The Blue Ice

'Die? But — ' She stopped then and her eyes looked troubled. Then she said, 'You've had a long trek, Bill. Vassbygden to Sankt Paal is quite a way. You can't have stopped anywhere.'

'At Osterbo and Steinbergdalen,' I answered. 'But they were only brief halts.'

'Where's Alf Sunde?'

'At Steinbergdalen.' I passed my hand over my face. My eyes felt tired and I was still dizzy despite the warmth of the brandy.

'But why did you leave him at Steinbergdalen?' she asked.

'He was wounded,' I answered. 'Bullet through the shoulder.' Why must she keep on asking me questions? Couldn't she see I didn't want to talk? But there was something I must ask her — something she'd said. Oh, yes — 'What did you mean when you said you couldn't bear waiting whilst they all gathered for the kill?'

Her eyes were wide. 'A bullet through the shoulder? How did he get that? What happened?'

I struggled to my feet. I felt light-headed and my legs were weak. I stood close to the stove trying to absorb the warmth of it into me. 'Is there any more brandy?' I asked. My voice sounded strange.

'Yes,' she said and produced a flask. I poured some of it into the tumbler and added hot water from the kettle. Then I stood, warming my hands round the glass and drinking in the smell of it. 'Don't worry about Sunde,' I said. 'He'll be all right. Just a flesh wound. I want to know what happened down at Finse. Who was at the hotel?' I took a puff at the drink. God! How wonderful hot brandy is when you're all in! 'Was Dahler there?' I asked.

'Yes. He came up in the train with us.' She hesitated.

'Then Jorgensen arrived. He came on the train from Oslo.'

'Jorgensen!' I swung round on her. 'What brought Jorgensen there?'

'I don't know.'

Jorgensen at Finse! Somebody must have tipped him off. Or perhaps it was just one of those strokes of luck? 'Was he intending to stop off at Finse?' I asked. 'Or was he on his way from Oslo to Bergen and suddenly saw Dahler and decided to stay the night?'

But she shook her head. 'No, I think he intended to stay. Dahler was in the bar, so Jorgensen couldn't have seen him from the train. He came straight in with a suitcase and asked for a room.'

'Just for the night?'

'No, He told the receptionist that he couldn't say how long he'd be staying.'

'Did he bring skis with him?'

'No — nor any ski clothes. But I heard him arranging with the manager for the loan of everything he wanted.'

'And how did he react when he found Dahler in the hotel?' I thought of Dahler telephoning from Fjaerland. Somebody must have got in touch with Jorgensen.

'I wasn't there when they first met,' Jill answered. 'But when I came into the bar later that evening they were both there. Bill — what's the matter with those two men? Jorgensen isn't exactly a nervous type. But he's scared of Dahler. And Dahler — I don't know — it's as though he were enjoying something. The atmosphere between them was noticeable even in a crowded hotel bar. Jorgensen positively started when he saw me. Then he glanced across at Dahler. Dahler gave me a little bow. But all the time he was looking at Jorgensen with that crooked little smile of his and a queer glint in his eyes. It — it sent a cold shiver down my spine.'

I went over to the table and dragged one of the benches to the fire. 'Where's Curtis?' I asked as I sat down.

;Still at the hotel.' She brushed back the fair hair that had tumbled over her face. Her skin looked very pale in the cold light that filtered through the snow-spattered windows. 'I started out before he was up. It was such a lovely morning and I wanted to warn George.'

'Warn him? What about?'

'The police. I forgot. They arrived at Finse late last night on one of those railway trollies. An officer and six men. The officer repotted immediately to Jorgensen.' She leaned forward and touched my arm. 'You're shivering. Have some more brandy and I'll get you some blankets. There are some in the cupboard here.' She got to her feet. 'The hotel association keeps this place stocked up for skiers that get caught in the mist or snow.' In a moment she was back with two heavy blankets which she wrapped round me. I didn't have the strength to protest. I felt cold right through despite the brandy. I took another drink and tried to think. Dahler — Jorgensen — the police; all down at Finse! What did it mean? And where would Farnell make for? He'd give Lovaas the slip in the snow. No question of that. Then where would he make for? I looked at the windows. They were almost blocked with snow. Through the half-obliterated panes I could see the dark flakes driving under the weight of the wind. He might come here. Or he might press on. And if he went on, where would he make for — Finse?

As though she divined my thoughts, Jill said, 'George will get away from Lovaas all right, won't he?'

'Yes,' I said.