The Blue Ice

CHAPTER SIX Here Lies The Body

Before going below to interview Sunde, I went into the chartroom and worked out our course. There was a good deal of cloud about and I wanted to avoid any islands until we opened the entrance to Sognefjord. 'Is the log out?' I called to Dick. · 'No,' he answered. 'Shall I stream it?'

'Please.' I had little tidal information and it was difficult to work out any allowances for drift. But the course we were sailing was marked by two lights and we should have to work on these. I drew in the lines of our course and then went into the cockpit. Dick had left the wheel and was fitting the log line to its bracket. I held the wheel as he dropped the heavy, finned spinner overboard. The thin line trailed aft in our wake and as he let the last loop drop overboard the log wheel began to turn. He came back and took the wheel. 'What's the course?' he asked.

'North thirty west,' I answered.

The Nordhordland coast by Bovaagen was already no more than a low line of rock, shining white in the moonlight. It straggled out in a series of hummocks along our starb'd beam until it thinned to a narrow line and vanished. To the west lay open sea. Ahead of us a light winked steadily. 'That's Hellesoy light,' I said. 'It's on the island of Fedje. Leave that to port, but keep as close to the island as possible. Utvaer light should then be on the starb'd bow. Hold your course for ten miles and then turn to bring Utvaer fine on the port bow. I've marked it on the chart. Okay?'

'Fine,' he said. 'What about watches?'

'I'll see about that when I've had a talk with Sunde,' I replied. His face looked pale and very young in the moonlight. A livid bruise was darkening round his eye.

'You got a nasty clip,' I said.

'Oh, that,' he said, feeling his eye. 'It's nothing. It was his head that did that.'

'Feeling all right?'

'Fine, thanks. Bit chilly, that's all. Could you pass me a duffle coat?'

I opened the cockpit clothing locker and flung him one of the coats. 'I'll send Wilson up to relieve you,' I said and went for'ard to the main hatch.

As I descended the ladder I heard Sunde's voice through the open door of the saloon. 'Oi tell yer, Oi don't know nuffink, miss,' he was saying. He gave a quick gasp of pain.

'Sorry — am I hurting you?' Jill's voice was soft and coaxing. 'There, that's fine. I'll have that hand right in no time. Mr Sunde. I want you to help me.'

'Oi'll do anyfink I can, miss.'

I stopped at the bottom of the companionway. They had not heard me coming down in my rubber shoes. Through the open doorway I could see Jill's face, very intense, very determined. She was sitting facing the diver across the saloon table and she held his bandaged hand in hers. 'It means a lot to me,' she said. Her voice was quiet. 'A man called George Farnell was killed about a month ago on the Jostedal. He was-' She hesitated. 'I was very fond of him, Mr Sunde. Until the other day I thought it was an accident. I thought he had been alone. Then I discovered that someone had been with him. His name was Schreuder — an Austrian Jew who worked for the Nazis. Instead of going to the authorities and telling what he knew about Farnell's death, he came to Bovaagen Hval, shipped as a hand with Captain Lovaas and tried to escape to the Shetlands. That was the man who jumped overboard from Hval Ti yesterday morning — the man you picked up.'

'Nah look 'ere, miss. Oi don't know nuffink aba't it, see. Oi'm just a diver, Oi am. Oi don't want no trouble.'

'You had trouble to-night, didn't you?' Jill said slowly. 'Major Wright told me all about it. If it hadn't been for Mr Gansert you might be dead now. You'd have told Captain Lovaas what you know then he might have disposed of you. You owe your life to Mr Gansert and the two others who were with him — Major Wright and Mr Everard. Isn't that so?'

'Oi 'xpects you're roight, miss,' Sunde answered. His voice sounded hoarse and uncertain. 'But Oi don't want no trouble, see. There's me partner, too. 'E an' Oi were in it tergevver durin' the war an' Oi ain't never done anyone dirt, see.'

Jill sighed. 'Listen, Mr Sunde. Nobody will get into trouble. All we want to know is where Schreuder has been taken. We want to find him and talk to him. We want the truth about Farnell's death. That's all. We don't want to turn him over to the authorities. We just want to know what happened. Please — won't you help us?' She took hold of his other hand. 'Mr Sunde.' she said, and her voice was hardly audible, 'I loved George Farnell. I want to know how he died. I've a right to know. This man Schreuder could help. Now please — where is he?'

The diver hesitated. His dark face was white with exhaustion. He passed his sound hand across his eyes. 'Oi dunno. It's all like a ruddy dream, that's wot it is. But Oi ain't tellin' nobody nuffmk, see. Not wiva't Oi talk ter me partner first. 'E's the brains of the outfit. Oi'm just a diver. The best ruddy diver in the 'ole of Norway. But it's 'im wot's got the brains. 'E manages the business side, see. I bin wiv Mm ever since 'forty. We was in Oslo when the Germans come in, doin' a bit of salvage work da'n in Pipervika. We went up inter the mountings and joined an army unit wot was farming. But we got smashed up by the Jerries and finds ourselves across the border in Sweden. Well, we starts the great trek — 'cross Sweden and Finland, down into Russia, 'cross Siberia inter China. The British Consul in Hong Kong sent us ter Singapore and from there we went to India where they put us in a ship ba'nd for Clydeside. Me partner — 'e organises the 'ole ruddy trip.' He shook his head and sighed. 'We bin through a lot. Peer and Oi. And Oi don't do nuffink wiva't Oi consult 'im first. 'E's always tellin' me — Alf, 'e sez, you ain't got the brains of a louse. Only 'e sez it in Norwegian, see.' He grinned. 'Peer's a great thinker.

Reads books like Altid Amber — wot 'e calls the classics.'

Jill was leaning forward now and a sudden excitement showed on her face.' Alf,' she said. 'What happened after you and your partner got to England?'

'Oh, we didn't stay there long, miss. We does a bit o' training up in Scotland and then we're parachuted back inter Norway. Makes yer laugh, don't it — all that trouble ter get a't o' the country — all the way ra'nd the world we goes ter get ter England — an' they goes an' drops us back inter Norway.' He passed his hand across his face again. He was dead beat with weariness. But he couldn't stop talking. He'd reached the stage where he had to talk. 'But we comes back wiv more than the rucksack we goes a't wiv. They drops a case o' bren guns an' nitroglycerine an' grenades wiv us. Oh, we 'as a fine ol' time. We comes da'n ter Bergen an' starts sabotaging ships. To this ruddy day they thinks the ammoonition ship wot blows up by the ol' Walkendorff Tower is due to carelessness o' German welders.' He giggled. 'Well, it weren't, see. It was me an' Peer. Blimey, Oi'm a ruddy good diver. Ask anyone in the shippin' business in Bergen. They'll say Alf Sunde — his loafs all wood, but 'e's the best diver in Norway.'

'When you were dropped in Norway,' Jill interrupted, trying to conceal her excitement, 'what unit were you with?'

'Why the Norwegian Army, miss.'

'Yes — but what unit?'

'Oh, I see — Kompani Linge.'

Jill's eyes lit up. 'Put it there,' she said holding out her hand. 'We both worked for the same people.'

