The Blue Ice

He smiled. 'No,' he said. 'I came to discuss rather more important matters — privately.'

'Of course,' I said.

Dick came in again at that moment. 'There's a rather strange-looking specimen up top,' he said. 'Says he has an appointment.'

'What's his name?' I asked.

'My name is Dahler.' The voice came from the doorway. It was low pitched and foreign. I saw Jorgensen jerk round as though somebody had pressed something into the small of his back. A small, awkward-looking person stood in the saloon doorway. I hadn't noticed him enter. He just seemed to have materialised. His dark suit merged into the shadows. Only his face showed, a white blur under his iron grey hair. He came forward and I saw that he had a withered arm. The lighting plant started with a shrill whirr and the saloon lights came on. Dahler topped then. He had seen Jorgensen. The lines on his face deepened. His eyes flared with sudden and violent hatred. Then be smiled and a chill ran through me. It was such a crooked, twisted smile. 'God dag, Knut,' he said and I realised he was speaking Norwegian.

'What are you doing here?' Jorgensen answered. The suave-ness of his voice was gone. It was angry, menacing.

'I am here because I wish to talk with Mr Gansert about Farnell.' The cripple was peering up at Jorgensen. Then he turned to me. 'Did you know Farnell?' he asked. His lips were still set in that crooked smile and I realised suddenly that half his face was paralysed too. He had difficulty in forming some of his words. The paralysis produced a slight hesitation and a little froth of spittle bubbled at the corner of his mouth, catching the light.

'Yes,' I said. 'I worked with him once.'

'Like him?' His eyes were watching me as he put his question.

'Yes,' I answered. 'Why?'

'I like to know whose side people are on,' he replied softly, and looked again at Jorgensen.

'Why have you come here?' Jorgensen barked the question out as though he were speaking to a subordinate.

Dahler said nothing. He didn't move. He remained staring at Jorgensen so that the very silence made the atmosphere electric. It was as though the two men had things between them that could be communicated without speech. It was Jorgensen who broke the silence. 'I would like to speak to you privately, Mr Gansert,' he said, turning to me.

'You are afraid to make your proposals openly, eh?' Dahler said, and there was a venomous note in his voice. 'It's a pity Farnell isn't here to advise Mr Gansert.'

'Farnell is dead.'

'Is he?' Dahler leaned suddenly forward. He was like a spider darting from the corner of its web. 'What makes you so sure he is dead?'

Jorgensen hesitated. Any moment now he would pick up his hat and walk off the ship. I could see it coming. And I didn't want that. If I could hold Jorgensen on board… And at that moment I heard the warning bell on Tower Bridge ring. I knew then what I was going to do. I edged towards the door. Jorgensen said, 'I did not come here to talk about Farnell.' I slipped out and hurried on to the deck.

A tramp steamer was edging out from the neighbouring wharf. The traffic on Tower Bridge had stopped. Carter and Wilson were standing by the rail, talking. I went over to them. 'Carter,' I said. 'Is the engine warm? Will she start up first go?'

'Ye dinna ha' to fash yersel' aboot the engine, Mr Gansert,' he said. 'Ah've got her so she'll go when I click me fingers.'

'Get it going then,' I said. 'And make it quick.' As he dived down the engine-room hatch, I ordered Wilson to let go the warps. 'And do it quietly,' I told him.

He climbed over the rail and in a few seconds both warps were on deck. I slipped aft and took the wheel. The engine coughed twice and then roared into life. 'Full astern;' I called down to Carter. There was a bubbling froth under our stern and we began to move. As we slid clear of the wharf, I ordered 'Full ahead' and swung the wheel. The engine roared. The propellers frothed and gurgled under the water. The long bowsprit swung in a wide arc until it pointed straight for the main span of Tower Bridge.

Dick came tumbling out from the companionway. Jorgensen was right behind him. 'What is happening?' Jorgensen demanded. 'Why are we moving out into the river?'

'We're changing our berth,' I told him.

'Where to?' he asked suspiciously.

'To Norway,' I answered.

CHAPTER TWO The Gybe

When I told Jorgensen we were on our way to Norway, he was furious. He brushed past Dick and came aft to where I sat at the wheel. 'Put back at once,' he said. 'I demand to be put ashore.'

I said nothing. The centre span of Tower Bridge was above us now. The two uplifted sections of roadway threw back the sound of our engine. We were through just ahead of the tramp steamer. Beyond our bowsprit, the river lay like a dark road winding to the sea. On either side the warehouses stood like shallow cliffs. And behind us London glowed, reflecting the light of its millions on the low cloud that covered the city.