‘I see.’ Jorgensen stroked his chin, massaging the blue stubble with his fingertips. A gold signet ring glittered as it caught the light. ‘It could be almost any one on the station then?’
That is so.’
Kielland, I felt, was not being helpful. It was clear he resented this cross-examination. Jorgensen looked at his watch. ‘Just on nine,’ he murmured and turned to the radio. A moment later the familiar’ Ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo Bovaagen Hval’ of the catchers reporting filled the office, Whale Two reported his position and then Whale Five reported whale. Jorgensen lifted the microphone and requested Whale Ten for his position. The voice of Captain Lovaas answered: ‘Vi passerer Utvaer Fyr, herr Jorgensen. Vi er fremme klokken ti.’
‘What’s Lovaas say?’ I whispered to Jill.
‘He say he’s just passing Utvaer lighthouse,’ she answered. ‘He will be in at ten o’clock this morning.’
An hour to go. Just one hour and he would be here in this office. He might tell his story to Jorgensen and myself together. On the other hand, Jorgensen might get him alone and persuade him to keep his mouth shut. ‘Where’s Utvaer Light?’ I asked Jill. ‘North of Bovaagen?’
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘About twenty miles north.’
Jorgensen had switched off. He was sitting, staring out of the window, still rubbing his hand across his unshaven chin. I got to my feet. ‘Nothing we can do till Lovaas gets in,’ I said. ‘We’ll go and have breakfast.’ I gave Curtis a nod to get him moving. Jorgensen glanced up at me. ‘Will you have yours on board?’ I asked. ‘Or on the station?’
‘Thank you, I will have it here,’ he replied.
I turned to Kielland. ‘By the way, what’s this Captain Lovaas like? Is he a good skipper?’
‘He’s a good skytter, if that’s what you mean,’ Kielland answered. And then as I looked puzzled he said, ‘Skytter is the same as your word shooter. We call our captains that because they always operate the harpoon gun. I am not interested in anything else. With Hval To and Hval Fern it is different. They are factory boats and I choose my captains. But Hval Ti belongs to Lovaas. He is his own master and sells his catches to us on a royalty basis.’
‘So he does what he likes?’ I said.
‘On board his own ship — yes.’
‘That explains it,’ I murmured.
‘Explains what, please?’ Kielland was watching me with a puzzled expression.
‘Some years ago I gather he was in trouble for killing a man.’
He nodded. ‘I have heard something about it.’
‘This lady is the daughter of Walter Somers — Petersen and Somers, one of the Sandefjord companies,’ Jorgensen explained, nodding towards Jill.
‘So!’ Kielland’s glance moved from Jorgensen to Jill.
‘Mind if I use your telephone?’ I asked.
‘No — please.’ Kielland pushed the instrument across to me.
‘Jill,’ I said. ‘Will you get me Fjaerland. I want to speak to a man called Ulvik — Johan Ulvik. He’ll probably be staying at the hotel there.’ I was watching Jorgensen’s face and saw the sudden interest that leapt into his eyes at the mention of our representative’s name.
She picked up the receiver and asked for Fjaerland. There was a short silence. Jorgensen began to tap with his fingers on the blotting paper that covered the desk. ‘Er det Boya Hotel!’ Jill asked. ‘Kunne de si meg om der bar en herr Johan Ulvik der? Utmerket. Jeg vil gjeme snakke med ham. Takk.’ As she waited she straightened up and gazed out of the window. Her face was set and firm. This was a different Jill. This was the girl who had worked for the Linge Company during the war. And I realised suddenly that besides being attractive, she was also very efficient. She bent down quickly as a voice crackled in the receiver. ‘Er det herr Ulvik?’ And then in English. ‘Hold the line, please. Mr Gansert wishes to speak to you.’
As I took the receiver from her, I said, ‘You and Curtis go down and stir up breakfast. I’ll be along in a minute.’ I glanced at Curtis to make sure he’d got the point. Then I went to the telephone. ‘That you, Mr Ulvik?’ I asked.
‘Ulvik speaking.’ The voice was thick and faint over the telephone.
‘This is Gansert,’ I said. ‘Sir Clinton Mann has been in touch with you?’
‘Yes. That is why I am at Fjaerland.’
‘Good. Now listen,’ I went on. ‘I want the body of George Farnell, which is buried at Fjaerland, to be exhumed. I want a postmortem. Is there any difficulty about that?’
‘The police will have to be informed of a reason.’
‘Tell’ them we have reason to believe that his death was not an accident.’ I glanced across at Jorgensen. He was gazing out of the window. But he had stopped drumming with his fingers. He was tense and listening to every word. ‘Arrange for the exhumation to be carried out as soon as possible. Can you manage that?’
‘It will be difficult,’ was the answer. ‘Have you any proof to support the view that it was not an accident?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I am hoping that we shall find the proof on the body — signs of a struggle or something.’
‘From what I have gathered the body was a little damaged when they brought it down.’