'Wot you, miss — in the Kompani Linge?' Sunde's whole face had lit up too, infected by her enthusiasm.

'Yes,' she nodded. 'I was one of their radio operators.'

'Blimey,' he said, seizing her hand. 'Oi thought there was some-fink familiar aba't your voice. You was one o' the girls wot used ter give us our instructions on the radio.' Again she nodded. 'Well, knock me fer a row o' little green apples! An' I never met you. Ever meet my mate — Peer Storjohann! Corporal, 'e was.'

Jill shook her head. Then she leaned towards him. 'Did you know most of the Kompani?'

'We was trainin' wiv 'em for nearly a year — that was 1941. We knew most o'

'em who was in Scotland then.'

'Did you know Korporal Bernt Olsen?'

'Bernt Olsen?' Sunde's face froze. 'Yus — Oi knew Bernt Olsen. Why?'

'Bernt Olsen's real name was George Farnell. It was Bernt Olsen who was killed on the Jostedal. And Schreuder was with him at the time. Now please — please tell me where you have taken Schreuder. You did pick him up this morning, didn't you?'

I shrank back farther into the shadows by the companionway, praying that he would tell her all he knew.

'Well — yus, miss.' His voice sounded puzzled and uncertain. 'That is ter say- Look miss — we picks a man up this morning. All roight. But I dunno who 'e is or what 'e is. If.yer wants to know more aba't 'im — well, you go an' talk ter Peer. 'E's the one ter tell yer. If Olsen's yer boy friend — well, you go an' talk ter me partner.'

'Yes, but where will we find your partner?'

'A-ah.' He rubbed his dark chin. 'Oi dunno as Oi roightly oughter tell yer that. 'Cos if I told yer that it'd be tellin' where — this man is, wouldn't it now?'

'But you must,' Jill whispered.

'Who must?' Sunde banged his head on the table. 'Nah look 'ere, miss. Oi ain't never told nobody nuffink, see. I bin in the 'ands of the Gestapo once an' Oi never said nuffink. An' Oi ain't goin' ter talk now, not when a comrade's life may be at stake.'

'Comrade? How do you mean?' Jill asked.

'Well, 'e's a comrade, ain't 'e? We was in it tergether.'

'The man you picked up this morning?' Jill seized hold of Sunde's arm and shook it. 'I've already told you — he's an Austrian Jew who became a naturalised Norwegian and then worked for the Germans.'

Sunde passed his hand wearily over his face again. 'You're gettin' me all mixed up,' he said. 'Oi don't know rightly wot Oi'm sayin'. Fair droppin' wiv tiredness, Oi am. Why don't you let up, miss? Proper third degree. Let me get some sleep. Then Oi'll be able ter fink clearer.'

'All right,' Jill said wearily.

I went in then. 'Hallo, Sunde,' I said. 'How are you feeling? Hand all right?'

'Not so bad,' he answered. 'Thanks fer wot you done, Mr Gansert. Proper bastard Lovaas is.'

'You went to Nordhanger this afternoon?' I said.

He hesitated, 'Ja,' he answered.

'Had Lovaas been there before you?'

'Yep. I saw 'im at Bovaagen when 'e come back in the drosje.'

'And then you went out to Nordhanger yourself?'

'That's roight.'

'Did Lovaas get anything out of Einar Sandven?'

'Einer wasn't there.'

'Where was he?'

'I ain't sayin' where 'e is.'

'What about his wife?'

'She won't say nuffink.'

'Does she know where Schreuder is being taken?'

'She might guess. But she wouldn't talk.' He got up and staggered as the table on which he had leaned his weight tilted.

I pushed him back again into his seat. 'Sit down,' I said. 'There are still one or two things I want to ask you. What happened this morning — yesterday morning, rather? You heard the catcher go by in the mist. You probably saw it. Then you heard shouts and a few minutes later a man was swimming towards your boats. Were you down below then?'

'No. I'd come fer a breaver an' a pipe. I'd still got me things on. I was just takin' a little rest.'

'And what happened? You pulled him on board. But what made you up anchor and clear out so quickly? You must have known the catcher would be searching for the man.'

'Well, we knew all aba't 'im, see. So as soon as 'e says-' And then he stopped.

'How do you mean, you knew all about him?' I asked.

'Ere you'll be gettin' me sayin' things.' He got to his feet again. 'Lumme, give a bloke a chance, can't yer? Oi'm fagged a't an' that's the truth.'

I said, 'Sit down.'

'But look 'ere, guvner — just let me-'

'Shut up,' I said. 'And listen to me. I want to know where this man Schreuder is. Miss Somers wants to know because she was a friend of Bernt Olsen, otherwise Farnell. She wants to know what happened up there on the Jostedal glacier. And I want to know — for other reasons. What's more, Sunde, I intend to find out.'

'Well, yer won't find out from me,' he answered sullenly.

'Look,' I said angrily, 'who got you away from Lovaas, eh?'

'You did,' he responded. 'Oi already said 'ow grateful-'

'I don't want your thanks,' I interrupted him. 'I want information. Can't you see we're your friends? We're not going to hurt Schreuder. We just want to know what happened, that's all.'

Curtis poked his head round the galley door and said, 'Soup up.'

'Okay,' I said. 'Let's have it. Maybe it'll help him to talk.'

But it didn't. For two solid hours I sat there like an intelligence officer examining an enemy prisoner. I tried every approach I knew short of hitting him — and I almost did that once I got so exasperated. But it had no effect. Every time I came up against a brick wall of — 'You ask my partner.'

At last I said, 'Well, where is your partner?'

He gave a wan smile. 'If I tol' yer that, yer'd know where the other fellow was nan, wouldn't yer?'

'Then what's the use of telling me to ask your partner?' I demanded irritably.

'Tell yer what Oi'll do,' he said suddenly. 'Next place we touch at, you put me ashore an' Oi'll telephone a message ter Peer ter meet you some place. Where you makin' fer?'

'Fjaerland,' I said.

'In Sognefjord?'

I nodded.

'That's easy then,' he said. 'You'll be off Leirvik in the morning. Put me ashore there an' Oi'll phone me partner an'

'e can meet yer at Fjaerland on 'is way back.'

'Back from where?' I asked.

But he smiled and shook his head. 'Yer won't catch me like that, Mr Gansert. Back from where 'e's been, that's where.'

'He's taken Schreuder right up to Sognefjord, has he?'

'Yes. No 'arm in yer knowing that. You put me ashore at Leirvik an' Oi'll phone Peer to meet yer at Fjaerland.'

'And you'll come on to Fjaerland with us?'

'Okay,' he said. 'Then me an' me outfit can come back together.'

With that I had to be content. At least I had some idea where Schreuder had gone. I let him go to his bunk. He had all the obstinacy of the Cockney driven into a corner. Maybe we could have handled him better. Perhaps if I'd left it to Jill. 'There can't be so many places right up the Sognefjord,' I said to her. 'If this damned partner of his doesn't turn up, we'll make inquiries at every quay in the fjord.'

'That'll take us some time,' she said.

'Anyway, they probably didn't touch at any of the landing stages,' Curtis said. 'They probably slipped him in at night on a deserted stretch of the shore.'

