I nodded. 'It's not your fault,' I said. I looked out of the window to the ice-green waters of the fjord. A man was fishing from a rowing boat. The sunlight, striking on the green of the opposite shore, had the brittle quality of evening. Why didn't they want Farnell's body examined? I was now more convinced than ever that the answer to the mystery lay in the graveyard by the church we had passed. I pushed back my chair. 'You've brought some money for me?' I asked.
'Yes — yes, of course,' he answered, smiling with the relief of having been able to do something. 'I have it here in my pocket all ready for you. One hundred thousand kroner. Will that be sufficient?'
'How much is that?'
'A kroner is a shilling.' He brought out a thick pocket book. 'There,' he said, handing a pile of notes over to me. 'That is five thousand pounds. Will you please sign this — for the accounts of my agency, you know.'
I counted the notes and signed. Then I got to my feet. 'It is enough, eh?' he asked. He was like a puppy wriggling for a pat on the head.
'It'll do for the moment,' I answered.
'Now please, what will you wish me to do? Sir Clinton Mann wrote me that I was to place myself unreservedly at your disposal. Anything I can be of service to you with, Mr Gansert-'
'Go back to Bergen,' I said, 'and sit on the end of a telephone. What's your number?'
'Bergen 155 102.'
'Good. And find out for me who blocked that exhumation order.'