The Blue Ice

by Innes, Hammond;

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Why? Good God! How should I know? That is the job of the men who make the damn’ stuff. All I know is that it does good to it. Well – skaal.’ He raised his glass and drained it at a gulp. ‘A-ah!’ he breathed. ‘That is good, eh? Very good if you eat much fat, you know.’ And he patted his stomach again and roared with laughter. I remembered what Dahler said and noticed that his little bloodshot eyes did not laugh. The fat round them creased into wrinkles of laughter, but the eyes themselves were blue and steely and were watching me all the time. ‘Now, sit down,’ he said. ‘Sit down.’ And he kicked a chair over to me. ‘You wish to know about Schreuder, eh?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  He sat on his bunk. ‘So does herr direktör Jorgensen.’

  The way he said herr direktör it sounded like a sneer. ‘I was expecting you, you know.’

  ‘Expecting me? Why?’ I asked.

  ‘The radio. Our radio watch, you know, is for half an hour. Jorgensen spoke to me after you had left.’ I was again conscious of his eyes watching me. ‘Another drink, eh?’

  ‘No thanks,’ I said.

  ‘I understand you are the representative of some English company?’ The bottle gurgled as he refilled both glasses. ‘Skaal,’ he said. ‘What company, Mr Gansert?’

  ‘Base Metals and Industries,’ I answered.

  His thick, sandy-coloured eyebrows lifted. ‘So! A big concern, eh? Bigger than D.N.S.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I wanted him to do the talking. I wanted to get the measure of the man. But he waited so that at length I said, ‘Where is the man, Schreuder?’

  ‘Locked in a cabin,’ he answered.

  ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘Perhaps.’ He rolled the thick, colourless liquid round his glass. Then he looked at me out of his sharp little eyes. He didn’t say anything. The vessel’s foghorn suddenly blared through the cabin, drowning the steady thrum of the engines. He waited. Again the foghorn blared.

  ‘How much?’ I asked.

  ‘How much?’ He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. ‘You wish to buy. But do you know what you are buying, eh, Mr Gansert?’

  ‘Do you know what you are selling?’ I answered.

  He smiled. ‘I think so. On board my ship is the man who can give the location of important new mineral deposits. So much herr Jorgensen has tell me. He has also said I must bring this man – Schreuder – to Bovaagen Hval – without letting you speak with him. Now, you see how awkward it is for me, Mr Gansert. Herr Jorgensen is direktör of the whaling station I sell my whales to. He is a hard man. If I do not deliver him Schreuder, the station will no more take my whale. You see, there are only three whaling stations in Norway. Each station is allowed only three catchers. If Bovaagen Hval is closed to me I cannot take my whale elsewhere. Then how do I live? How do my men live? And my ship – it will lie in Sandefjord and rot. But first we will talk with Jorgensen. If he does not offer too much and you offer more – well, maybe I come alive in England, eh? Then how do I keep my stomach fed?’ He patted the protruding bulk which shook with laughter. ‘Perhaps there is a good black market restaurant in your Soho, eh? But first we talk with Jorgensen.’

  He heaved himself up and peered for’ard out of the porthole. Then he glanced at his watch. ‘In five minutes we arrive at Bovaagen Hval. Then we will see. Now we have another drink, eh?’ He refilled my glass. ‘Skaal.’ Then as I did not pick up my glass, he said, ‘Please, Mr Gansert, when I say skaal you must drink. If you don’t drink I cannot drink. That is our custom in Norway. And I like to drink. Skaal.’ I raised my glass and knocked back the liquor. It was sharp and fiery.

  ‘Why did Schreuder want to get to the Shetlands?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe he kill someone. I do not know. But he nearly made a damn’ fool of me – magnetising my compass.’ He was watching me again. ‘That description of Farnell – you said the tip of the little finger of the left hand missing, eh?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘I know about that because it happened when I was with him in Rhodesia. Caught it in a crushing plant. Why?’

  His eyes were back on his drink. ‘O-oh. I just wondered, that is all. This man Schreuder did not say nothing about it. His description was correct from what you say, but he did not say about the little finger of the left hand.’

  The engine-room telegraph rang and the engines slowed. I got up and peered out ahead. The fog was thickening. But out of it emerged the vague shape of one of the small islands masking Bovaagen Hval. ‘We’re almost in, I think,’ I said. He made no reply. I imagine he was considering how best to handle negotiations involving both Jorgensen and myself. I wondered why he had brought up the matter of Farnell’s little finger and how much he knew about the whole business.

  And then suddenly pandemonium seemed to break loose. There was a shout. Then an iron door slammed and feet pounded down the iron-plated length of the after-deck. There followed a splash. Then shouts and more feet running on the deck plating. The engine-room telegraph rang again and the ship shuddered as the engines were set to full astern.

  At the first shout Lovaas, with surprising speed for a man of his bulk, had leapt to his feet and reached the door. ‘Hvar er hendt?’ he roared.

  Over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of a man whose face was running in blood looking up from the rail below. ‘Det er Schreuder,’ he shouted back. Then he pointed over the starboard rail. ‘Han unnslapp og hoppet overbord.’