'Probably,' I said. 'If only we could make the little diver fellow tell us what he knows.'

Jill pressed my hand. 'Don't worry about it,' she said. 'I'll have another session with him in the morning.'

Curtis got to his feet and stretched. 'By God, I'm sleepy,' he said, rubbing his eyes. 'Think I'll make some coffee.'

At that moment Dick's voice hailed us. 'There's a breeze springing up, skipper,' he called down. 'What about setting some sail?'

I remembered then that I had forgotten all about relieving him. 'Coming,' I called back. 'Curtis. Give Wilson a shout, will you. We'll be getting sail on her.'

Jill caught my arm as I turned towards the companionway. 'Thanks for what you did to-day,' she said. She was smiling. Her lips were very red against the pallor of her skin. 'It made me feel I wasn't alone any more — that I had good friends.'

'I didn't do anything,' I said and turned away from her quickly. But as I climbed the ladder to the deck I realised again how much more important this was to her than to me — how much more important emotion was than the hard financial gain of the thing.

I felt the breeze as soon as I poked my head out through the hatch. It was icy cold and refreshing. 'Sorry, Dick,' I said. 'Losing my grip. Completely forgot you hadn't been relieved.'

'It's all right,' he answered. The moon had disappeared behind cloud and he was just a dark bundle of duffle coat humped over the wheel and outlined against the slight phosphorescence of our wake. 'I came to remind you once, but I could hear you grilling the poor devil, so I left you to it. What luck?'

'He won't talk without his partner's there,' I answered angrily. 'He's phoning him in the morning.'

The others came up then and we hoisted sail. Hellesoy light was already astern, the black bulk of Fedje Island standing in silhouette against the swinging beam. On the starb'd bow another light winked. 'Utvaer Fyr?' Jill asked.

'Yes,' I said, looking up at the set of the sails as we leaned over to a fine reaching breeze. 'Another eight by the log and we'll alter course. We'll be headed straight for the entrance to Sognefjord then.' I called to Dick who was slacking off the weather topping lift. 'You and Curtis better turn in and get some sleep. You too, Jill,' I said.

'What about you?' she asked.

'I'll sleep in the chartroom bunk.'

I packed them off below — Carter, too. I wanted them to get as much sleep as possible. There would be work to do tomorrow if we were going to try and sail up the Sognefjord. Finally I was alone on deck with Wilson. I stood in the cockpit and leaned my arms on the chartroom roof, gazing up to the tall mainmast where canvas and rigging showed in a dim blur against the night. The whole ship was leaning gracefully, roaring through the water with the lee rail well under the water seething along the scuppers. It was a fine night for sailing. But there was a frozen bite in the wind. I shivered and went down into the chartroom. 'What's your course, Wilson?' I asked.

'North thirty west,' he answered.

I checked it on the chart. We were well clear of all the countless islands that dotted the coast to starb'd of us. 'Wake me when you turn on to your new course,' I said and climbed into my bunk. The slight movements of the ship and the rhythmic creak of the rigging lulled me into instant sleep.

When we altered course, I took the wheel and sent Wilson below for some sleep. It was four o'clock and bitterly cold. The wind blew right through me. It seemed incredible that men ever sailed round the Horn. I felt numbed with the cold. The wind was on our port quarter now and the ship rode upright, main and mizzen booms pressed well out to starb'd. I watched Utvaer light come abeam and move across the quarter till it was lost behind a lump of land. The dawn came up out of the east, cold and grey and clear. The mountains emerged from the darkness of the night and gathered round. They were grey and heavy-looking. But except for one, shaped like an enormous sugar loaf, they were not exciting. I might have been in Ireland or sailing up a Scottish loch. There was little sign of snow. These were but the foothills of the giant snow-fields inland. As the light increased the mountains grew blacker. Clouds gathered all across the sky. Grey scuds rolled up and wrapped themselves around the tree-clad slopes. The sky reddened till it blazed in fiery red and then the sun rose like a flaming cannon ball over the mountain tops. The sea boiled red along our sides. Then the scuds gathered thick like fiends of misery to drench all warmth and the bright fire died out of the sky. Suddenly the sun was gone and all was grey again — grey and drab as the mist rolled over us.

And yet it was then that I felt the excitement of the place.

I was alone at the wheel of my own ship. And I was entering the longest fjord in Norway. For 130 miles it stretched eastward into the very centre of the most mountainous section of Norway. It was two to five miles wide with towering mountains falling sheer to the water and it was as deep as the mountains were high. I had read all about it and here I was actually sailing into it. And not just sailing for pleasure, but sailing with a purpose. I was going to Fjaerland, which lay under the largest glacier in Europe — 580 square miles of solid ice. And there, I hoped, I'd find the truth about Farnell. The reason for his death was as important to me now as the thought of what he might have discovered. I had seen the troubled look in Jill's grey eyes and something of the urgency in her had communicated itself to me.

The cold dampness of the mist should have destroyed my excitement. But it didn't. It increased it. Every now and then some change of the wind would draw aside for an instant the grey veil and I'd catch a glimpse of the mountains, their tops invisible, but their bulk suggestive of the greater bulk behind. This was the way to see new country, I thought. Like a woman, it should be revealed gradually. As I gripped the wet spokes of the wheel and felt the steady thrust of the wind driving Diviner deeper and deeper into the mountains, the mystery of the place held me in its spell and I remembered Peer Gynt again and the saeter huts high up in the hills.

Lost in my thoughts, the time, usually leaden-footed at the dawn, passed quickly. At eight o'clock the wind shifted abeam and I hauled in on main and mizzen sheets. Then I called Dick and went below to get some sleep. 'Watch the wind,' I said, pausing with my head just out of the hatch. 'You can't see them, but the mountains are all round us.

I must have been dead beat, for I fell asleep at once and the next thing I remember is Curtis shaking me. I sat up at once, listening to the sounds of the ship. We were canted over and moving fast through the water, cutting through a light sea with a crash and a splash as the bows bit into each wave. 'When do we reach Leirvik?' I asked.

He grinned. 'We left Leirvik an hour ago,' he said.

I cursed him for not waking me. 'What about Sunde?' I asked.

'He made his call.'

'Is he back on board?'

'Yes. I saw to that. I went with him.'

'You don't know what place it was he rang?'

He shook his head. 'No. He wouldn't let me come into the call box with him.'

'Has Dahler come round?'

'Yes, he's all right. Got a hangover, that's all.'

I got up and went into the saloon. Dahler and Sunde were there facing each other over the remains of a rice pudding. And again I heard the name Max Bakke mentioned — this time by Sunde. His voice was nervous and pitched a shade high. He glanced round as I entered and I was aware of a sense of relief at my interruption.

'Who is Max Bakke?' I asked as I settled myself at the table.

Dahler rose to his feet. 'A business acquaintance of Mr Sunde,' he said quietly. And then to the diver: 'We will talk of Max Bakke later.' He turned to me. 'Has the weather cleared yet, Mr Gansert?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'I haven't been up top.'

He went out then and I was left alone with Sunde. 'Who is Max Bakke?' I asked again as I helped myself to bully beef.

'Just somebody Mr Dahler and I know,' he replied. Then with a muttered excuse he got up and hurried out of the saloon.

