Mouritzen stood staring at the water. Olsen, scrambling down the ice, stood beside him.

‘You’re a fool,’ Olsen said. His voice was controlled, coldly bitter. ‘And one never fathoms a fool; however often you sound him, there is always more folly on which you may ground.’

Mouritzen assumed Olsen had not seen all that had taken place. He said:

‘It was Mrs Jones. She was trapped under it.’

He pointed to where she lay with Jones holding her.

‘Two people pulled her clear,’ Olsen said. ‘They could see to her. The sledge was your responsibility.’

Mouritzen realized the truth of this. He said:

‘Yes. I’m sorry. But I could only think of the woman.’

‘Even if there was no one to get her out, the sledge still came first. You should have left her there until I came.’

‘She might have been dying.’

Olsen turned away from him. ‘And through your stupidity, we might all die.’