by W E Johns
“But there’s talk of shadows being seen in the house.”
Mick laughed softly. “That was me. I was the ghost.”
“You mean, you used to go into the house?”
“Occasionally. Not very often. This of course was when the house was empty. It was empty for years. I sometimes went up into it because I could see better to mend my tackle. It saved candles, too. Someone must have seen me from the road. I didn’t care if they did. I wasn’t doing any harm.”
Biggles was staring. “So it’s true.”
“What’s true.”
“That Nat Binns had a secret way in and out of the house. I heard something about that, but took it to be a fanciful piece of romancing by some joker with imagination.”
“It’s true all right. This is it.”
“Let me get this right. You’re saying there really is direct communication between this cave and the house?”
“That’s it. Or there used to be in Nat Binns’ time, and long after. All you had to do was put that bit of a ladder against the wall over there to get up to the ledge which you can see. Crawl a few yards and there is, or used to be, a trap door. It came out under the stairs by the kitchen. Many a time Nat Binns must have sat here smoking his pipe and having a tot o’ brandy while the Customs men were waiting for him to come in. Down here he could hear every sound they made. Hear ‘em talking, too, no doubt. Listening, he’d know when it was safe for him to move out.”
Biggles hesitated before asking the next question. “Can you still get in and out of the house that way?”
“No. Not any longer.”
“Why not?”
“Because the trap door’s gone. You see, when Mrs. Harrington bought the place she had it properly done up. The floor was rotten with dry rot and she had a new one laid. Oak boards. So the trap door disappeared.”
“What did the workmen think when they found it, as they must have done?”
“They thought it was a way down to a disused cellar, or perhaps an old well. They never went down to see. I was there. I used to hang about while they were working, to watch. I saw ‘em nail down the new floor and that put an end to my getting into the house. Not that I could have gone in, anyway, with folks living there.”
Biggles flicked the ash off his cigarette. “Then tell me, Mick, how did Vera get in here?”
It was Mick’s turn to stare. “Now how the hell did you know that?”
“I didn’t know. I was guessing.” Biggles opened his hand and showed the cigarette stub still in it. “I hadn’t noticed you using lipstick.”
Mick grinned. “You should have been a copper. Yes, Vera’s been in here, but she came in through the front door.”
“When was this?”
“Oh, months ago,”
“Funny place to bring a girl, wasn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. She wanted to come.”
“Then she knew about it?”
“I’ll tell you how it happened. One day we were talking and she brought up the subject of the house being haunted—or supposed to be. I told her it was a lot of nonsense and she needn’t worry herself about that. She’d never be likely to see or hear anything. She asked me how I knew, so I told her I was the ghost and how the story had got around. She wouldn’t believe it; thought I was only trying to set her mind at rest; so I told her I could prove it, and if she liked she could see the place for herself. Well, she wanted to see it so one day I brought her along. She sat on the keg you’re sitting on now. She saw the funny side of it and laughed her head off. I told her not to tell anyone, and as far as I know she never did. But she might have done.”
“She must have had a lot of confidence in you to come to a place like this.”
“Why not? She knew she was safe enough with me. That girl wasn’t short of nerve. She’d come out with me in the boat, to go round the pots, in any sort of weather. One day we were caught in a squall. I wasn’t too happy myself, for that old boat of mine ain’t as sound as she used to be. We were wet to the skin. Not daring to hoist sail I had to row, and while I rowed she baled. And while she baled she sang. That’s the sort of girl she was. Now she’s gone. I shall never be happy again till they hang the swine who did it.”
“You didn’t want me to find this place, did you?”
“Put it like this. You’ll understand I didn’t want the police to know there’d ever been a way of getting into the house without going through the doors. They might have thought I could still get in, and while I knew this had nothing to do with Vera’s death it might have led to some awkward questions.”
“You’re right there. It would.”
“After all, if ever I wanted to murder anyone what better place than this?”
“It would certainly be just the job.”
“You won’t tell anyone?” Mick asked the question anxiously.
“Not me. You’ve been very frank about all this and I appreciate it. Now answer me this question. Have you ever been into the house, since Mrs. Harrington took possession, without going through the doors?”
“Never. And I ain’t never in my life been upstairs in the house.”
“Why did you take the hard way up the cliff, as you yourself have admitted, the night Vera died?”
“Because it was the shortest way and I was in a hurry. I’ve done the trip a thousand times so there was no danger in it for me. When you get over the top you find yourself right opposite Vera’s back garden gate. I can see what you’re driving at. Forget it, I’d have jumped off the top of the cliff rather than see that dear girl hurt her little finger.”
Biggles nodded. “I believe you, Mick.”
So this was the answer he had come to find. Improbable though it might sound it was by no means impossible. At all events, he could see no weak spot in Mick’s story. There was no reason why he should have told him as much as he had, for he would never have suspected it.
He looked the fisherman straight in the eyes, “Have you done any smuggling?”
