Ireached Willie soon after ten, and I didn't waste any of his money on idle chat. 'Steen was murdered before I reached him.'
'Good God! How did it-'
'Never mind. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow – if the police let me leave.'
'I say – you haven't got yourself-'
'No, I haven't. Just routine. Now: have you found out anything about him?'
'Oh, yes. Well, something. He's a sort of Lloyd's sub-agent, done quite a lot of survey work on claims for us when the usual chap there isn't available."
'Specifically for your syndicate? '
'It doesn't work quite that way… but I did a list of the ships he surveyed where we were involved. Over the last three years that was the Gefjon, Bergen Wayfarer, Skadi, Runic Queen, Idun. Those five.'
'Is any one of them special? I've found out that Steen sent Fenwick some sort of evidence about a shipping claim – that's the book-thing he was supposed to be taking to France.'
The line hummed and crackled to itself for a time. Then Willie said slowly, 'Well, each one's special in its own way. Insurance deals with the exceptional – that's what it's all about, what?'
'I suppose so.' I wanted to tell him about Maggie Mackwood and Draper, and about my appointment for later on – but if I were Inspector (First Class) Vik I'd have a copper with a tape-recorder down in the switchboard keeping an ear on James Card.
But at least I could ask, 'Does the name Gulbrandsen or Gulbrandsens mean anything to you?'
He automatically corrected my pronunciation, but he couldn't do any more.
'H and Thornton – doesthat mean anything?'
'What is it?'
'Don't know. Could be two blokes or a firm or what."
'I haven't heard of it. Sorry, old boy.'
'Never mind. Just keep the great brain bent on it and ring me if anything occurs to you. But with a bit of luck I'll learn a bit more tonight. I'll probably be home tomorrow – okay?'
And now it was time to go and meet Draper.
He'd been a pretty reluctant conscript – but wars are won by them. Probably it was only a feeling of guilt about the cock-up he'd made of following me plus the promise of a gun that had recruited him. Either way, it was far safer for him to go snooping in the Fontenen's cistern; it could still have a blight of policemen who might know me by sight.
We met in the Norge's basement lavatory – just in case. He took a careful look over my shoulder, just to make sure, and hissed, 'You bleeding git! The bleeding place shut a bleeding hour ago!'
No guns.
'Hold on.' I grabbed his arm as he started around me for the door.
'Get away,' he snarled. 'I'm not going out to play funny-buggers in the park without some protection, and you can tell Herb and the ABD and the House of bleeding Lords, too.'
'Stop panicking, you're making yourself conspicuous.' That hushed him – although there wasn't anybody else there to be conspicuous to. 'Look – you don't have to be involved, you can be an innocent bystander as long as you like. I just want you there as a witness… for if I don't get back.'
'Sing it again-I only cried out of one eye that time.'
I took a deep breath. 'So screw you, Draper. You're only hired; I really want to know about these people. For once they've stuck their necks out, made a date. I'm keeping it.'
'Oh my God,' he said slowly. 'How did the First World War ever get on without you?' Long pause. 'All right, then.'
But that didn't solve the weapons problem; Draper might be mug enough to walk into trouble stark naked, but I certainly wasn't. Room Service had just closed down and the Grill was shut – so I couldn't get myself issued with a steak knife. There wouldn't be any shops open at this time – or would there?
I asked at the desk. The clerk looked politely surprised, thought about it, shrugged. 'I think only the tourist shop, sir.'
'Where's that?'
He pointed at the corner. 'By the air terminal, sir.'
'What do they sell there?'
'Souvenirs, sir. Sweaters for skiing, beer mugs, little figures of trolls, paper knives-'
'Thankyou.'
I was round there three seconds later. The shop-girl was just closing up, but didn't mind waiting an extra couple of minutes. I pretended to take my time, but there was really only a choice between a longish stiletto-shaped paper-knife and a short, sharp reindeer-horn-handle 'hunting' knife in a cute little fur sheath. In the end I took the sheath job; for all its fancy looks, it was four inches of real sharp steel – and lungs aren't four inches behind your ribs.
I was ready for a stroll in the Park.