'That's roight. Came in by the winder. Opened it by that broken pane.' He looked at me sharply. Then he dropped his pack to the floor and burrowed deep into one of the pockets. 'Ere, you 'ave a nip o' that, guv'ner,' he said, handing me a flask. 'Oi'm gonna 'ave a look ra'nd.'

I unscrewed the cap and took a swig at the fiery liquor. It was brandy. The fire of it warmed me deep inside. Sunde was back in a few minutes. 'Place is empty,' he said. 'No sign of a struggle. Everyfink in order. There weren't no trouble.' He scratched his head and took a swig at the flask. 'The way I see it, Olsen went part of the way down with Peer an' the others an' then coming back 'e saw Lovaas an' party before they saw 'im. Probably 'e 'ad glasses.' He looked across at me. 'Ow yer feelin', eh?'

'Better,' I said. 'Much better.' What he said seemed to make sense. And it cheered me. For it meant that there was still hope of our getting to Farnell before Lovaas. Farnell warned was a vdry different matter to Farnell lying in a saeter, unsuspecting. I looked into the embers. 'He can't have left long,' I said. 'The fire is too bright.'

'Ere, take anuvver swig o' this.' He passed the flask across to me and, putting his gun down on the table, got out a knife and began cutting bread and butter and cheese from the food on the table. 'We'll 'ave a bite to eat. Then we'll get movin'.'

Get moving! My limbs cried out in one great ache at the thought. But he was right. Our only hope of catching up with Lovaas was to get moving and keep moving. 'All right,' I said and got stiffly to my feet.

And at that moment a voice said, 'Sta stille!'

I saw Sunde freeze in the act of cutting the square slab of brown cheese. He dropped the knife and started for his gun which lay at the other end of the table. 'Sta stille ellers sa skyter jeg.' He stopped and stared at the window. I followed the direction of his gaze. Framed in the opening were the head and shoulders of a man — and the muzzle of a gun. The flickering firelight shone on him with a ruddy glow. His face was dark and bearded. His eyes were like two coals. He wore a fur-skin cap with ear flaps. 'Hva er del De vil?' Sunde asked.

The man's voice was harsh as he replied in Norwegian. And when he finished his teeth showed white in his beard as he grinned.

'What's he say?' I asked.

'E says 'e won't do us no 'arm, s'long as we don't cause no trouble. 'E's the third of Lovaas's party — Lovaas an'

'is mate ave gone on a'ter Farnell. Seems they spotted us just as it were gettin' dark. 'E's bin 'anging ara'nd, waitin' fer us ever since. Gor blimey! Couple o' mugs we are.'

I looked at my revolver. It lay more than a yard away from me. And suddenly a deep sense of drowsiness crept over me. This meant I couldn't go on. I could just stay here and rest. But something in Sunde's eyes caused my lethargy to vanish in a flash. His small body was tense, his hands crooked like claws under the table. 'Kom in,' he said quietly.

CHAPTER EIGHT

On The Sankt Paal Glacier

The man at the window hesitated, considering how best to lever himself through the narrow gap. The room was very still. The only sound was the hiss and crackle of the logs blazing in the stone grate. The flames threw flickering shadows on the walls of the nut. Sunde's motionless figure was a shadowy giant scrawled from floor to ceiling. I felt my limbs relaxing. God, how tired I was! The luxury of knowing that it was impossible to do anything further, that the matter had been taken out of my hands, stole over me in a comforting wave of lethargy. My whole body sighed luxuriously as the muscles relaxed.

But I could sense Sunde's alertness. He glanced at the fire and then back to the window.

The man put both his hands on the window sill. 'Sta stiller he ordered, and his eyes gleamed in the firelight.

Sunde took a step back as though he were scared, tripped over nothing and sprawled flat beside me, his head almost in the grate. The man at the window tensed, the gun gripped in his hand. My stomach turned over inside me. For a moment I thought he was going to fire. 'Hva er del De gjor? he snarled. Sunde moaned. His right hand was almost in the fire. He pressed his left hand over it and squirmed as though in pain. At first I thought he had burned himself. But as he explained what had happened in Norwegian, I saw his supposed injured hand move out towards one of the blazing logs.