Mick shook his head. “Not that I object to it. It ain’t worth the candle these days. In Nat Binns’ time it was mostly brandy, brandy and tobacco, cigars chiefly. Where could you sell such things now at a profit to make it worth while? They tell me they’re just as dear in France as they are here. If that’s right there’d be no market. No, I’m not likely to go into that line o’ business.”
“That’s true enough.” Biggles got up. “But I shall have to be getting back to the hotel or I shall miss my tea.”
“The police still don’t know who killed Vera?”
“They’ve no proof yet that anybody killed her. So far they haven’t been able to find any trace of poison. That was what the police suspected at first. I’ve just been told that Vera’s cat is dead, too. Seems to have died in peculiar circumstances.”
“Yes. I heard about that when I went to the shop for some fags. What do you yourself make of it ?”
“It’s hard to know what to make of it.”
“Well, at least I’m sure of one thing,” said Mick definitely. “I didn’t have anything to do with it.” They walked to the entrance together. “Which way are you going?” asked Mick. “Up, or down to the beach?”
“I might as well go up and back to the hotel along the top.”
“Mind how you go.”
“So long. I’ll let you have any news.”
“Thanks.”
Biggles completed the ascent. Looking down he saw Mick on the beach and gave him a parting wave. Then he went on his way.
CHAPTER X
LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS
BIGGLES once more found himself on the grassy area that lay between the top of the cliff and the back gardens of the houses on the seaward side of the village street. With no definite object, but wondering if Miss Lewis had gone, he walked over to the hedge. He could see no sign of life so it seemed probable that she had. He walked on to the gale, and having for a minute or two gazed at the deserted garden was about to turn away when a little splash
of colour on the rubbish heap caught his eye. He made it out to be a small bunch of red roses. He was sure they had not been there the last time he had looked in.
Opening the gate quietly he went in for a closer look. The roses, he observed, were not full blown; in fact the glossy leaves had not yet withered, and as they lay on the top of the pile it was safe to conclude they had only very recently been thrown there. These, then, were the roses Paul had given to Vera, and had now been thrown out by Miss Lewis in the process of clearing up. Which was natural enough.
Paul had said he had given Vera half a dozen roses. Biggles could count only five. Where was the other one? Looking around he saw it lying a little apart from the rest. Assuming that Miss Lewis would throw down the roses as a bunch, how had that happened? The answer seemed to be provided by a mouse which lay near the solitary rose. Partly mauled and with its coat roughed up it had evidently been killed by a cat. In making its pounce, Biggles reasoned, the cat had interfered with the roses and dragged one of them clear of the rest. It seemed a reasonable explanation. At all events, he could think of no other. Not that he gave the matter any great thought as it seemed of little consequence.
He took a last look at the house. In a way he was sorry Miss Lewis had gone. Not that she could be expected to stay. He would have been glad to have a word with her but there would now be no opportunity. Assuming the Superintendent had been the house would now be locked, so as there was no point in staying he turned away and walked back along the cliff top to the hotel.
Reaching the terrace where he always took his tea he saw at once that something had happened in his absence. Major Payne and his wife were there in close conversation with Captain Gower. The expressions on their faces spoke plainly of tragedy. They looked round sharply at the sound of footsteps.
Major Payne was the first to speak. “Where have you been all the afternoon?”
“Along the beach. Why?”
“You haven’t been in the village?”
“No.”
“Then you won’t have heard the news.”
“What news?”
“Miss Lewis has been found dead,” said Gower, succinctly.
To say Biggles was shaken would be to say little. When he had recovered from the shock he said: “Don’t tell me such a thing. Where did this happen?”
Payne answered. “In the same damned house where Vera died.”
Biggles drew a deep breath. “When the Superintendent hears about this he’ll start climbing up the wall.”
“He’s doing that already.”
“Then he knows.”
“He should. He found her himself. He came over to take her to Truro.”
“I know he intended to do that.”
“He came earlier but she wasn’t ready; so he came again this afternoon. He went to the door and knocked. Getting no answer he turned the handle and walked in. He called. No answer. He went on in and through to the kitchen. There lay Miss Lewis, on the floor, dead. The body was still warm, so it couldn’t have happened long before he arrived.”
Biggles dropped into a chair. “How do you know about this?”
“He told us. He looked in here on his way back to Truro for a drink. He looked as if he needed it.”
“I’ll bet he did. In what sort of state was Miss Lewis’s body?”
“Same as Vera’s. Not a mark on it. The Super told me she looked as if she’d just lain down and gone to sleep.”
“Extraordinary. What else did he say?”
“He asked me where Paul Graveson was.”
“Where was he?”
“In his room. He still won’t come down. He hasn’t been out all day.”
“Well, that should put him in the clear. If he hasn’t been out he couldn’t have killed Miss Lewis. And if he didn’t kill Miss Lewis how can anyone say he killed Vera?”
Captain Gower came in again. “Where was Trelawny this afternoon? That’s what I’d like to know. I saw him turn back and head for the cove where he keeps his boat. That’s right below the Thatched House.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Miss Lewis may have known too much,” said Gower darkly.
