The Blue Ice (29 page)

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

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

‘Warn him? What about?'

‘The police. I forgot. They arrived at Finse late last night on one of those railway trollies. An officer and six men. The officer reported immediately to Jorgensen.' She leaned forward and touched my arm. ‘You're shivering. Have some more brandy and I'll get you some blankets. There are some in the cupboard here.' She got to her feet. ‘The hotel association keeps this place stocked up for skiers that get caught in the mist or snow.' In a moment she was back with two heavy blankets which she wrapped round me. I didn't have the strength to protest. I felt cold right through despite the brandy. I took another drink and tried to think. Dahler – Jorgensen – the police; all down at Finse! What did it mean? And where would Farnell make for? He'd give Lovaas the slip in the snow. No question of that. Then where would he make for? I looked at the windows. They were almost blocked with snow. Through the half-obliterated panes I could see the dark flakes driving under the weight of the wind. He might come here. Or he might press on. And if he went on, where would he make for – Finse?

As though she divined my thoughts, Jill said, ‘George will get away from Lovaas all right, won't he?'

‘Yes,' I said.

‘Then where will he go? If he goes down to Finse—' She stopped there. And again I wondered how much Farnell meant to her now. She looked cold and remote and delicately lovely in her navy blue ski suit and red socks and scarf. Red woollen gloves lay on the floor at her feet. She was the sort of girl that never let up once she had decided on something. ‘Are you still in love with Farnell?' I asked suddenly, and my voice sounded harsh in the immense silence of that hut.

She looked at me. ‘You shouldn't have asked that,' she said softly. ‘Not now.'

‘I suppose not,' I said dully. I hadn't the strength to argue or even press the point. And it wasn't until later that I realised that she had avoided a direct answer.

After that we didn't talk. I sat huddled against the fire. I felt I wanted to press the warmth right into my stomach. Gradually my shivering ceased. I took my boots off and changed into a clean pair of socks. The warmth on my face made me drowsy. Inside, the hut was silent as though waiting for the tick of a clock. Outside, the wind howled, rattling at the windows and shaking the massive timber of the walls. The blanketed sound of the snow was audible even above the wind. My eyes began to close. I felt myself dropping off to sleep.

Then suddenly Jill said, ‘What's that?'

I started awake. ‘What?' I asked.

‘I thought I heard somebody.'

I listened. I could hear nothing but the wind and the snow. ‘It's nothing,' I said drowsily. ‘What did you think it was?'

‘I thought I heard a voice.' She got to her feet and went towards the windows.

‘Nobody will be coming here,' I said. ‘Lovaas and his mate are out there somewhere in the snow. They'll never find this place. And Farnell's probably miles away by now.'

‘I expect you're right,' she said. But she crossed over to the other window. Then she stopped. ‘There. Did you hear it?'

I sat up, wide awake now. The sound was unmistakable – the clatter of wood against wood. There it was again and a voice speaking.

Next moment the outer door was flung open. Boots stamped in the narrow passage. A man's voice, deep and solid, spoke in Norwegian. Then the inner door opened and a draught of bitter cold air blew into the hut. With it came a flurry of snow. The outer door was closed.

Jill, her face alight with excitement, started across the floor. Then she stopped as though frozen. A man had entered. He wore a fur cap with earflaps. His face and body were thick with a white covering of snow. But the girth of the man, enhanced by the amount of clothing he was wearing, was unmistakable. It was Lovaas. He wiped the snow from his face. His skin was almost blue with cold. ‘So,' he said. ‘It is Miss Somers and' – he glanced across at me – ‘and Mr Gansert.
Kom inn, Halvorsen
,' he said over his shoulder. He came over to the stove. ‘Move please, Mr Gansert. We need some warmth.' His voice was thick and tired. His feet stumbled. ‘Your friend, Farnell, nearly finished us. It was only luck that we found the hut.'

His mate, a tall, hatchet-faced man, came in and closed the door after him. I moved towards Jill, whilst they gathered round the fire. The snow steamed on their clothing as they huddled close to the red top of the stove. ‘What happened to my man, Gaarder, eh?' Lovaas asked me.

‘Who is Gaarder?' I asked.

