The Blue Ice

And at last, on a ridge that sloped away on either side, something square and solid emerged out of the snow-storm. It stood on a platform of half-exposed rock. It wasn't until I had almost reached it that my brain recognised it for what it was. The hut. It was the hut that Sunde had mentioned. The hut on the very summit of Sankt Paal.

I struggled to leeward of it and found the door. My frozen fingers fumbled with the bindings of my skis. But at last I had them off. Then I lifted the latch. It opened. I stumbled in and dosed it behind me.

The sudden stillness was like oblivion. Outside the wind roared and I could hear the silent falling of the snow. But inside all was quiet. I was in a little passage. It was very dark after the glare of the snow. It wasn't warm. But the wind no longer cut through my clothing. There was an inner door. A pair of skis clattered to the floor as I opened it. Inside was a big room with a long deal table and benches. There was a rucksack on the table and an opened packet of sandwiches. A dull glow of warmth met me as I staggered towards a seat. That warmth — it seemed to rise up and lap me round. I felt suddenly dizzy. The table began to move. Then the whole room started spinning. I felt my legs buckle under me. I heard somebody cry out. Then everything was a blank and I was sinking down, down, into a soft, warm darkness.

Was the hut all a dream? Was this how it felt to die in the snow? I struggled back to half-consciousness. I mustn't lie here in the snow. That way lay death. I knew that and I fought it. A man mustn't cease to fight because he's dead beat. To die in the snow! That was no way to end one's life. I fought back. I got my eyes open. A face swam in my vision, blurred and convulsed like something in a tank of water. It was a girl's face. I thought of Jill. If only I could get to Jill. Somebody spoke my name. It was far away. I was hearing things. It wasn't real. I relaxed. Everything slowly faded into oblivion.

CHAPTER NINE George Farnell

I emerged into consciousness reluctantly, like a sleeper clinging to each separate minute of his bed. I felt numb and drowsy. I could hear the wind. But I could not feel it. It was as though I had lost the power to feel. I was shivering uncontrollably and felt damp and chill. What was it I had dreamed about? A hut and a woman's voice. I opened my eyes quickly and found the outline of a boarded ceiling above me. I was lying on a wooden floor. I could feel it with my hands. And my head was pillowed on something soft, yet firm and warm. There was a warmth to the right of me. I turned my head. An old-fashioned, cast-iron stove showed the flicker of flames through a crack. On the top of it a tin kettle poured out a stream of steam. 'Feeling better?' It was a woman's voice, soft and gentle, and vaguely familiar. It sounded very far away. I sighed and relaxed. I felt so tired. I never wanted to stir again.

'Drink some of this.' My head was raised and the rim of a glass tipped against my lips. The smell of hot brandy brought me back to full consciousness. I drank and warmth spread comfortingly through my body.

I mumbled my thanks and struggled into a sitting position. Then I turned and found myself looking into Jill's level, grey eyes. 'How in the world did you get up here?' I asked.

She smiled. 'On ski.' Then suddenly serious: 'What happened, Bill? Where's George? I couldn't stay down at the hotel, waiting, whilst they all gathered for the kill. I left early this morning, when it was barely light. I thought I might go as far as Gjeiteryggen. Then the snow came and I had only just made this hut. Have you seen George?'

'In the distance,' I answered. 'That was as we were climbing up to Sankt Paal, before the snow came down.' I took the glass of hot brandy from her and drained it. 'Lovaas and his mate were about five hundred yards behind him.'

'But where is he now?'

'Soon as the snow came down he swung away from the marked route. He's leading them a dance all round the precipices and crevasses of Sankt Paal. He'll get the pair of them lost and they'll die out there in the snow.'

'Die? But — ' She stopped then and her eyes looked troubled. Then she said, 'You've had a long trek, Bill. Vassbygden to Sankt Paal is quite a way. You can't have stopped anywhere.'

'At Osterbo and Steinbergdalen,' I answered. 'But they were only brief halts.'

'Where's Alf Sunde?'

'At Steinbergdalen.' I passed my hand over my face. My eyes felt tired and I was still dizzy despite the warmth of the brandy.

'But why did you leave him at Steinbergdalen?' she asked.

'He was wounded,' I answered. 'Bullet through the shoulder.' Why must she keep on asking me questions? Couldn't she see I didn't want to talk? But there was something I must ask her — something she'd said. Oh, yes — 'What did you mean when you said you couldn't bear waiting whilst they all gathered for the kill?'

Her eyes were wide. 'A bullet through the shoulder? How did he get that? What happened?'

I struggled to my feet. I felt light-headed and my legs were weak. I stood close to the stove trying to absorb the warmth of it into me. 'Is there any more brandy?' I asked. My voice sounded strange.

'Yes,' she said and produced a flask. I poured some of it into the tumbler and added hot water from the kettle. Then I stood, warming my hands round the glass and drinking in the smell of it. 'Don't worry about Sunde,' I said. 'He'll be all right. Just a flesh wound. I want to know what happened down at Finse. Who was at the hotel?' I took a puff at the drink. God! How wonderful hot brandy is when you're all in! 'Was Dahler there?' I asked.

'Yes. He came up in the train with us.' She hesitated.

'Then Jorgensen arrived. He came on the train from Oslo.'

'Jorgensen!' I swung round on her. 'What brought Jorgensen there?'

'I don't know.'

Jorgensen at Finse! Somebody must have tipped him off. Or perhaps it was just one of those strokes of luck? 'Was he intending to stop off at Finse?' I asked. 'Or was he on his way from Oslo to Bergen and suddenly saw Dahler and decided to stay the night?'

But she shook her head. 'No, I think he intended to stay. Dahler was in the bar, so Jorgensen couldn't have seen him from the train. He came straight in with a suitcase and asked for a room.'

'Just for the night?'

'No, He told the receptionist that he couldn't say how long he'd be staying.'

'Did he bring skis with him?'

'No — nor any ski clothes. But I heard him arranging with the manager for the loan of everything he wanted.'

'And how did he react when he found Dahler in the hotel?' I thought of Dahler telephoning from Fjaerland. Somebody must have got in touch with Jorgensen.

'I wasn't there when they first met,' Jill answered. 'But when I came into the bar later that evening they were both there. Bill — what's the matter with those two men? Jorgensen isn't exactly a nervous type. But he's scared of Dahler. And Dahler — I don't know — it's as though he were enjoying something. The atmosphere between them was noticeable even in a crowded hotel bar. Jorgensen positively started when he saw me. Then he glanced across at Dahler. Dahler gave me a little bow. But all the time he was looking at Jorgensen with that crooked little smile of his and a queer glint in his eyes. It — it sent a cold shiver down my spine.'

I went over to the table and dragged one of the benches to the fire. 'Where's Curtis?' I asked as I sat down.

;Still at the hotel.' She brushed back the fair hair that had tumbled over her face. Her skin looked very pale in the cold light that filtered through the snow-spattered windows. 'I started out before he was up. It was such a lovely morning and I wanted to warn George.'