‘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 — skoal.’ 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 direktor Jorgensen.’
The way he said herr direktor 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. ‘Skoal,’ 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 direktor 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. ‘Skoal.’ Then as I did not pick up my glass, he said, ‘Please, Mr Gansert, when I say skoal you must drink. If you don’t drink I cannot drink. That is our custom in Norway. And I like to drink. Skoal.’ 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.