‘One of my men. I leave him to look after you. What happens? And where is your companion? It was Sunde, wasn't it?'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Suede was with me. But he turned his ankle. I had to come on without him.'

‘And I suppose Gaarder turns his ankle also?' His heavy brows were drawn together. His eyes, red-rimmed and narrowed, watched me closely. ‘What happens, Mr Gansert?' And when I didn't reply, he suddenly shouted – ‘Answer, man! What happens to him?'

‘How should I know?' I answered. ‘Perhaps he's lost his way.'

I saw anger welling up into violence inside him. But he was tired. He only sighed and pressed his great belly closer to the cast-iron casing of the stove. ‘We will talk about that later,' he said.

There was a momentary silence. I could see the blood flowing back into his face. It was no longer blue. His features began to take on a ruddy glow. The man was incredibly tough. He had done the same trek as I had and had been skiing steadily in the biting snowstorm all the time I had been here, huddled against the fire. Yet already he was recovering. I remembered how Sunde's little legs had covered the ground. And this man was accustomed to the cold. He had been on an antarctic whaling expedition. I glanced across at Jill. He'd work on her. He was a dangerous man and he was playing for high stakes. He was going outside the law. And he would go further outside it to achieve his end. Only by discovering what Farnell knew would he be safe. I moved slowly towards my rucksack.

‘Stay where you are please, Mr Gansert.' Lovaas's voice was sharp. ‘
Halvorsen. Ga gjennom tingene deres. Se om der er noen skyterpen.
'

His mate crossed the room to my rucksack and took out my pistol. Then he searched Jill's pack. Finally he came behind each of us and ran his hands over our clothing. Then he took the gun across to Lovaas. He broke it open. ‘So,' he said. ‘You have not fired any shot. But perhaps your friend fired a shot, eh?'

I ignored the question and gazed at the window. Then suddenly my nerves stiffened the tired muscles of my body. The snow was being pushed away from the window. A hand was rubbing the glass clear from the outside. Then a face looked in through the cleared patch. Farnell? I couldn't be certain. I just made out the shape of the nose and mouth and two eyes looked for a second into mine.

‘Well? What happened to Gaarder?' Lovaas demanded.

I turned away from the window. If it was Farnell, then I must warn him. He couldn't have seen Lovaas from where he was looking in. But if I kept talking he'd know someone else was in the hut. ‘Was this fellow, Gaarder, with you when you started out?' I asked.

‘Of course,' Lovaas answered. ‘There were three of us left Aurland. You knew that, Mr Gansert. What happened at Osterbo?'

‘What should have happened?' I asked.

‘I'm asking you what did happen.'

‘And I am asking you what you expected to happen, Captain Lovaas,' I countered. ‘You left him behind, I suppose. Was he meant to kill us?'

‘I am not a fool. It would do no good to kill you. I have not yet discovered how much you know.'

I sensed the draught of the outer door opening. I must keep talking. ‘Then why did you leave him behind, Captain Lovaas?'

‘How do you know I leave him behind?'

‘I am going on what you have told me, Captain Lovaas,' I answered in a strong voice.

‘I tell you nothing,' he answered sharply. Then his brows dragged down over his eyes. ‘Why do you talk so loud, eh? And why is it Kaptein Lovaas this and Kaptein Lovaas that? What are you up to, Mr Gansert?'

‘Ah – so it is you, Mr Gansert?'

The voice came from behind me. But it was not the voice I had expected. I swung round. Dahler was standing in the doorway. His small figure was covered in snow. His features were grey, the lines about the mouth deeply etched. And he was smiling that crooked enigmatic smile of his. ‘Jorgensen has not arrived, eh?'

‘Jorgensen?'

‘Yes. He has not arrived?'

‘No,' I said.

‘Good. I am glad. I followed him up from the hotel. Then I lose him in the snowstorm. He will arrive soon, I think.' He lowered his rucksack on to the table and went over to the fire, rubbing his withered hand. ‘So, you have arrived, eh?' was his greeting to Lovaas.

‘
Ja.
I have arrived and I have lost one of my men.'

‘How did you lose him? There has been trouble, eh?' He glanced quickly from Lovaas to me. ‘Who has been hurt?'