When I had finished my lunch, I went up on deck. It was raining. The ship was shrouded in a thick mist. The mountains on either side were a vague blur. The wind was abeam, coming in gusts as it struck down invisible gullies in the mountain sides. Dick was at the wheel, his black oilskins shining with water and little beads of moisture clinging to his eyebrows. Jill and Dahler were standing in the cockpit.

'Had a good sleep?' Jill asked. Her face was fresh and pink and wisps of fair hair escaped from below the peak of her black Norwegian sou'-wester. Her grey eyes smiled at me teasingly. She looked little more than a kid.

'Fine, thanks,' I answered. 'Has it been raining all the time?'

'All the time,' she said.

'It always rains in the entrance to the Sognefjord,' Dahler said. 'It is a very wet place.' He glanced up at a leaden sky. 'Soon it will be fine. You will see.'

He was quite right. By the time we were off Kvamsoy the sun was out. The wind changed and blew straight down the fjord. We took the sails in and started up the engine. The mountains had receded. They were higher and more massive. But they were not impressive. Deep snow capped their rounded tops, but thickly wooded slopes dropped gently to the quiet waters of the fjord. They basked in the sun, a symphony of bright green and glittering snow, and somehow I felt cheated. They should have been towering and black with precipitous cliffs falling sheer 4,000 feet to the water with the white lacing of giant falls cascading down their granite cliffs. This smiling land seemed much too kindly.

The wind died away. The surface of the fjord flattened out to a mirror. The ship steamed in the noonday warmth and, sitting at the wheel, I found I was hot even with nothing on but a short-sleeved shirt. Dick had turned in and Dahler had also gone below. The rest of the crew lay stretched out on the deck, sleeping in the sun. Jill came aft and sat beside me in the cockpit. She didn't speak, but sat with her chin resting on one hand, gazing ahead towards a wide bend of the fjord. She was waiting for her first glimpse of the Jostedal.

I often think of that afternoon. It was the beginning of something new in my life. As I sat there at the wheel watching the bend of the fjord slowly open up ahead of us, I was conscious for the first time of someone else's feelings. I knew what she was feeling, felt it as though it were myself. She was dressed in a deep scarlet jersey and green corduroy slacks and her fair hair stirred in the breeze, glinting in the sunlight like spun gold. Neither of us spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic beat of the engine and the gentle stirring of the water thrust aside by the bows.

Gradually the great headland on our port bow slid back, revealing more and more of the mountains to the north. And then suddenly we were clear of the enclosing mass and looking right up to Balestrand and Fjaerlands-fjord. It was a breath-takingly beautiful sight. The mountains rose in jagged peaks, tier on tier for miles inland, crag over-topping crag till they seemed tilted up into the blue bowl of the sky. The dark green of the pines covered the lower slopes and there was emerald in the valleys. But higher up, the vegetation vanished and sheer precipices of grey-brown rock piled up like bastions holding back the gleaming masses of the snow-fields.

'Isn't it lovely?' Jill whispered. But I knew she wasn't thinking about the wild beauty of the place. She was gazing for'ard across the bows to where the snow-field of the Jostedal glittered like a fairy carpet in the sun and remembering Farnell.

She didn't speak for some time after that. She just sat there, thinking about him. I could feel her thoughts inside me and in some strange way they hurt. Her left hand was flung out along the edge of the cockpit. It was a slender, almost ivory hand, with slender wrist and little blue veins. It was very close to mine where it lay against the warm brown of the varnished mahogany. Without thinking — conscious only of the reflection of her emotion in me — I stretched out my hand to hers. The fingers were cool and smooth, and the instant I touched her I felt close to her — closer than I'd been to anyone before. I started to withdraw my hand. But her fingers closed suddenly on mine. And then she looked at me. Her grey eyes were wide and misty. She clung to my hand as though it were something she feared to lose. 'Thank you, Bill,' she said softly. 'You've been a dear.'

'He meant so much to you?' I asked, and my voice came strangely to my lips.

She nodded. 'So much,' she said. Then she looked away to the mountains again. 'So much — so long ago.' She was silent for a moment, her hand still holding mine. 'Six weeks,' she whispered, as though to herself. 'That's all we had. Then he was gone.'

'But you saw him later — after the war?' I said 'Yes. For a week. That was all.' She turned to me. 'Bill. What makes a man throw love away for — for something a woman can't understand? You, for instance. Have you ever been in love?'

'Many times,' I answered.

'But not really. Not so that it was more important than anything else?'

'No,' I said.

Her hand suddenly tightened on mine so that I could feel her nails biting into my palm. 'Why?' she cried softly. 'Why? Tell me why? What was there more important?'

I didn't know how to answer her. 'Excitement,' I said. 'The excitement of living, of pitting one's wits against everyone else.'

'Meaning a wife is an encumbrance?'

I nodded. 'For some men — yes.'

'And George was one of them?'

'Perhaps.' I hesitated. How could I tell her what made a man like George Farnell love metals more than he loved himself. 'Jill,' I said, 'Farnell was an artist. He knew more about metals than any man I know. And the driving force in his life was the belief that he could open up these mountains here and let them pour out their store of mineral treasure. To the average person he is a cheat, a swindler, an escaped convict, a deserter. But in his own mind that was all justified. It was the means to an end. His art was everything. And he staked his whole self on me belief that there was metal up here under the ice that you see now. If he hurt you in the process — well, that was no more than the hurt he had done himself.'

She seemed to understand, for she nodded slowly. 'Everything had to be subordinated to that.' She sighed. 'Yes. You're right. But if only I'd known. Then I-' She stopped. 'No,' she said. 'Nothing would have made any difference. It was that singleness of purpose, that inward fire that attracted me.' She sat for some time with her eyes closed. Her hand was relaxed and soft in mine. 'What about you, Bill?' she asked at length. 'You say you've been in love — many times. What was it drove you on?'

I hesitated. 'I'm not sure,' I said. 'Excitement, I think. The excitement of running things, of always being faced with problems that were too big for me until I beat them. I'm a climber — in the industrial sense. I always had to get to the top of the next peak.'

'And now?' she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. 'Now I have had my fill — for the moment,' I answered. 'During the war I reached the top. I exhausted myself, satiated my urge for power. Now I'm content to lie and bask in the sunshine — or was.'

'Or was?' The slender line of her brows rose.

'I don't know,' I said. 'All the time we have been sailing towards these mountains, that old sense of excitement has been rising inside me. If I can find out what Farnell discovered-' I stopped then. It sounded ghoulish this search for a dead man's plunder.

'I see,' she said and looked away to the mountains. And then suddenly with a violence I had not expected she said, 'God! Why was I born a woman?'

She got up then and went below, and I sat on feeling suddenly alone. The mountains were not so bright and the sky seemed less blue. I knew then — and admitted it to myself for the first time — that I'd missed something in life. I had held its hand for a moment. That was all. It didn't belong to me. I had borrowed from a dead man.

One of the motionless bodies laid out on the deck stirred. It was the diver. 'Sunde,' I called.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Then he got to his feet and came aft. 'Where are we meeting your partner?' I asked.

