I looked up in surprise. 'Yes,' I said. 'Does that name mean anything to you?'
'Was he a metallurgist?' he asked.
'Quite possibly,' I replied, 'if he was with Farnell.' Actually I was thinking of the samples of ore Lovaas said he had found among the man's possessions. 'Why?' I asked. 'Who was he?'
I felt him stiffen. His hand relaxed on my shoulder. I looked up. Jorgensen was emerging from the main hatch. His face was tired and grey in the early sunlight and little pouches showed under his eyes. I wondered how long he'd lain awake during die night. 'Well?' I inquired, looking up at Dahler.
'Ask Jorgensen,' he replied with a violence that I did not understand. 'Ask him who Hans Schreuder is.'
Jorgensen stopped at the name. Then he came slowly aft. His I eyes were watching Dahler. With a sudden assumption of carelessness, he said, 'Good-morning, gentlemen. Good-morning, Miss Somers. I see we're off Solsvik. We'll be at Bovaagen in time for breakfast.' His eyes swept over our watchful faces and then gazed out towards the islands.
'Who is this Hans Schreuder, Mr Jorgensen?' I asked.
He swung round on me. 'How should I know?' His voice was angry. Then he turned to Dahler. 'What do you know I about Schreuder?'
The cripple smiled. 'I would prefer you to tell them about | him,' he said. 'He was your man.'
'I have never heard of him. What are you talking about?' Jorgensen's voice had risen. It was trembling with anger.