I did not reply.

‘Where is Sunde?' he asked. ‘Did he not go with you Mr Gansert?'

‘He is at Steinbergdalen,' I replied.

‘So.' He looked up at Lovaas, cocking his head on one side like a curious raven. ‘Where's Farnell?'

‘I do not know,' Lovaas replied in a surly voice. It was clear he did not like Dahler. But faced by the cripple his bluster left him. It was as though he were afraid of the man.

‘I do not know!' Dahler mimicked. ‘Well, you should discover what has happened. Jorgensen will be here soon. Then there will be trouble. He is not a forgiving man, Kaptein Lovaas. You may have got in his way. And the police are with him.'

‘The police?' Lovaas growled. ‘Coming up here?'

‘No. They are down at the hotel. But Mr Jorgensen has told them to stand by to make other arrests than the man known at the moment as Schreuder.'

Lovaas hesitated. Then abruptly he moved away from the fire. ‘
Kom, Halvorsen. Vi ma ga.
'

Dahler caught at his arm with his sound hand. The withered claw remained held over the red-hot top of the stove. ‘A moment, Kaptein Lovaas,' he said. ‘You go too fast. Jorgensen has said nothing to the police – not yet.' Dahler's small, dark eyes were watching the whaler's face.

‘What are you suggesting?' Lovaas asked. His voice sounded nervous – ill-at-ease.

‘I am suggesting nothing,' Dahler replied slowly. ‘If you had caught Farnell – then it would be different. Then you would be safe. You were always too hasty, you know, Kaptein. You must always rush things. You should have kept within the law. Or if you wished to go outside it – then you should do so with success, eh? If you had obtained what Mr Jorgensen, and Mr Gansert here, want from Farnell – then you would be justified. Without that—' He hesitated. Then he said quietly, ‘But it is long way from here to the hotel, where the police are. And there is a snowstorm.' He paused significantly, watching Lovaas like a cat.

Was he trying to get Lovaas to kill Jorgensen? What was it that drove the man so? Hatred of Jorgensen? Desire to prove his innocence? What made him follow Farnell, planning his destruction, yet seeking his help as he had sought it during the war up here in the mountains? I remembered what Sunde had said: ‘
Dahler
–
I reckon he's mad.
' That was the only explanation. What he had suffered during the war had affected the balance of his mind. Maybe he had sold secrets to the enemy. But he didn't believe he had. He had thought himself into that desperate certainty that his innocence could be proved and that Farnell could do it. And he, like Farnell, was prepared to do anything to gain his own ends. Jorgensen was to him a symbol of something he hated and wished to fight – Jorgensen, who had been successful, who had taken the long view. He had tried to kill Jorgensen out there in the North Sea during the storm. Of that I was certain now. And he was playing Lovaas off against Jorgensen, hoping against hope that Jorgensen would get hurt in the clash. Yes, he was mad.

He suddenly turned towards me. ‘So you did not catch up with your friend Farnell, eh? And where is he now, I wonder?'

‘Half-way to Finse, I should think,' I answered.

He nodded. ‘Perhaps.' He glanced at his watch. ‘It is just after eleven. The train from Oslo comes through Finse at twelve-thirty. Allow that it is half an hour late – our State Railways are always late. He has two hours. I think perhaps he will make it.' He glanced up at Lovaas, who had started to move towards his rucksack. ‘And the police will be on that train, Kaptein Lovaas.'

Lovaas halted. Then he came slowly back towards Dahler. I could see by his face that he wanted to strangle the cripple. And yet something stopped him. There was something about Dahler's eyes that was cold and dead, yet strangely excited. ‘The net is drawing round him, you see,' he said with a little laugh. ‘All around you, eh?'

There was the sound of skis being placed against the side of the hut. Then the outer door closed, there was a stamp of nailed boots and the inner door opened and Jorgensen came in. His tall figure looked lithe and active in a white ski suit. His leathery features seemed darker than usual against the white of the snow that clung to him. He stopped and looked round the room – first at Jill and myself, then at Lovaas and his mate, finally at Dahler. ‘Where is he?' he asked. Then he turned to me. ‘You followed him, Mr Gansert. Did you catch up with him?'