'Aye, aye, sir,' he said. His seamed, weather-beaten face showed ruddy in the glow of the port navigation light. He paused. 'Is there any truth in what Mr Everard was saying, sir, that we're bound for Norway?'
'Quite true,' I said. 'Make any difference to you?'
His rugged features spread into a grin. 'There's better fishing in Norway than in the Mediterranean.' He spat over the lee rail as though to emphasise the uselessness of the Mediterranean and went for'ard. My gaze wandered to the masthead. The light, signifying that we were a sailing vessel under power, shone on the bare rigging. I settled myself down to the long vigil of conning the ship down to the mouth of the estuary. I didn't need the chart. I'd been up and down the Thames under sail so often. I knew every turn and twist, the buoy lights and the landmarks. Going down under power was comparatively straightforward. The only thing that worried me was whether Jorgensen would stay aboard.
It was with a sigh of relief, therefore, that I watched the Royal Naval College at Greenwich slide past in the darkness. He was not the sort of man who couldn't make up his mind. I'd said I'd set him ashore at Greenwich if he wanted me to. Since he hadn't requested me to, the odds were he had decided to stay. But I wouldn't be happy till I picked up the Nore. After that there'd be no turning back.
Half an hour passed and then Dick came up. 'Well, I've got them all sorted out,' he said. He glanced over his shoulder and in a mock whisper said, 'Believe it or not, Jorgensen, the great Norwegian industrialist, is helping Jill get grub.'
'Jill I take it is Miss Somers?'
'That's right. She's a pippin. Got stuck into it right away. Knows her way around already.'
'Where's Dahler?' I asked.
'In his cabin. I've given him the single one for'ard of the saloon on the starb'd side. The girl's got the port one. Jorgensen's in with you and Curtis Wright's sharing with me.' He produced a sheaf of papers. 'Shall I send these off right away?'
'What are they?'