The Case of the Fighting Soldier: A Ludovic Travers Mystery

by Christopher Bush

  After the meal the Colonel asked if I could spare him a few moments, and we went back to his room. I knew he was going to pick my brains about Wharton, and extract the whys, wheres, and wherefores, but I was wrong. What he did was to unlock his desk and take out a quarto envelope.

  “Give me your opinion on that, Travers, will you?”

  I polished my glasses and had a look at the two type-written quarto pages. They were the report on Collect’s camouflage as seen from the air, and on the camouflage of the whole camp, for which it appeared he had been responsible.

  In less than a minute I was raising my eyebrows. Then I kept my thoughts to myself till I had read through the whole thing.

  “Well, what do you think of it?” the Colonel asked.

  “I think it’s the most damning thing of its kind I’ve ever read,” I told him.

  “Yes,” he said, and sighed heavily as he locked it up again. “What’s to be done about it? It ought to have gone to the War Office yesterday but I held it back for you to see.”

  I shook my head, and then mumbled something about it being too dangerous to suppress. The War Office would have to have it some time or other.

  “That’s just it,” he said. “What’ll be the outcome, I don’t know. He’s an excellent fellow in many ways, you know, Travers. I’m not saying so because my girl married his boy. Besides, we’ve got to be loyal to each other as far as we can.”

  Somehow I was getting the idea that he wouldn’t after all be too grieved to see the back of Collect. I ventured to say that no man, even himself, if he’d pardon the liberty, was so valuable that he couldn’t be replaced. Thereupon he sighed heavily once more, thanked me for my help and said that, however regretfully, there was nothing for him to do but to get the report off. Meanwhile would I keep everything to myself.

  Since the iron seemed remarkably malleable, I mentioned that short conference Wharton had suggested, and said that as Sunday was a comparatively easy day, with no Advice Bureau, eighteen hours in that very room might be a convenient time and place. He looked extremely disconcerted when I only hinted at some of the things I should have to mention, and his eyes fairly popped at my request that both Brende and Store should be present. I think it was only because I said I was merely Wharton’s mouthpiece that he gave way about that.

  I went to see Harness about notifying everybody concerned, and just as I was leaving his office there was a telephone call for me. It was Wharton, ringing up from town.

  “Don’t tell me you’re up already!” he began.

  “Two hours and more,” I said. But I knew the geniality concealed something, and asked what the good news was. His voice was lugubrious at once.

  “There’s one registered package that might be interesting but they’re only just following it up.” Without giving me a chance to get in a word, he switched the topic. “What I forgot to tell you is that if I want to communicate with you, I’ll do so through Peakridge police. Everything all right your end?”

  “Yes,” I began, and then he cut in with the plea that he couldn’t waste the taxpayers’ money on a second three minutes, and off he rang.

  I was much more cheerful as I came out to the parade ground again. The rain had actually ceased, and though it was bitter cold, a watery sun was trying to break through the clouds, and somehow it seemed a good omen. As I nodded to myself and moved on again, I suddenly heard a voice. Just disappearing round the end of the hospital were Flick and Maisie Wilton. She was in uniform and walking with head in air as if unaware of Flick’s persistent presence. He seemed to be gesturing and trying to convince her of something, or explain something away, and then the two disappeared, and that was that.

  While I waited for everybody to get comfortably settled, I ran a preliminary eye over the company assembled in the Colonel’s room. Store looked most uncomfortable and out of place, Brende was stolid and evidently expecting a talk on routine work, Flick seemed a bit suspicious and darted more than one look at me, Staff was fidgeting with the ends of his moustache, and Ferris seemed just as cool and collected as ever, though he did try more than once to catch my eye.

  “If you’re ready, gentlemen,” the Colonel said, “Major Travers has certain matters which he has to put up to us on behalf of Captain Wharton, who’s been called away for a day or so.”

  He nodded to me and I got to my feet. I am not going to bore you with what I said, though I will give you the general trends. First of all, I made no mention whatever of the Northover and Mills affairs, but divulged generally the fact that Mortar had died as a result of the explosion of the Blacker bomb which had been fired by Brende and never recovered. The Sappers had reported a search of every inch of ground, and were confident that the bomb had been found by someone, and removed.

