‘Dawn Tommorow,’ he replied slowly. The way he said it made me realise what it meant to him. He hadn’t seen his country for a long time. And when he had last been there it had been as a prisoner, a slave labourer working for the Germans over 4,000 feet up in the mountains. And he had left it as a fugitive. I thought of the awful trip he must have had down the railway to Bergen hidden in a crate that was supposed to contain German aero engines. Then the trip out to the island and then the final journey by M.T.B. And now he was going back for the first time. And he was threatened with arrest. I suddenly felt sorry for him.
‘There’s a chance we may sight a steamer off Bergen, bound for Britain,’ I said. ‘If so, shall we signal it to take you on board?’
He sat up suddenly. ‘No,’ he said violently. ‘No. I’m not afraid. I’m a Norwegian. Neither Jorgensen — nor anyone else — will stop me from going back to my country.’ His eyes had a wild look. ‘Where are you making for?’ he asked.
‘Fjaerland,’ I said.
He nodded and sank back. ‘Good! I must find Farnell. If I can find Farnell — he knows the truth, you see. There were records. The resistance people kept records of what went on between the Germans and suspected Norwegian civilians.’
I couldn’t remind him that Farnell was dead. In his overwrought state it would have done no good. He had closed his eyes again and I went out, closing the door gently behind me.
I had told him that Fjaerland was our destination. But something happened that evening which altered things. We kept radio watch on ultra-short wave at seven in the morning and seven in the evening. We had from the hour to ten minutes after in which to transmit or receive and either Dick or myself, whoever was on watch at the time, turned in to our wavelength. Dick was on watch that evening and shortly after seven he burst into the saloon where Jill and I were having a quiet drink. ‘Message for you, skipper,’ he said excitedly.
‘What is it?’ I asked, taking the sheet of paper.
‘They’ve traced the consignment of whale meat Farnell smuggled that message out in,’ he answered. ‘It came from a company called Bovaagen Hval.’
‘Bovaagen Hval?’ Jill exclaimed.
I glanced across at her, mentally cursing Dick for blurting out the contents of the message. ‘What does Bovaagen Hval mean to you?’ I asked.
‘It’s a whaling station out on the islands of Nordhordland, north of Bergen,’ she answered quickly.
‘Do you know it?’ I asked her.
‘No. But-’ She hesitated. She seemed puzzled, and excited at the same time.
‘Well?’ I asked.
‘That was the whaling station Mr Dahler was interested in.’
‘Dahler?’ I glanced down at the message. It began: Whale meat consignment traced Bovaagen Hvalstasjon, Bergen, Norway. Was that why Dahler had come on the trip? Was that why he’d queried Farnell’s death? I suddenly remembered something. I looked across at Jill. ‘Jorgensen bought up Dahler’s shipping interests,’ I said. ‘Did he also acquire the interest in Bovaagen Hval?’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered.
I turned to Dick, a sudden suspicion in my mind. ‘Where was Jorgensen when you took this message?’ I asked him.
His face fell. ‘Good God!’ he said. ‘I never thought about it. He was sitting in the chartroom, right beside me.’
‘And heard ever word that came over,’ I said.
‘Well, I couldn’t throw him out, could I?’ he demanded.
‘I suppose not,’ I answered resignedly.
He pushed the paper towards me again. ‘Have a look at the dates,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s really interesting.’
I looked down at the sheet of paper. Date of dispatch March 9th. March 9th! And Farnell’s body had been discovered on March 10th. Proceed Bovaagen and find out how Farnell was able to dispatch message from Hvalstasjon on 9th and be killed on Jostedal following day. Report by radio daily on arrival Bovaagen. Mann. ‘Get the map of Norway,’ I told Dick. When he had gone I read the message through again. He could, of course, have got someone else to smuggle the parcel into the consignment of meat. That seemed the only explanation. ‘Bill.’ Jill’s voice interrupted my train of thought. ‘What’s the rest of the message say?’
I hesitated. Then I passed the message across to her. Jorgensen knew it. No harm in her knowing it too. Dick came back with the map and we spread it out on the table. Jill pointed Bovaagen out to us. It was on Nordhordland, one of the large islands about thirty-five miles up the coast from Bergen. Bovaagen Hval. There it was on the end of a long finger of land pointing northwards. And twenty miles away, at the southern end of the island, I saw the name Alverstrummen. ‘Is that where Dahler had a house?’ I asked Jill.
‘Yes. Alverstrummen. That’s the place.’ She looked down at the message and then at the map again. ‘Was the message you received from George smuggled out in a consignment of whale meat?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I said. My eye was following the line of the Sognefjord up to Fjaerland.
