The Blue Ice

by Innes, Hammond;

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Jorgensen answered. The suaveness of his voice was gone. It was angry, menacing.

  ‘I am here because I wish to talk with Mr Gansert about Farnell.’ The cripple was peering up at Jorgensen. Then he turned to me. ‘Did you know Farnell?’ he asked. His lips were still set in that crooked smile and I realised suddenly that half his face was paralysed too. He had difficulty in forming some of his words. The paralysis produced a slight hesitation and a little froth of spittle bubbled at the corner of his mouth, catching the light.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I worked with him once.’

  ‘Like him?’ His eyes were watching me as he put his question.

  ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Why?’

  ‘I like to know whose side people are on,’ he replied softly, and looked again at Jorgensen.

  ‘Why have you come here?’ Jorgensen barked the question out as though he were speaking to a subordinate.

  Dahler said nothing. He didn’t move. He remained staring at Jorgensen so that the very silence made the atmosphere electric. It was as though the two men had things between them that could be communicated without speech. It was Jorgensen who broke the silence. ‘I would like to speak to you privately, Mr Gansert,’ he said, turning to me.

  ‘You are afraid to make your proposals openly, eh?’ Dahler said, and there was a venomous note in his voice. ‘It’s a pity Farnell isn’t here to advise Mr Gansert.’

  ‘Farnell is dead.’

  ‘Is he?’ Dahler leaned suddenly forward. He was like a spider darting from the corner of its web. ‘What makes you so sure he is dead?’

  Jorgensen hesitated. Any moment now he would pick up his hat and walk off the ship. I could see it coming. And I didn’t want that. If I could hold Jorgensen on board … And at that moment I heard the warning bell on Tower Bridge ring. I knew then what I was going to do. I edged towards the door. Jorgensen said, ‘I did not come here to talk about Farnell.’ I slipped out and hurried on to the deck.

  A tramp steamer was edging out from the neighbouring wharf. The traffic on Tower Bridge had stopped. Carter and Wilson were standing by the rail, talking. I went over to them. ‘Carter,’ I said. ‘Is the engine warm? Will she start up first go?’

  ‘Ye dinna ha’ to fash yersel’ aboot the engine, Mr Gansert,’ he said. ‘Ah’ve got her so she’ll go when I click me fingers.’

  ‘Get it going then,’ I said. ‘And make it quick.’ As he dived down the engine-room hatch, I ordered Wilson to let go the warps. ‘And do it quietly,’ I told him.

  He climbed over the rail and in a few seconds both warps were on deck. I slipped aft and took the wheel. The engine coughed twice and then roared into life. ‘Full astern,’ I called down to Carter. There was a bubbling froth under our stern and we began to move. As we slid clear of the wharf, I ordered ‘Full ahead’ and swung the wheel. The engine roared. The propellers frothed and gurgled under the water. The long bowsprit swung in a wide arc until it pointed straight for the main span of Tower Bridge.

  Dick came tumbling out from the companionway. Jorgensen was right behind him. ‘What is happening?’ Jorgensen demanded. ‘Why are we moving out into the river?’

  ‘We’re changing our berth,’ I told him.

  ‘Where to?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘To Norway,’ I answered.

  CHAPTER TWO

  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. And 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 companionway.

  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 i
t 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 Malöy 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 Malöy 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 towards him. ‘As I’ve 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 duffel 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’l 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.’