'Fjaerland,' he answered.

'He'll be coming up to Fjaerland in Einar Sandven's boat?'

'Ja.'

'When?'

'Dunno. Yer see, Oi only left a message fer 'im.'

'So he might be coming down the fjord right now?'

'That's roight.' He shaded his eyes and gazed up the wide stretch of shimmering water. Then he picked up the glasses. But he shook his head. 'Don't see 'im,' he said.

I took the glasses from him and examined the wide sweep of the fjord. There were several boats in sight, but none small enough. I swung the glasses towards the mountains and the narrowing gap of Fjaerlandsfjord. Fir-clad slopes dropped steeply to water that was curiously different in colour — a cold green. On a tongue of land that was green and fertile the white facade of a big hotel gleamed in the sunlight. It was all very peaceful and serene. The tongue of land was Balestrand and a steamer was moving in to the quay. A white plume of steam showed for an instant above its red funnel. A moment later the mountains reverberated to the distant sound of the vessel's siren.

'It is beautiful, eh?' I looked up. Dahler was standing beside me.

'Balestrand, isn't it?' I asked.

He nodded. 'The sunniest place in all Sognefjord,' he said. 'The hotel you see is the Kviknes Hotel. It is very big, and all built of wood. The best hotel in Norway. I have many happy memories of that place. The Kaiser used to anchor his yacht here.' He turned and nodded to a low headland over our starb'd quarter. 'That is the Vangsnes. If you look there you will see a big bronze statue. Once I have climbed to the top of him.' Through the glasses I could see it quite plainly, a colossal statue of a man on a pedestal of rock. 'It is the statue of the legendary Frithjof placed there by the Kaiser. He wished so much to be remembered that man. He put another statue at Balholm. It is of King Bele, one of the Vikings. There is something Wagnerian about the Vikings. If Hitler had travelled more I think perhaps he also would have erected statues in this place.'

'It all looks so peaceful,' I said, gazing again at Balestrand and the white gables and balconies of the hotel.

'You expected it to be wild and terrible, eh?' He shook his head. 'The Sogne is not wild and terrible. But the smaller fjords, yes.'

'Wait till we get into Fjaerlandsfjord,' Sunde said.

Dahler smiled. 'Yes. Mr Sunde is right. Wait till we are in Fjaerlandsfjord. The water is like ice and the mountains are dark and terrible and at the end the Boya and Suphelle glaciers fall into the fjord. I do not think you will be disappointed when you see Fjaerland.'

He was right. Once past Balestrand the gloom of the mountains closed in around us, throwing back the sound of our engine. The sun still shone and the sky was blue. But the day ceased to be warm. In Fjaerlandsfjord the water was a translucent, ice-cold green. It took no colour from the sky. The fjord was nothing but a twenty mile crevice in the mountains. Sheer cliffs of rock hemmed us in. And where there was a slope, it was so steep that the pines that covered it seemed tumbling headlong towards the cold waters. Up frightening, boulder-strewn gullies deep snow pierced by grey, ice-worn rock glittered in the sunlight. In places there was snow right down to the water's edge. The streams that cascaded like white lace down the gullies, burrowed under these patches of snow from fragile bridges. Small black and white birds with long orange beaks flew from crevice to crevice along the rocks. The gloom of the place was something that only Milton could have described. It closed in on us like the chill of fear and silenced all conversation.

For an hour we ran up that narrow fjord. There was no breath of wind. The ice-green water was flat like glass and in it was mirrored the gloom of sunless pines and sheer, dark rock. Then we rounded the last bend and saw the Jostedal. It stood high up at the end of the fjord, very white in contrast to the green of the water and still brighter green of the valley grass bathed in sunshine. It was like a beautiful, terrifying sight. A giant steeple of rock rose like a bastion, black against the blue sky. That alone seemed to hold back the vast deeps of snow behind it. And on either side the glaciers tumbled down to the fjord. To the right was the Suphelle — a piled-up mass of blue-green ice like a frozen wave breaking over the lip of the snow-field into the valley below. And on the left the narrow Boya glacier ribboned down a gully as though to swamp the little settlement below.

The colour of the fjord changed. The green of the water became more livid until it looked like some chemically-coloured liquid. It was the coldest colour I have ever seen. The gloom of the mountains on either side of us contrasted oddly with that colour. And even more odd was the sudden basking warmth of Fjaerland and the cold ice-green and white of the frozen snows behind it.

As we ran into the quay, Dahler gripped my arm. 'Look,' he said. They are building a boat. And they build him just the same as they build boats two thousand years ago.'

Just beyond the quay lay the yellow skeleton of a boat. Five men were working on it. 'They are using nothing but axes?' Jill said.

'That is so,' Dahler answered. 'They use nothing but the axe. That is the way the Vikings build their boats. And up at Fjaerland they have always built their fishings boats that way. They can make carpets from local wool and stockings and jerseys — all by the method and in the pattern that they have always used. Nothing is new here — except the hotel and the steamers.'

We ran past a little wooden church, past the hotel, half-hidden in trees, and in to the wooden piles of the jetty. 'Is that your partner's boat?' I asked Sunde, pointing to a small tock-a-tock lying just beyond the quay. But he shook his head. His partner hadn't arrived and as though that were an omen, I suddenly had the feeling that things weren't going to go well.

I left the others and went up to the hotel alone. A waitress in national costume of black with embroidered bodice and frilled lace blouse stood in the entrance hall. 'Is Mr Ulvik in the hotel?' I asked.

She shook her head and laughed. 'Et oyeblikk sa skal jeg finne eieren.'

I waited. There were tiers of postcards, all of ice and snow and violent, blasted crags. Behind the porter's desk hung handmade rugs in brilliant colours, belts stamped out of leather and strange shaped walking sticks. On the desk were several pairs of slippers made by hand from what I later discovered to be reindeer. They had originally been made by the inhabitants for walking on frozen snow, but were now produced for the tourist trade on which the village lived. In a corner of the hall were piled rucksacks, rope, climbing boots, ice axes and a pair of skis. The atmosphere of the place was so different from the islands.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. I looked up. A short, fat little man hurried towards me. He wore a black suit and white collar and looked as out of place as a clerk in a gymnasium. He held out a white, podgy hand. 'You are Mr Gansert, perhaps,' he said. There was a gleam of gold fillings in his wide smile.

'Are you Mr Ulvik?' I asked.

'Yes. That is me.' He spoke English with a slight American accent. 'Come. We will go into the lounge. You have had tea?'

'Not yet,' I said.

'Then we have some tea.' He took hold of my arm and led me into a room where walls and ceiling were delicately hand-painted. The place was empty. 'It is early in the season,' he said. 'Fjaerland is too cold yet. The hotel is only just open.' He ordered tea and then said, 'Now Mr Gansert, I must tell you that I have not got what you want. Our application for the exhumation of this man, Bernt Olsen, is — how do you say it? — quashed.'