“So what?”
“It might have suited someone to silence her.”
“Such as who?”
“Trelawny.”
“I never saw such a man for having an answer for everything,” replied Biggles sadly. “No doubt you could find a reason why I did it.”
Gower did not answer.
“You can take my word for it that Trelawny had nothing whatever to do with the death of Miss Lewis.”
“How can you be so positive?”
“For the simple reason I’ve been with him all the afternoon. We were talking from the time he came ashore until a few minutes ago. I hope that satisfies you. I can see it’s lucky for Paul Graveson he didn’t go out this afternoon.” Biggles turned to Major Payne. ‘“What have they done with the body?”
“Taken it to Truro. I imagine that’ll mean another post mortem and another inquest.”
“Does Paul know they haven’t been able to find cyanide in Vera?”
“Yes. I told him. I imagine that’s why he wasn’t arrested.”
Biggles nodded. “Well, Major, if you don’t mind I’d like some tea. It was warm work, walking.”
The Paynes went off and Gower followed them, which suited Biggles, who wanted to give his attention to this new development. Jimmy brought his tea but he did not spend long over it. Having finished he moved purposefully. First he went to his room where he emptied the waterproof canvas sponge-bag which when travelling held his shaving kit, spare soap and toothbrush, folded it tightly and put it in a jacket pocket. Then, going down to the yard, and his car, he collected his driving gloves and put them in the other pocket. This done he set off along the top of the cliff, following in reverse the course he had taken an hour earlier. Reaching his objective, after a quick reconnaissance to make sure no one was about, he crossed the strip of grass to the hedge.
Not wanting to be seen, through it he first made a surreptitious survey of Doctor Venner’s garden. A smouldering bonfire of dead leaves showed where he had been busy, but the Doctor was not there. Backing away he walked the short distance to the garden of the Thatched House. He didn’t expect to see anyone. Nor did he. With blinds drawn already the house wore the melancholy aspect of death. Satisfied with his inspection he turned his eyes to the rubbish dump.
His expression changed abruptly when he perceived that someone had been in the garden within the last hour. Of that there was no doubt, for the discarded roses were no longer there.
For a moment he looked frustrated. He looked again to make sure, thinking perhaps the flowers had faded and in so doing changed to a colour less conspicuous. But there was no mistake. The roses had gone. Then he remembered the mouse and the isolated rose that lay near it.
Opening the gate quietly he went in. The mangled mouse was still there, and near it the single rose. Stooping, without touching it, he examined it closely, and noticed that the stalk was already grey with mildew. He took out the sponge-bag. He put on his gloves. Then, with meticulous care he picked up the rose and dropped it in the receptacle he had brought for the purpose. With a deep breath that might have been relief, after a last quick glance around he withdrew, closing the gate softly behind him.
The purpose of his visit achieved he returned to the hotel by the way he had come, and so to his room, where he put the sponge-bag and its contents in his suitcase, locked it, washed his hands and went down to the telephone call box in the hall.
On the way he met Major Payne. “The very person I wanted to see,” he said. “I’m looking for something to read. I think you once mentioned something about Doctor Venner having written a book.”
“So he told me.”
“A book is always more interesting when you know the author. Do you happen to have a copy of the book?”
“Sorry, no. As a matter of fact I’ve never seen it.
The Doctor happened to mention it to me one day in passing. That was when he first came here. I’ve some other books...”
“No thanks. It doesn’t matter. It was just a notion, having seen the old man.”
Biggles went on into the call box.
After a wait of a few minutes he was through to London, where he learned from Ginger, one of his staff, that everything was all right so he could carry on with his rest cure.
“I’d like you to do a little job for me,” Biggles told him. “I want you to get me a book. You may have a job to get hold of a copy as it’s probably out of print, but you may find a secondhand copy at Foyles or one of the shops in the Charing Cross Road. If you get it put it on the first available passenger train to Truro, addressed to me care of the Station Master. If you’re able to do that phone me here, or wire me, and I’ll slip into Truro in the car to collect it. Let me know what train you’ve put it on. If by any chance I’m not in you can leave a message. Here’s the name of the book. Ready? I’m not quite sure of the title but the subject is British Guiana. The author is Doctor Augustus Venner. Okay, that’s all. No, I’m not thinking of going there but I have a sudden interest in the country. I’m finding it quite enjoyable down here; there are more things of interest than you might suppose so I shall probably stay on for a bit. So long.”
Biggles hung up. Some time later, after dinner in fact, he had the call from the office to say the book was on the night train and would be in Truro early in the morning.
CHAPTER XI
THE BOOK
In the morning, as soon as he had finished breakfast, Biggles went out to his car and set off for Truro to collect the book from the station. It was there. Back in the car he removed the packing to confirm it was the one he wanted. It was. He next went to a stationer’s shop where he bought a small reel of transparent adhesive tape and a new sheet of brown paper. With these he made a jacket for the book to prevent anyone who might approach when he was reading it from seeing the title on the front cover. This done he returned to the hotel.
