“Dirch. Go.”
Salander did not know whether to go over to Blomkvist or to leave him in peace.
He solved the problem for her by picking up his jacket without a word and
slamming the door behind him.
For more than an hour she waited restlessly in the kitchen. She felt so bad that she
cleared the table and washed the dishes—a role she usually left to Blomkvist. She
went regularly to the window to see if there was any sign of him. Finally she was so
nervous that she put on her jacket and went out to look for him.
First she walked to the marina, where lights were still on in the cabins, but there
was no sign of him. She followed the path along the water where they usually took
their evening walks. Martin Vanger’s house was dark and already looked
abandoned. She went out to the rocks at the point where they had often sat
talking, and then she went back home. He still had not returned.
She went to the church. Still no sign. She was at a loss to know what to do. Then
she went back to her motor cycle and got a flashlight from the saddlebag and set
off along the water again. It took her a while to wind her way along the half-
overgrown road, and even longer to find the path to Gottfried’s cabin. It loomed
out of the darkness behind some trees when she had almost reached it. He was not
on the porch and the door was locked.
She had turned towards the village when she stopped and went back, all the way
out to the point. She caught sight of Blomkvist’s silhouette in the darkness on the
end of the jetty where Harriet Vanger had drowned her father. She sighed with
relief.
He heard her as she came out on to the jetty, and he turned around. She sat down
next to him without a word. At last he broke the silence.
“Forgive me. I had to be alone for a while.”
“I know.”
She lit two cigarettes and gave him one. Blomkvist looked at her. Salander was the
most asocial human being he had ever met. Usually she ignored any attempt on his
part to talk about anything personal, and she had never accepted a single