'Had Nygaard said he was going away?'

'No.' She seemed pretty definite about that. 'What can we do now?' She just stood there in the rain, wearing her dark blue anorak again, only with its hood up, and looking expectantly at me.

'Well,' I said feebly, 'I suppose we could go and see Mrs Smith-Bang again. And come back here later.'

I was surprised how easily she took the idea. Maybe she really thought I knew what I was doing.

The house was high on a suburban hill north-east of the town and – on that day – barely below cloud level. It was a rambling modern split-level affair in what looked like creosoted wood, backing into a gully of spindly pines. A pale green Volvo 145 station wagon was parked in front; Kari put the Volkswagen in behind it.

An elderly bloke in a grey apron opened the door and listened gravely to Kari's fast spiel. It didn't seem to be doing us any good until a voice yelled, 'Who's there? Jim Card, is it? Come on in, son."

I peered politely at the butler or whatever and we passed on in. Kari seemed to know the way.

It was a big room, a female room, but not a feminine one. All cheery blues and yellows and knotty pine and fluffy bright rugs and colourful plates and vases. I could imagine the cold polite look on Lois Fenwick's face if I'd led her in. Then I shivered and remembered why I was here.

Mrs Smith-Bang was shaking Kari's hand, then mine. 'Howdy, son. Nice to see you again so soon. Glad to see you know young Kari here. Great girl, she's been doing great things for old Nygaard. I guess you heard about him, huh?'

I nodded. 'That's more or less why-'

'You wouldn't have a certain book for me, would you?'

'It's safe in London. I had to leave in a sort of a rush. Sorry.' I wasn't in a truth-telling mood right then. 'Anyway, the bloody thing's no use without Nygaard to swear to it, is it?'

She looked at me rather seriously. T guess. So – sit down, sit down. It's about him, huh? I was getting pretty worried myself. It's two days now, isn't it?'

Kari nodded.

'I guess he could still have gone on a real dinosaur of a toot and he's still shacked up in some bar. Hell, my second husband climbed aboard a bottle one night in Tampico and it wasten days before they-'

Kari said, 'Frau Smith-Bang: you forget it was Saturday. The bars and the Vinmonopolet are closed for Saturday and Sunday. On Saturday he could not have gone out to drink; for that he must have stayed in at home.'

I'd forgotten it myself, since I'd only met it in the guidebook. So he wasn't in the back room of some bar. But also he probably wasn't frozen stiff under some bush.

Mrs Smith-Bang said, 'Hell, yes. You're right, girlie. Don't do much bar-crawling myself nowadays, so I forgot… Well, what do we do now?'

Kari said, 'We could tell the police.'

Mrs Smith-Bang and I both sighed in chorus, glanced at each other, and grinned ruefully. She said, 'You say it, Jim.'

'Well, I'm not an expert on Norwegian law, but in most of the world it's no offence to be missing. Not even if you've a wife and ten starving kids complaining, the cops have got no case to hunt a man down. Not until he's done something really serious like not paying a parking fine. Then he's a criminal and they can haul him back from the hot end of hell at public expense. Mind you-' I looked at Mrs Smith-Bang '-you might invent something along those lines. Can't you create a legal hearing and get a subpoena on him or something?'

She nodded her long bony head. 'It's an idea, son. But, God damn it, I don't want to antagonise the old bar-sponge. Whatever happens, he's not vulnerable. A chief engineer can't be blamed for a collision. But, like you say, I need his evidence to tie down that log-book.'

I nodded. Kari looked at me curiously; I'd forgotten she hadn't heard of the book until we came here – unless Nygaard himself had mentioned it, which didn't seem likely.

'Okay,' I said. 'But there're still private-detective agencies. International's got a bureau here, and there're others.'

'I thought you were one of them yourself,' Mrs Smith-Bang said calmly. I felt Kari's sudden hot glance without looking into the glare of it.

'Tell you what I'll do, Jim,' Mrs Smith-Bang went on. 'You look around, ask questions, check in with me. If you're not happy at the end of the day, I'll farm it out – right?'

'Well, maybe…'

'D'you want any advance expenses?'

'Je-sus.' As if I didn't have enough employers already. I waved a hand weakly and avoided Kari's icy-hot eyes. 'No advances. And let's see at the end of the day- okay?'

I stood up and tried to look more decisive than I felt. But that's what military training's mostly about. 'Come on, love,' to Kari, and I went out without catching her eye. But she followed.

The chap in the grey apron materialised from nowhere and opened the front door for us. Outside, the cloud had dropped a couple of hundred feet and we were in solid fog. That was going to be fun.

Mrs Smith-Bang poked her long nose out and cackled. 'Great weather, ain't it, Jim? Like the Newfoundland Banks upside down and without Spencer Tracy. Give me a ring, son.' She held out her hand and I shook it and headed for the Volkswagen. Kari muttered something that sounded polite and hurried after me. The engine wound up to its normal nagging whine and we hippedy-hopped out on to the hillside road and plunged into the mist.

She asked coldly, 'Are you really a detective?'

'No. But I've worked for one, or two. Watch the road!'

The car levitated itself back on to flat ground. She shook her head and the long fair tresses swished impatiently. 'Then what are you?'

'Most of the time I'm a security adviser.' She obviously didn't understand what that was, and I didn't rush to explain. 'But we're both after the same thing, right now: finding Nygaard. Agreed?'

She nodded; then, thank God, we ran out of the fog and there was Bergen spread out below, the headlands like fingers of a hand reaching away from us out into the grey sea. She asked, 'What do we do now?'

'Try for Ruud again, I suppose. How did you tackle him before?- what sort of questions did you ask? '

'Oh, just… where was Engineer Nygaard, when did he go… I think that is all.'

And they say women are inquisitive.

'All right. Now we'll try it my way. I won't get rough, but just stay calm, whatever I say, and agree with me.'

There was a trace of suspicion in her face, but that wasn't exactly surprising; I was a foreigner to her country and an outsider to her relationship with Nygaard. But she nodded again.

Ruud himself opened the door this time. His eyes flicked from her face to mine, puzzled to see us together.

I leaned a casual hand against the door, just to save further ringings and knockings, and said as formally as I could, 'I understand that this is no longer the address of Herr Nygaard?'

The eyes flickered again, the face made mumbling movements. Then,'Ja. He is gone away.'

'Good. Now, all I need for my office is your statement to that effect, all right? May we come in?'

Sheer bewilderment had rotted the defiance he'd been prepared to throw at me. He just let go the door and it creaked open. I said, 'After you.'

His own room was on the ground floor at the back, overlooking a small concrete courtyard with some straggly plants in wooden tubs. The room itself was small, dark, and jammed with furniture and pictures and vases; Ruud was obviously the type who couldn't bring himself to sling anything out. But it was all fairly clean and very neat.

He weaved expertly through it all, his tin leg just missing a chair, a table, a standing lamp, as it always would in his own careful setting. Then he sat in a high-backed chair like a throne, the leg stuck straight out in front. I found myself at a small Victorian table with a heavy tasselled cloth; I put down a handful of papers, took out my pen, and got stuck in before he could object.