They have gone to look over Hval To, and to have a little drink, I think.’ He smiled. A bottle of whisky and a half full tumbler stood at his elbow. ‘I am glad you have returned. It is very dull down below here. But I do not wish to look at the factory.’ He reached for the bottle. ‘Have a drink,’ he said. ‘Everybody come an’ have a drink.’ He suddenly crashed the bottle down on to the table top. ‘I do not wish to look at the factory, I tell you.’ He pushed the bottle quickly away and raised his withered arm. ‘Why you bring me here, eh?’ he demanded of me. ‘Why did you bring me here? Was it to torture me? Do you think I like to be here — marooned in your damned yacht — knowing that if I go up on deck I shall be face to face with the factory — my factory. Ever since you went to lunch with Kielland I have been down here. And I have been thinking. I have been thinking about the ships I owned and the tankers — and Knut Jorgensen.’ He slammed his claw-like hand down on to the table top with a violence that shook the room. ‘I do not like to think about such things,’ he cried. His voice was slurred and hysterical. ‘It is not good to think about them.’ He stopped and his eyes narrowed cunningly. He leaned towards me. ‘What would you do in my position, eh?’ And suddenly violent again, he shouted. ‘You’d do what I’m going to do. There is no justice — no God. I have lived through two wars. I have seen evil flourish and the good have been mown down. I tell you — there — is — no — justice.’ Then, speaking faster, so that the saliva was visible at the corners of his mouth: ‘But I will make my own justice. I will fight them with their own weapons, do you understand?’
Jill went forward and took his hand. ‘Yes, we understand, Mr Dahler,’ she said. Her voice was quiet and soothing. ‘Sit down now. We’re all going to have a drink with you.’ She picked up the bottle and smiled at him. ‘You haven’t left us very much, Mr Dahler.’
‘No,’ he said. He swallowed awkwardly and sat down again. He was suddenly a tired and rather pathetic old man. He passed his hand wearily over his face. ‘I have drunk too much,’ he whispered. Then, with sudden renewal of his violence, ‘But I will not sit here doing nothing while Knut Jorgensen fills my place. I enlarged it. At his death we had five ships, that was all. When the Germans invaded Norway, I had a fleet of fourteen coasters and four tankers. Twenty-three thousand tons.’ He seized the tumbler and drank, spilling the whisky down his chin. ‘All gone,’ he murmured. ‘Nothing left. Nothing left, damn them — do you hear? God!’ He buried his head in his hands. He was crying openly.
‘Go up and get some more glasses, Dick,’ I said. ‘There are several lying about in the chartroom.’
As he slid open the door, we could hear orders being shouted in Norwegian and the sound of the catcher’s engines going astern. Jill looked across at me. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to Bovaagen?’
I hesitated. Dahler lifted his tear-stained face. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. ‘Have a drink,’ he said, seizing the bottle and pushing it across the table towards me. He rose unsteadily to his feet. ‘I want you all to have a drink with me,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘I want you to drink with me to the — to the damnation of Jorgensen.’ He drained his glass and sat down.
He looked dazed.
Ť I Dick came tumbling down the gangway. ‘Bill,’ he called. ‘Lovaas is coming on board.’
‘On board Diviner?’
‘Yes.’
I turned to Jill. ‘Get Dahler into his cabin. Curtis, shut him in. He mustn’t meet Lovaas.’
Heavy footsteps sounded on the deck over our heads. ‘Mr Gansert!’ It was Lovaas’s deep voice. ‘Mr Gansert! Anyone below?’
Jill and Curtis between them had got Dahler out from behind the table. ‘Yes?’ I called. ‘Who wants me?’
‘Kaptein Lovaas,’ came the reply. ‘May I come down please?’
I went to the companionway. ‘What do you want, Captain Lovaas?’ I asked.
‘I wish to speak with you,’ was the reply.
I glanced back into the saloon. Curtis was just shutting the door of Dahler’s cabin. ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Come on down.’
A moment later Lovaas’s squat bulk filled the companionway. ‘It is a party, eh?’ he said, smiling as he saw the glasses on the table. ‘That is god. I will never refuse a little drink.’ His face beamed. He was positively genial.
‘Whisky?’ I asked, picking up the bottle and one of the glasses.
‘Whisky. Yes, that will do very well.’ His thick, powerful fingers engulfed the glass I handed him. He waited till all our glasses were filled. Then he said, ‘Skaal!’
‘Skaal!’ I replied.
He drained his glass at one gulp and breathed with satisfaction. ‘That is good whisky, Mr Gansert.’
I refilled his glass. ‘And why have you come to see me?’ I asked. My tone was not particularly welcoming.