  ‘De fordomte udugelig idiot!’ Lovaas roared and swung himself on to the bridge ladder.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I asked as I followed him.

  ‘Schreuder,’ he answered. ‘He’s escaped and dived overboard.’ He flung open the door to the bridge. The mate was there, peering through binoculars. ‘Kan De se ham?’ Lovaas demanded.

  ‘Nei,’ the mate answered. And then suddenly: ‘Jo, Jo – de borte.’

  I followed the direction of his arm. On the edge of the mist’s visibility a black blob showed for an instant on the colourless surface of the sea. Then it was gone. ‘Full fart forover babord motor. Full fart akterover styrbord motor.’ Lovaas was peering into the opaque void. ‘Roret hardt over til babord, Henrik!’ Again I saw the black blob as our bows swung. It turned and looked back and I saw then that it was a man’s head. He raised his arms out of the water. He was struggling to get clear of his clothes. Then the head vanished. I had no idea what the temperature of the water was. But I knew it must be pretty cold. No man would try such a swim in these waters unless he were desperate. And at the moment that he had disappeared he had been heading out to sea. The poor wretch must have lost his sense of direction. From where I stood, balancing myself to the heel of the ship as she turned, I could see the vague shape of the island. But from water-level it was probably invisible.

  I glanced quickly at Lovaas. He was peering into the mist at the point where the man’s head had disappeared. The fierce grip of his hand on the edge of the bridge betrayed his impatience at the slowness of the turn. I glanced down at Diviner straining at the warps that secured her to the catcher. If we could pick Schreuder up and not Lovaas … I was down the ladder in a flash. ‘Dick! Curtis!’ I shouted. ‘Cut her clear. Quick!’

  I heard Lovaas bellowing in Norwegian to his crew as I slipped across the engine-room hatches and down the ladder to her main deck. Somebody tried to bar my way at the foot of the ladder. I lashed out with my foot and then jumped straight over on to Diviner’s deck. Dick and Wilson each had an axe. Two blows severed the warps and as I picked myself up off the deck, the engines started and we drew clear of the catcher.

  Lovaas was out on the catwalk. He shook his fist at me as he hurried down to the bows to act as lookout. I saw his hand touch the heavy harpoon gun and then he glanced across at us. ‘Hard a’port!’ I shouted to Jill who was at the wheel.

  ‘Hard a’port it is,’ she answered and we swung away. I wanted to get well clear of the catcher. The rage of the man was obvious even though the distance between us
was rapidly widening. I wondered what he would do if we succeeded in picking up Schreuder.

  But we didn’t succeed. And nor did Lovaas. The two of us cruised back and forth over that little area of sea a hundred times.

  But we saw no sign of Schreuder – only his discarded jacket floating half submerged with the sleeves held out like a man drowned. There was not a breath of wind. The sea was like glass. And the mist was so thick we were often out of sight of the catcher. I had a bucket of sea water brought up and dipped my hand in. It was as cold as ice. No man could live for long in water that cold. After half an hour I gave up and followed the catcher as it made off slowly through the mist to Bovaagen Hval.

  As we left the spot I saw Jill gazing over the stern. ‘If only we could have saved him,’ she said. ‘He could have told us so much. I’m sure he could.’ She turned suddenly to me. ‘What do you think happened up there on the Jostedal?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. The less she thought about it the better.

  ‘But something must have happened,’ she murmured. ‘He was there with George. And then after – the accident – he tries to make for England. He’s afraid to stay in Norway. So afraid that he’s willing to take a chance in that icy water. And those samples of ore. He must have taken them from George’s body, Bill!’ She caught at my arm and her voice was tense. ‘Do you think – do you think he killed George?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think,’ I replied. I didn’t look at her. I didn’t want to see that hurt expression in her eyes.

  ‘Well, whatever he did,’ Curtis said, ‘the poor devil’s dead now. And we’ll never know the truth of what happened.’ He turned and gazed aft. ‘Hallo! Mist’s lifting a bit. I wonder what happened to those two boats?’

  ‘What two boats?’ I asked.

  ‘You remember the diver who was after an aero engine. Maybe they were farther out. Difficult to tell in this mist. But I thought they were just about here. I remember that island was just where it is now when Dick hailed them.’ He nodded in the direction of the island we were approaching.

  ‘That’s right,’ Dick agreed. ‘This is about the spot.’

  Curtis glanced up at the burgee. It was fluttering. ‘There’s a breeze sprung up. Look, the mist is clearing now.’

  ‘Pity it didn’t do that earlier,’ Dick said. ‘Might have saved Schreuder’s life.’ The mist was clearing fast. The sun shone through. ‘Not a sign of the divers,’ he added.

  ‘Probably packed up for the day,’ Curtis suggested.

  But Dick shook his head. ‘No. They wouldn’t do that. I don’t expect they often get a sea as calm as this up here. This is just right for diving. And it’s early, too. They’d only just started the day’s operations.’

