Hammond Innes: Blue Ice

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.

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. Arid 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 companion way.

In the saloon I found Curtis and Miss Somers seated where I had left them. Dahler was pacing up and down. He swung Ť 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 it 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 Maloy 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 Maloy 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.’