in the laboratories, workshops and foundries.' He turned towards the companionway. 'Let me know when we are nearing Bovaagen Hval, please.'

I watched him go below with a feeling that I hadn't handled him very well. It was quite possible for Schreuder to have worked for D.N.S. without Jorgensen knowing. And what reason had I to believe Dahler, a man branded as a traitor, in preference to one of the country's industrial leaders? And then I began to wonder again why Schreuder should have been on the Jostedal when Farnell met his death.

One thing I was now determined to do — I must have a postmortem carried out on Farnell's body. I must know whether there was any evidence of a struggle. If Schreuder had killed Farnell… But why the message in that consignment of whale meat if he worked for D.N.S. - why the desire to get to England? It didn't make sense.

I must have sat there lost in thought for a long time, for Curtis suddenly emerged from the chartroom and said, 'Skipper — this looks like the gap we take for Bovaagen.'