'Quashed!' I exclaimed. 'Why?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'I do not know.' The waitress came in with a tray laden with cakes and buttered toast. When she had gone, he said, 'First, everything goes well, you understand. I see the doctor at Leikanger. We go to the police. They say there will be no difficulty. They take a telephone to Bergen. I am in Leikanger all yesterday. The application is granted and I make the necessary arrangements. And then, just as I am leaving to catch the steamer, the police tell me the arrangements must be cancelled. They have the telephone from Bergen to say that it has been decided after all that there are no reasons for the exhume.'

'Look,' I said angrily. 'I told you I didn't care how much it cost. Did you get on to the lawyers at Bergen?'

His white hand with its fat little fingers caressed my arm as though he were a doctor soothing a fractious patient. 'Please believe me, Mr Gansert. I do everything that is possible to do. I telephone our lawyers. I telephone to a man very high in the police at Bergen. I even telephone Oslo, to one of the members of the Storting. But it is impossible. Something is blocking it. It is against policy, I fear.'

Against policy! That could mean only one thing. Jorgensen had used his influence to prevent the exhumation. Why? That was what puzzled me. Why was he scared to have Farnell's body exhumed? Had the man been murdered? And had Jorgensen had something to do with it? I drank my tea in silence, trying to figure it out. Jorgensen wouldn't directly involve himself in a thing like that. But where big money was involved I knew these things could happen — they could happen in England and they could happen in Norway. 'Who is blocking the application?' I asked Ulvik.

'I do not know,' he answered. 'I try to find out. But everyone is very careful. I think somebody very important.'

I looked at him. He fidgeted nervously under my gaze. Had he been bought? But I dismissed the thought. I didn't like him. But he was the company's agent. And the company was shrewd enough not to employ foreign representatives who could be bought. But still, the money might be bigger than usually available for bribes.

'I do everything I can,' he declared as though reading my thoughts. 'Please believe that, Mr Gansert. I have represented your company for fifteen years here in Norway. I work with the resistance. I build up contacts even while the Germans are here and Britain is losing the war. I do not often fail in anything. But this — this is something very strange. There is important business involved, I think.'

I nodded. 'It's not your fault,' I said. I looked out of the window to the ice-green waters of the fjord. A man was fishing from a rowing boat. The sunlight, striking on the green of the opposite shore, had the brittle quality of evening. Why didn't they want Farnell's body examined? I was now more convinced than ever that the answer to the mystery lay in the graveyard by the church we had passed. I pushed back my chair. 'You've brought some money for me?' I asked.

'Yes — yes, of course,' he answered, smiling with the relief of having been able to do something. 'I have it here in my pocket all ready for you. One hundred thousand kroner. Will that be sufficient?'

'How much is that?'

'A kroner is a shilling.' He brought out a thick pocket book. 'There,' he said, handing a pile of notes over to me. 'That is five thousand pounds. Will you please sign this — for the accounts of my agency, you know.'

I counted the notes and signed. Then I got to my feet. 'It is enough, eh?' he asked. He was like a puppy wriggling for a pat on the head.

'It'll do for the moment,' I answered.

'Now please, what will you wish me to do? Sir Clinton Mann wrote me that I was to place myself unreservedly at your disposal. Anything I can be of service to you with, Mr Gansert-'

'Go back to Bergen,' I said, 'and sit on the end of a telephone. What's your number?'

'Bergen 155 102.'

'Good. And find out for me who blocked that exhumation order.'

'Yes. I will do that. And I will wait for you to telephone me.' He bustled after me as I went to the door. 'I will leave tonight if you do not mind. There is a boat going to Balestrand to-night. It is much wanner at Balestrand. You have your boat here, eh? Do you go to Balestrand?'

'I don't know,' I answered. An idea was forming in my mind. Thank God he was leaving to-night.

'Then I wait for you to telephone me, please. Anything I can do-'

'Yes, I'll telephone you,' I said and went down the steps to the driveway.

At the road I hesitated. But instead of turning left towards the quay, I turned right and walked slowly towards the church.

It stood alone on a slight mound some distance beyond the hotel. Its white paint caught the slanting sunlight. It was a fairy church, so bright and gay against the gloomy background of the fjord winding down to the Sogne. Above it, up a long, boulder-strewn valley, towered the mountains, cold and forbidding, their snows crystal white. Beyond the graveyard, a torrent went rushing down to the fjord. I opened the gate and went up the path towards the church, searching the graves as I passed. Some had stone monuments, but many were marked with small wooden crosses on which the names of the buried were painted in black. The shadow of the church lay right across the graveyard and out to the edge of the fjord. In the sunlight beyond, I found what I was looking for — a freshly painted cross with the name Bernt Olsen on it. It was just as it had been in that newspaper cutting — the small white cross and the church behind. What the cutting had not shown was the towering mountains beyond and the atmosphere of the place — so remote and chill. I remembered Farnell out in Rhodesia. I remembered him talking of places like this, talking endlessly of the snows and the glaciers up in the mountains and the narrow fjords as the lamp-smoke thickened in our hut and the whisky got lower in the bottle. It had all seemed so remote out there, for at that time of the year the land had been dry as dust under a blazing sun. But now I understood what he had been talking about. And I was glad to know he'd been buried here in the land he loved and for whose riches he had sacrificed everything.

As though I had spoken my thoughts aloud, a voice said softly — This is where he would like to have been buried, isn't it?'

I 'turned. It was Jill. Her face was very pale and her lips trembled. I think she had been crying, but I was not sure. 'I was thinking just that,' I said. I looked round at the fjord and the mountains. 'This was what he lived for.' And then I looked again at the little cross stuck in the heaped-up mound of earth that was so fresh that the sods had not yet bound together to form a solid covering of grass. Had he died a natural death — or had he been murdered? Why had the application to exhume the body been blocked? The answer lay right there. I had only to lift the sods and dig down to the coffin… I glanced at Jill. She had been prepared to face a legal exhumation. There was no difference really. And yet… 'He'll be happy here,' I said quickly, for fear she would divine my thoughts.

'Yes,' she murmured. 'Thank you for bringing me, Bill.' Her lip was trembling again and she started off down the graveyard path to the gate. I followed her and as we reached the road she said, 'When is the exhumation?'

'There isn't going to be one,' I answered. 'The application has been refused.'

She sighed. I think it was with relief. 'I'm glad,' she said. 'There seems no point in disturbing him now.'

I looked at her. 'Don't you want to find out whether it was an accident or not?'

'No,' she answered. 'Nothing that we do can bring him back to life.'

I didn't say anything and we crossed the wooden planking of the quay. Dick and Curtis and Sunde were waiting for us as we came on board. 'Well?' asked Curtis.

'No good,' I said. 'The application has been blocked at the top. There's somebody doesn't want a post-mortem examination.'

'Jorgensen?'

'Maybe,' I answered and ordered the boat to be cast off.

'Hold it,' Dick said. 'Dahler's up at the hotel, phoning.'

'Who's he contacting?' I asked.

But Dick didn't know. And when Dahler came on board he gave no explanation. 'I am sorry if I delay you,' he apologised.

'It's all right,' I answered. 'I'm only moving just down the fjord.' I ordered Wilson to cast off and had the engine started.

The sun set as we left Fjaerland. For a moment the snows of the Jostedal high above the village were tinged with pink. Then the light faded and the fjord was a dark, cold gash in the mountains, its waters no longer green, but inky black. Night fell quickly and lights began to show in the huddle of wooden buildings round the quay.

