'Yes. Met him during the war.'
I suddenly remembered Jorgensen. I introduced him and asked Dick to get Carter to give us some light. What was puzzling me was the reason for Jorgensen's visit. 'Did you come to discuss Farnell too, Mr Jorgensen?' I asked.
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.'