He rushed home. They had not returned. He ran back down the hill and into the shops along the waterfront. None of the alarmed merchants had seen them. He then ran to Constable Andersen’s office and alerted him. The Constable saw Soren Christensen in uncharacteristic distress, and tried to reassure him.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Sorensen, they probably ducked into one of the cottages along the strand to get out of the squall. Go back home in case they return, and so I know where to find you when I locate them.”
But as the Constable and Soren left the office and stood for a moment in the bright, cobbled street, a fisherman approached. Soren recognized Knutsen who live up the strand. He looked at Soren, and then lowered his eyes.
“Constable,” he said hoarsely, “I’ve found some bodies that have washed up on the strand.”
“Please stay here, Mr Christensen…” the Constable said, but Soren insisted on accompanying the men. When they arrived, he lowered his head.
“Get some blankets, Knutsen,” the Constable ordered roughly, as if the sight offended him.
When the bodies were covered the world seemed to go white for Soren Christensen.