Just beyond the headland, not a mile from the village, I steered the boat into a wooden landing stage. Above it, perched precariously on a little plateau of green grass, stood a fisherman's solitary hut. We moored the boat to the rotting piles and I ordered the dinghy to be cleared.

'What's the idea?' Curtis asked.

I glanced round. Jill was standing by the cockpit, watching us. 'I didn't want to lie at Fjaerland with my representative staying up at the hotel,' I said. 'I had a bit of a row with him.' Then I asked Jill to take Wilson and get some food prepared.

As soon as she had gone below, Curtis said, 'Is your representative a short man in a black suit, with a round, chubby face?'

'Yes,' I said.

'Well, he boarded a fishing boat and went off down the fjord about ten minutes before you came back to the boat with Jill.' He looked at me searchingly. 'What are you up to, Bill?' he asked. And then as I didn't answer immediately, he said, 'You're planning to dig Farnell's body up, aren't you?'

'Yes,' I said. 'The church is quite isolated. The moon rises just after midnight. We'll have four hours.'

He caught hold of my arm. His eyes were suddenly angry.

'You can't do it,' he said.

'Can't do it?' I laughed. 'Don't be a fool. It's quite safe. There'll be nobody around. And even if we are interrupted they won't know who we are. That's why I didn't want to moor up at Fjaerland.'

'I'm not worried about your being discovered,' he answered. 'It's Jill I'm thinking about.'

'Jill?' I remembered how she had sighed and said she was glad there was to be no exhumation. 'Jill mustn't know,' I said.

'God almighty, man,' he cried. 'She been standing there white as a sheet ever since you ordered the dinghy to be cleared. Do you think she doesn't realise why you've moored up here?' 'I don't think so,' I said. 'Are you going to tell her?'

'Of course not,' he answered.

'Right,' I said. 'Now let's get on with clearing the dinghy.'

But he caught hold of my arm and swung me round. I could feel his fingers like a vice on my flesh and the sudden thought crept into my mind that he was in love with Jill. 'Are you going through with this?' he demanded angrily.

'Yes,' I said. 'Oh, for God's sake, Curtis — don't be childish. Jill needn't know anything about it. But I must know how Farnell died.'

'Why?'

'Isn't it obvious? If he was murdered, then Schreuder knows the location of the mineral deposits. If the body bears no indication of a struggle, then perhaps the secret has died with him. I must know the answer to that.'

'You must know the answer!' he sneered. 'Can't you think of anything else but your bloody mineral grabbing? The girl wants the body left alone. She doesn't want the poor sod disturbed to satisfy your damned avarice.'

'It's not my avarice,' I replied hotly. 'Work for a hundred thousand men could be built up out of those deposits — if they exist. And I mean to find out. Jill needn't know. And if she does discover it, then I think she'll understand. You needn't have anything to do with it if you're squeamish about corpses.'

Curtis laughed. 'I'm not squeamish,' he said. 'I'm thinking of the girl. If you're going on with this, then she must be told. She must give her permission.'

'I'm not asking her,' I answered shortly.

'But she's a right to be consulted.'

'Right?' I asked. 'She's no rights in the matter at all.'

'I tell you she has. She has the right-'

I caught hold of his arm. 'Listen, Curtis,' I said. I was tired of all this ridiculous argument. 'Who's captain of this boat?'

He hesitated. 'You,' he answered.

'And who's in charge of this expedition?'

'You are,' he answered reluctantly.

'Right,' I said. 'Now get that dinghy slung over the side. We meet up here on deck at eleven-thirty — the three of us; you, Dick and I. Warm clothes and rubber shoes. I'll look after the girl.'

For a moment I thought he was going to argue. But the long habit of obedience to command was stronger than his sudden outburst of conscience. He turned and began to haul the dinghy over the rail.

At supper that night everybody seemed unnaturally quiet. Jill ate in silence, her eyes on her plate. Only Dahler was talkative. I wondered who he had telephoned from the hotel. 'What is your next move, Mr Gansert?' he asked me quite suddenly.

'Wait for Sunde's partner,' I answered.

'It is a pity Mr Sunde will not talk without his partner.' His eyes met mine. Some devil of laughter was there in the dark pupils. He glanced at Sunde.

The diver looked up quickly. Then his eyes fell to his plate again. He seemed nervous.

Dahler smiled. An unnatural excitement emanated from the man.

After the meal, I got everyone off to bed. It had been a long day and they were tired. Moreover, the sudden transfer from coast to mountain air had made us all sleepy.

I went and lay on my bunk. Sunde, who was sharing my cabin, came in shortly afterwards. He lay tossing for a long time. I fought off the desire to sleep and lay staring into the darkness. The ship was silent. There was no movement, no sound of water lapping against the hull. The utter stillness seemed unreal. Sunde began to snore. I thought of the grave in the churchyard under the mountains. There was something frightening about the thought of opening it up. Perhaps Curtis had been right. Perhaps we shouldn't do it. Body-snatching was something revolting. But we weren't body-snatching. We were trying to get at the truth of a man's death. The desire for sleep left me then and I lay in the dark, wondering how the hell I was to tell whether Farnell had died a natural death without a doctor to examine the body.

But I had made up my mind to see Farnell's body and at eleven-thirty I rose quietly and slipped on my rubber shoes. Dick was waiting for me up on deck. A faint light showed behind the mountains. The moon was rising. We only had one pick and one shovel. I got these from the lazaret and lowered them into the dinghy which Dick had pulled alongside. Curtis came up and joined us. I got my torch from the chartroom. 'In you get,' I said to Dick. He lowered himself quietly over the side. Curtis followed. Then a hand gripped my arm. I swung round. Dahler was standing beside me. 'I have been waiting for you,' he whispered. 'I also wish to see the body.'

'How did you know what we were going to do?' I asked him.

He smiled. I could see the line of his teeth in the dark. 'You are a man of determination, Mr Gansert,' he replied. 'You do not come all the way to Fjaerland for nothing.'

I nodded to the boat. 'Get in,' I said.

I followed him down. Dick and Curtis had the oars out. I pushed the boat clear. The outline of the yacht's hull vanished in the darkness as the rowlocks creaked to the thrust of the oars. The jagged rim of the mountains sharpened to a black line against the moonlit sky as we rowed towards Fjaerland. We rounded the headland and hugged the line of the shore. There were no lights showing at Fjaerland now. There was a deathly stillness in the air. The only sound was the creak of the oars and the gurgle of water coming down from the mountains.

As the sky brightened and our eyes became accustomed to the darkness, we were able to make out the dark line of the shore and the huddled mass of buildings round the quay at Fjaerland. The sound of water grew louder as we approached the torrent that ran into the fjord below the church. And then we saw the church itself, standing black and silent on its mound. I directed the boat towards the shore. We spoke in whispers. The bows suddenly jarred against a stone and then grated on pebbles. We clambered out and slipped the painter round a rock. Then we started up the slope to the graveyard.

