The Blue Ice

'Yes,' I answered. 'Something valuable.' No wonder Jorgensen had hurried off to Bergen. He would by flying those pieces of rock down to the D.N.S. laboratories and within a day he would know as much as I did.

'I'm going back to the boat,' Jill said. 'I can't — I can't stand this any longer.' She had her handkerchief to her nose.

'But please — you will feed with me and my wife?' Kielland said. 'Everything is ready. I have been expecting you. You will not disappoint my wife, will you now? She likes English people.' He shook my arm. 'We are all very pro-British out here on the islands. We get on fine, eh? We are fishermen and sailors like your people. Peace or war, we fight the same battles. So you will stay for food, eh?'

'It's very nice of you,' I said.

'Not at all, my dear fellow. Not at all. And there are beds for you if you have had too much of the ship. Come. We go and have a drink, eh? We always have a drink before food.' He chuckled and nodded at Jill, still holding her handkerchief to her nose. 'Mrs Gansert does not like the smell, eh? But we like it. To me it smells of money. That is what I always say to people. It smells of money. Look at that whale now. I have just measured him — seventy-three feet. That is about seventy tons. He has over a thousand pounds' worth of oil in his blubber and the same value in meat. That is why I like the smell.' He patted Jill's hand. 'My wife says it smells like a new dress. Every time a whale comes in over seventy feet I promise her a new dress. And now she likes the smell, too. Come on. We will go and have a little drink.'

He led us up the cinder track to the office. Behind — the office was a long, low house. I caught Jill's eyes as we went in. She was bubbling over with laughter. We were shown into a tastefully furnished lounge. Mrs Kielland came in as her husband was pouring out large cognacs. She was a jolly woman with twinkling eyes and an elegance that was delightfully unexpected out on a whaling station. Kielland introduced us. Jill explained that she was not my wife. 'You poor girl,' laughed Mrs Kielland. 'Albert has such a tidy mind. And he knows nothing about anything — except whale. You'll find if you stay here long enough that there is nothing but whale talk in this house.' She turned to her husband. 'Albert, what was the length of the whale Nordahl has just brought in?'

'Seventy-three feet, Martha,' he replied, grinning like a kid.

'Seventy-three.' She gave a gurgle of delight. 'Look! This is the frock I have from the last whale that was over seventy feet.' It was a flame-coloured silk and as she twirled round the skirt flared out. 'Now,' she said. 'We drink to your health.' She raised her glass. 'Skoal,' she said.

We all drank. And then the door opened and a little man with dark hair and sharp, creased features came in. 'Ah, here is Mr Sunde,' said Mrs Kiel land. 'Come in and have a drink, Mr Sunde. I wish you to meet some nice English people.'

I couldn't quite place him as he was introduced to us. He was quite a tough-looking man and he seemed a little embarrassed at drinking with us as though he felt out of place. I put him down as an artisan. Yet he, too, seemed to understand English.

'What do you do on the station?' I asked as he stood beside me.

'Oh, Mr Sunde is not on the station,' Mrs Kielland said. 'He's another little venture of Albert's.'

'What do you do then?' I asked him.

'Gor' blimey, Oi'm a diver,' he said.

The sudden outburst of pure Cockney took me by surprise. 'A diver?' I said.

'That's roight.'

I caught Dick's eye and then said, 'Are you diving for the station?'

'That's roight,' he repeated and concentrated on his drink.

'What are you diving for?'

'Aerer engines,' he answered. 'A Jerry plyne was shot da'n just off the stytion. Oi'm gettin' the engines up.'

Then yours were the boats we saw this morning, just off the outer islands,' I said. 'A diving boat and a little fishing boat?'

'That's roight.'

'Where are your boats now?'

'The divin' boat's lyin' just ra'nd the 'eadland.'

'And the other — the fishing boat?' I asked.

His grey eyes looked up furtively at me over his drink. 'Me mate's gorn inter Bovaagen for somefink,' he muttered and gulped down his glass of cognac.

CHAPTER FIVE Don't Forget the Diver

I watched the little Cockney diver as he sipped a second glass of cognac and I was certain he was hiding something. The others had the same idea. They were watching him, too. He glanced quickly in our direction and edged away towards the station manager. Jill gripped my arm. 'Bill!' she whispered, 'do you think he could have picked Schreuder up this morning?' Her voice was tense and strained.

'I don't know,' I answered. 'It's possible. What do you think?'

'I felt-' She hesitated and then looked up at me. 'Bill, I felt close to him this morning — terribly, strangely close. It was as though-' She stopped and then said, 'I don't know. I just felt as though I were close to him, that's all.'

To Farnell?'

She nodded.

I looked across at the dark-haired little diver. He was talking to Kielland. He was talking fast as though he had to keep on talking. I caught snatches of his conversation. It was about depth of water and oxy-acetylene cutting. 'He's nervous,' I told Jill quietly. 'I'll get him alone as soon as I can and see what I can find out.'

But I didn't get him alone before lunch and at lunch something happened that made me even more anxious to talk to the man privately. The meal was laid in a long, low room branching off from the steward's big kitchen. Windows looked out across ridges of bare rock to a black cutting where the sea lay still in the hot sunshine like a piece of glass. The meal — middag they called it — was a colossal affair. It began with big steaks of whale meat served with tomatoes and potatoes. This was followed by koltbord — there were innumerable tins of fish treated in different ways, smoked salmon, pickled hake, pressed whalebeef and a whole assortment of different meats, salad and several types of cheese. There was milk and a light Norwegian Pilsner to wash it down.

Lovaas was there and Captain Nordahl of Hval To. The talk was mainly of whale. Sunde kept his eyes on his plate and when he spoke it was only to ask for something to be passed to him. If Dick had let him be, I might have found out what I wanted and Lovaas might never have come into the picture again. But Dick asked him how it was he spoke such good English, and with a Cockney accent.

The little diver looked up. 'Me muvver was Cockney,' he answered, tucking his food into his cheek. 'She never could get on wiv the Norwegian language, so roight from the time Oi first opened me ma'f she talked ter me in English.'

'Who were the men working with you this morning?' Dick asked.

'Me partner an' a fisherman.'

There was a lull in the general conversation and Lovaas looked across at him. 'What are you fishing for?' he asked.

The Cockney Norwegian grinned. 'Per aerer engines, Kaptein Lovaas,' he answered. 'Oi'm a diver. Started yesterday.'

'He is getting up the engines of that old Junkers 88 that was shot down off Skarv Island,' Kielland explained.

'Off Skarv Island?' The sudden interest in Lovaas's voice hit me like a punch. I could see it coming and I couldn't stop it. I began to talk about salvage operations in British harbours. But only the Kiellands were interested. Lovaas had stopped eating and was watching the diver. 'Were you out there this morning, Mr Sunde? — ' he asked.

I kept on talking. But all around me was a heavy silence. Sunde gave Lovaas a quick, scared glance and then his eyes fell to his plate. He toyed nervously with his knife and fork. But he didn't eat. 'That's roight,' he said. And then hurriedly: 'Oi went da'n ter examine the engines. When Oi sees they're okay Oi sends me mate inter Bovaagen fer an acetylene cutter.'