  I looked at him. I think we all had the same idea. ‘Do you think Schreuder could have swum to the divers’ boats and persuaded them to take him ashore?’ I asked.

  Dick shrugged his shoulders. ‘We didn’t find his body. And we didn’t find the boats. And if they had moved off we wouldn’t have heard their little engines above the sound of ours. Nor would Lovaas on the catcher. But how could he persuade ’em to up anchor and get away as quickly as that?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But it’s just a chance that he did.’ I ordered Carter to stop the engine and jumped down into the chartroom. I cleared the litter of pencils and rulers from the chart and stared at the outline of Nordhordland. The others crowded round peering over my shoulder. ‘Curtis,’ I said. ‘This is your sort of problem. Schreuder for some reason was desperate. He wanted to escape. Now if you were Schreuder and you’d persuaded those divers to help you, where would you get them to take you?’

  He leaned forward over the chart and studied it. ‘He wanted to get away from Lovaas,’ he murmured. ‘And to him Lovaas would be Bovaagen Hval. In that case I’d steer clear of any place on the same stretch of land as Bovaagen. And I wouldn’t go out to the islands, however much I wanted to get across to England. I’d feel cut off out there. No, I think I’d get them to take me to the next island to the north of here and land me at some quiet inlet near Austrheim. From the other side of the island I could probably get a fishing boat to take me across Fensfjord to Halsvik on the mainland. And from there I could get up into the mountains and lose myself until the hue and cry had died down.’

  ‘Or he could stop one of the steamers going to Sognefjord,’ Jill put in. ‘They’ll always take on passengers from boats that hail them.’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘We’ll make for Austrheim then. If we’re right, we should meet the divers coming back to their work here.’

  Shortly afterwards a breeze sprang up and the mist cleared to bright sunshine. But we saw no sign of the divers’ boats. They weren’t in Austrheim, nor was there any sign of them in any of the inlets along the coast. Reluctantly we put about.

  On the way back to Bovaagen Hval something occurred which, in a strange way, upset me. Austrheim was disappearing in the haze astern. I went down to the saloon to fix drinks for the crew. But outside the door, I stopped. It was not properly shut and through the crack I could see Jill and Curtis standing close together. Jill’s eyes were wet with tears. Curtis held a watch in his hand – the same gold watch that I had seen him with when he first came aboard. ‘I’m sorry,’ he was saying. ‘I should have given it to you before. But I wasn’t certain he was dead. Now I am certain. So’ – he thrust the gold timepiece into her hands – ‘It was his father’s. When he gave it to me, your address was inside the back. I opened it foolishly in the assault craft. The wind swept the piece of paper with your address overboard. Only your picture remained. That’s why I recognised you at once.’

  She had clutched hold of the watch. ‘You – saw us, that time in Bergen, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That was the last time I saw him.’ She turned away. She was crying quietly. ‘Was there any message – when he gave you this?’

  ‘Yes,’ Curtis answered. ‘A line from Rupert Brooke—’

  I turned quietly away then and went back on deck. Why was she crying? Was she still in love with him? I took the wheel from Carter. I didn’t want to think about her being in love with Farnell.

  It was midday by the time we got back to the whaling station. Two catchers lay at the quay. And as we landed the winches were clattering and a huge white whale was being dragged up the slipway by its tail. We stood and watched for a moment. It was all strange and exciting. When the winches stopped, the great animal stretched the whole length of the flensing deck. Its gigantic tail lay by the winches. Its mouth, wide open to show the finners and the huge pink tongue, overhung the slipway. In an instant half a dozen men, armed with flensing knives, set to work. The winch hawsers were attached to the flaps of the hide cut out from either side of the head behind the jaw. Then flensing began, the winches tearing at the blubber whilst the flensers cut it clear with their knives. This exposed the meat along the backbone. Then the winch hawsers were refixed, run through blocks and the whale was winched over to expose the grey-white belly of the animal to the flensing knives.

  Kielland came up as we stood watching. He was dressed in ex-German jackboots and an old khaki shirt. ‘Ah, you have returned, eh?’ He shouted instructions to one of the men and then said, ‘I hear this man, Schreuder, jumped into the sea. You did not recover him, eh?’

  ‘No,’ I said. The workmen were swarming round the whale now. The meat was being hacked out in great chunks and hooked on to trolleys to be carried to the packing sheds. ‘Where’s Jorgensen?’ I asked.

  ‘He has gone to Bergen in the meat boat.’ There was a jauntiness about Kielland that suggested he was glad to see the last of his director.

  ‘And Lovaas?’

  He smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. ‘He is sick with himself.’

  ‘What about Schreuder’s possessions?’ I asked. ‘What’s happened to them?’

  ‘Kaptein Lovaas handed them over to Jorgensen to deliver to the police.’

&nb
sp; ‘Did you see what they were? Did they include any pieces of what would look like dull, grey rocks?’

  His brows lifted. ‘So that was why you were all so interested in Schreuder, eh? What was it – gold, silver, something valuable?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Something valuable.’ No wonder Jorgensen had hurried off to Bergen. He would be 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?’