That graveyard — it is difficult to describe how it felt in the half darkness with the mountains towering over it. It was just like any other graveyard really, and yet… The trouble was we came as thieves in the night. And a guilty conscience isn't the best companion in a graveyard. We located the newly painted cross and fresh sods of Farnell's resting place without difficulty. I seized hold of the shovel and cleared the turves and pulled up the cross. Then we began to dig. The ground below the surface was hard as iron. We sweated and grunted as we swung the pick into the frozen soil. Slowly, very slowly, the narrow pit opened up. It was hard, back-breaking work. We stripped to our vests and sweated in the chill air, our breath steaming.

Then the moon rose over the lip of the mountains. The snow shone white and cold. The piled-up ice of the Suphelle glacier glistened a cold green. The waters of the fjord looked blacker than ever. As I stood back and handed my pick to Curtis, I glanced past the church to the village. All was quiet as the grave. Yet I had the awful feeling that we were being watched, that at any moment irate villagers might rush to protect their little graveyard from this sacrilege. 'See anybody?' Dick asked in a whisper.

'No,' I answered. My voice was harsh.

He leaned on his shovel and watched the village.

'Give me that,' I said and took the shovel from him and began lifting out the earth loosened by the pick Curtis wielded.

Every time I paused I was conscious of the moonlight and the silence. The little torrent hissed and gurgled over the boulders to the fjord. The stillness of the mountains stood over us, cold and remote. We must be visible for miles.

The earth became softer, less frozen. The grave pit deepened until suddenly the pick struck wood. In a few minutes we had cleared the soil from the rough pine coffin. Then we bent down and lifted it out of its shallow grave.

And at that moment Dahler stiffened beside me. 'Somebody is coming,' he hissed.

'Where?' I whispered.

His head turned towards the stream. 'Something moved down there.'

'You're getting jumpy,' Dick whispered.

I turned back to the coffin. Curtis had the pick again. 'Come on,' I said. 'Open it up.'

But he didn't move. He, too, was staring down towards the stream where it ran into the fjord. 'There is somebody there,' x said. 'Look!' He seized my arm and pointed.

In the moonlight I saw a figure moving across the bed of the stream. It was white in the moonlight — a human figure dressed m white. It stopped and looked up towards us. Then it began move again. It crossed the torrent and started up the slope.

'Who can it be?' Dick whispered.

I caught a glimpse of a scarlet jumper and I knew who it was. 'Open up that coffin,' I snapped at Curtis.

But he didn't move. A moment later Jill stopped, facing us. Her breath came in great sobs of exertion and her eyes were wide in her white face. She was wearing a light-coloured raincoat. It was torn and muddied. Her slacks were wet to me knee.

I stepped forward. 'You shouldn't have come,' I said.

But she was staring at the coffin, lying aslant on the pile of loose earth. 'How could you?' she breathed. And she began to sob uncontrollably.

I looked at her torn clothing and realised how she must have hurried through the darkness and the moonlight along the rough foreshore. 'I had to,' I answered roughly. Then I turned to Curtis. 'Open it up,' I said.

'No,' he answered. 'You shouldn't have done this without her permission.'

'If you don't do it, I will,' I said, and seized the pick from him. I heard Jill cry out as I brought the point down into the crack between the top and sides. With a splintering of wood, I prised up the top. It came away in one piece. Few nails had been used. I ripped it up with my hands and flung it back. Curtis had pulled Jill away. Her face was buried against his chest and she was sobbing. Very gently I pulled the white shroud away from the body.

Then I shuddered. The body was a mangled mass of frozen blood and flesh. The head was smashed in, the neck broken and the left arm and hand crushed to a pulp. I straightened up. How was I to tell whether Farnell had died by accident or design? The body was so broken and destroyed that I couldn't even recognise it as Farnell. It wasn't decomposed at all. The frozen ground had seen to that. It was just that there was nothing left by which to recognise him. The face was pulp and the hand… I suddenly bent down. Why had that hand been so badly battered? Of course it could have happened naturally. He'd fallen a great height. Boulders might have crashed down on top of him. But I'd seen a lot of accidents — accidents in mines where men had been crushed by fallen rock. Hardly ever had I seen a man as badly smashed as this. It was almost as though the body had been deliberately smashed in such a way that it wouldn't be recognisable. That left hand. I picked up the broken, lacerated member. The torn flesh and congealed blood were stiff and frozen. In the light of my torch I saw that the bones of the fingers were all crushed and the splinters stuck out like sharp teeth from the flesh. I examined the little finger. The top two joints were missing, just as Farnell's had been missing. But a long sinew stuck out from a torn joint.

A sudden urge of excitement swept through me. What other identification marks had Farnell got? I couldn't think of any, but surely there must be something, some mark on his body. I turned to Jill. 'Jill,' I said. 'Is there anything by which you would know George Farnell, other than his face and the little finger on his left hand?'

Something in my voice must have communicated itself to her, for she stopped sobbing and turned her head towards me. 'Why do you want to know?' she asked.

'Because I want to know if this is, in fact, the body of George Farnell.' I had spoken slowly, and as I finished she straightened up and came towards the coffin.

I pulled the shroud over the corpse. 'No,' I said. 'It's not a — a very pretty sight. Just tell me — will you? Anything by which I can identify him?'

'Yes,' she said. Her voice was quite clear now. 'He had marks on the soles of his feet. The Nazis caught him once here in Norway. They beat the soles of his feet. But he wouldn't talk and they released him.'

I looked down at the coffin. Both feet were intact — one was twisted round where the ankle had been broken, that was all. I forced the stiffened right leg out of the coffin and shone my torch on to the sole of the foot. It was unmarked. So was the other. I looked up at Jill. Her eyes were bright with excitement. 'Are you certain about that?' I asked.

'Yes. Yes, of course, I'm certain. They were like white scars. Are they there?'

'No,' I said.

'And there was the mark of a bullet under the right armpit.'

I forced up the right arm. There was no mark under the armpit.

I stood up then and crossed over to her. 'Jill,' I said. 'You're quite certain about those identification marks?'

'Yes,' she answered. She clutched my arm. 'That's not George then — is it? That can't be George if those marks aren't there.'

'No,' I said. 'That is not the body of George Farnell. It's somebody else's body.'

'But — but how did it get there?' Curtis asked.

I looked at him. Life had been such a very straightforward business for him. 'That man has been murdered,' I said.

'But Farnell's — papers were found on the body.'

'Exactly,' I said and glanced at Jill. Her eyes met mine and I saw that she had understood the point. I turned to Curtis. 'The body has been mutilated in such a way that it would be identified as Farnell's if the necessary papers were found on it.'

'But why?' he asked.

'What's it matter why?' Jill said. 'He's alive. That's all that matters.'

I looked at her and felt a deep pity. That was all that mattered, was it? For the moment, perhaps. But later…

'Where do you think he'll have gone?' she asked.

'That we must find out from Sunde,' I said.

'Sunde?' Her face looked blank for a moment and then she stared. 'You mean the man that jumped overboard from the catcher-'

'Yes,' I said. 'That was Farnell.' I nodded to the body at my feet. 'This is Schreuder.'

'Then Farnell-' Curtis checked himself.

I nodded. 'Looks like it,' I said. 'Now let's put the body back and then we'll go and talk to Sunde.'