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It was midday by the time we got back to the whaling station. Two catchers lay at the quay. And as we landed the winches were clattering and a huge white whale was being dragged up the slipway by its tail. We stood and watched for a moment. It was all strange and exciting. When the winches stopped, the great animal stretched the whole length of the flensing deck. Its gigantic tail lay by the winches. Its mouth, wide open to show the finners and the huge pink tongue, overhung the slipway. In an instant half a dozen men, armed with flensing knives, set to work. The winch hawsers were attached to the flaps of the hide cut out from either side of the head behind the jaw. Then flensing began, the winches tearing at the blubber whilst the flensers cut it clear with their knives. This exposed the meat along the backbone. Then the winch hawsers were re fixed, run through blocks and the whale was winched over to expose the grey-white belly of the animal to the flensing knives.

Kielland came up as we stood watching. He was dressed in ex-German jackboots and an old khaki shirt. ‘Ah, you have returned, eh?’ He shouted instructions to one of the men and then said, ‘I hear this man, Schreuder, jumped into the sea. You did not recover him, eh?’

‘No,’ I said. The workmen were swarming round the whale now. The meat was being hacked out in great chunks and hooked on to trolleys to be carried to the packing sheds. ‘Where’s Jorgensen?’ I asked.

‘He has gone to Bergen in the meat boat.’ There was a jauntiness about Kielland that suggested he was glad to see the last of his director.

‘And Lovaas?’

He smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. ‘He is sick with himself.’

‘What about Schreuder’s possessions?’ I asked. ‘What’s happened to them?’

‘Kaptein Lovaas handed them over to Jorgensen to deliver to the police.’

‘Did you see what they were? Did they include any pieces of what would look like dull, grey rocks?’

His brows lifted. ‘So that was why you were all so interested in Schreuder, eh? What was it — gold, silver, something valuable?’

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Something valuable.’ No wonder Jorgensen had hurried off to Bergen. He would by flying those pieces of rock down to the D.N.S. laboratories and within a day he would know as much as I did.

‘I’m going back to the boat,’ Jill said. ‘I can’t — I can’t stand this any longer.’ She had her handkerchief to her nose.

‘But please — you will feed with me and my wife?’ Kielland said. ‘Everything is ready. I have been expecting you. You will not disappoint my wife, will you now? She likes English people.’ He shook my arm. ‘We are all very pro-British out here on the islands. We get on fine, eh? We are fishermen and sailors like your people. Peace or war, we fight the same battles. So you will stay for food, eh?’

‘It’s very nice of you,’ I said.

‘Not at all, my dear fellow. Not at all. And there are beds for you if you have had too much of the ship. Come. We go and have a drink, eh? We always have a drink before food.’ He chuckled and nodded at Jill, still holding her handkerchief to her nose. ‘Mrs Gansert does not like the smell, eh? But we like it. To me it smells of money. That is what I always say to people. It smells of money. Look at that whale now. I have just measured him — seventy-three feet. That is about seventy tons. He has over a thousand pounds’ worth of oil in his blubber and the same value in meat. That is why I like the smell.’ He patted Jill’s hand. ‘My wife says it smells like a new dress. Every time a whale comes in over seventy feet I promise her a new dress. And now she likes the smell, too. Come on. We will go and have a little drink.’

He led us up the cinder track to the office. Behind — the office was a long, low house. I caught Jill’s eyes as we went in. She was bubbling over with laughter. We were shown into a tastefully furnished lounge. Mrs Kielland came in as her husband was pouring out large cognacs. She was a jolly woman with twinkling eyes and an elegance that was delightfully unexpected out on a whaling station. Kielland introduced us. Jill explained that she was not my wife. ‘You poor girl,’ laughed Mrs Kielland. ‘Albert has such a tidy mind. And he knows nothing about anything — except whale. You’ll find if you stay here long enough that there is nothing but whale talk in this house.’ She turned to her husband. ‘Albert, what was the length of the whale Nordahl has just brought in?’

‘Seventy-three feet, Martha,’ he replied, grinning like a kid.

‘Seventy-three.’ She gave a gurgle of delight. ‘Look! This is the frock I have from the last whale that was over seventy feet.’ It was a flame-coloured silk and as she twirled round the skirt flared out. ‘Now,’ she said. ‘We drink to your health.’ She raised her glass. ‘Skoal,’ she said.

We all drank. And then the door opened and a little man with dark hair and sharp, creased features came in. ‘Ah, here is Mr Sunde,’ said Mrs Kiel land. ‘Come in and have a drink, Mr Sunde. I wish you to meet some nice English people.’