'I think you have heard of him, Knut.'
Jorgensen took a cigarette out of his case and lit it. 'Knocking | you out yesterday seems to have upset your mind. The name Hans Schreuder means nothing to me.' He flicked the match overboard. The flame made a little hiss as it hit the water. 'What speed are we making?' he asked me.
'About five knots,' I answered. I was watching his face. 'Jorgensen,' I said, 'I'd still like to know who Hans Schreuder is?'
'I tell you I don't know.' He emphasised the point by striking the roof of the chartroom with his clenched fist, I waited and in the silence he said, 'Don't you believe me?'
'N6,' I said quietly. I turned to Dahler. 'Who is Hans Schreuder?' I asked.
'A metallurgist employed by Del Norske Staalseskab,' Dahler replied.
I looked at Jorgensen. He was watching Dahler, his body taut and his right hand clenched. Dahler stepped down into the cockpit and seated himself on the farther side. He was smiling quietly. 'Know anything about him?' I asked.
'Yes,' Dahler said. 'He was a German Jew. He left Germany in 1936 and settled in Norway. He became naturalised. When war broke out he was in the research department of D.N.S. After the invasion of Norway he worked for the Germans.'
'Where did you meet him?'
'At Finse.'