  And so to the second bombshell. Captain Wharton was of the definite opinion, and for his undisclosed reasons, that Mortar had been deliberately killed by an explosion of that bomb as controlled by the killer. Everybody shuffled uneasily in his seat, and Ferris’s eyes had that look of fierce intensity that one saw when he illustrated the use of the knife. Flick was looking surprised and no more. Store’s face had reddened, Brende was looking at me intently, and Staff was nervously lighting a cigarette, though the Colonel had not given permission to smoke.

  Still quoting Wharton, I said that Feeder had not committed suicide but had definitely been murdered. I didn’t know, I added, but I had an idea that Wharton was away following up an important clue to do with that murder. For Brende’s comfort I did disclose that though his gun had been found by Feeder’s hand, Feeder himself had not fired it. Then I realised that the statement was no comfort to Brende after all, for it might have been a subtle hint that Brende had fired it himself. Brende himself seemed astonished, but no more.

  “May I say something?” put in Collect in his slow, precise voice. “These are most terrible, horrible things we’ve been listening to. Surely Captain Wharton doesn’t suggest that anybody in this room is responsible for them?”

  “I’m not in Captain Wharton’s confidence,” I said unblushingly. “I acted with him last week merely because the Colonel thought that as I knew the camp and everybody I’d make a good liaison. What I will say is this. Everything that’s said here is more than highly confidential—”

  “I ought to have emphasised that,” broke in the Colonel. “If a single word gets out, I shall take most drastic action. The one responsible, whoever he is, will be put under close arrest at once.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “And what I was going to say was that Captain Wharton may not have had any idea of associating anyone in this room with the things which have happened. Horrible things, as Major Collect has said. His idea may have been to request your co-operation. He knows, as we all do, that any further trouble here may mean the dispersal of the present staff and drastic changes. Some of those changes might have had a bad effect on some people’s careers. I think that’s why he requested me to ask any of you who had any information of any kind to come immediately forward. You can give that information in public or in confidence.”

  “If I knew anything I’d get on my legs and say it now,” the Colonel announced belligerently. “If it were my own brother, I’d hand him over. It isn’t ratting, gentlemen. It’s a question of plain duty. We owe it to everybody—the Service, the school, to ourselves, and everything.” Everyone looked round at everyone else. I polished my glasses and an uneasy silence settled on the room. Then at last someone spoke. It was Collect, voice dry and precise as if he were a schoolmaster addressing his form.

  “I think I should say that I noticed one unusual happening myself. I mean, a happening that seemed unusual. Not at the time, but now.”

  “What was it?” the Colonel was firing.

  “Well,” said Collect, and stammered slightly. “I prefer at the moment not to say.”

  “You mean it concerns someone in this room?”

  “Well, yes—in a way.”

  Flick’s plump, clean-shaven
face had gone a vivid scarlet. He caught my eye and was at once blowing his nose violently. The Colonel glowered at him.

  “I mean, I’d rather give the person concerned a chance to make his own statement,” Collect was going on. “That seems to me the honourable way.” His eyes ranged the room. “I expect he knows what I mean and doubtless he’ll think it wise to make a statement to Major Travers, or to Captain Wharton when he gets back.”

  The Colonel snorted. “He’d certainly better. It’s his last chance. What Captain Wharton will do with him, I don’t know.” Then his eyes bulged as he swivelled his chair round on Collect. “You don’t mean to suggest this man was the—was responsible for these murders?” Then he was glaring round the room. “Blunt words, gentlemen, but the time’s come for plain speaking.”

  “Oh, no—not necessarily,” Collect said. “Perhaps the person concerned could explain it. I don’t know. I’m not suggesting for a moment he was a—er—murderer.” That virtually concluded the meeting, for nobody else but the Colonel said a word. In any case it was time for dinner and when the Colonel gave the word go, everybody simply shot off.

  At the meal everybody was remarkably subdued. I had a word with Flick as we came out, and gathered that the films that night would be well worth a visit, so I went back to my room to put on an extra pair of socks and a size larger shoes, for there was the very devil of a draught along the floor of the lecture hall at night. Something else delayed me for a minute or two and then I switched off the light and stepped out to the black of the parade ground. It was at that very moment that I heard the noise.

  Chapter XVI

  After the light of my room the night was incredibly dark. What was happening I had no idea, but the sound was like that of a dog worrying something. Then there was all at once a kind of strangled shriek that made my blood curdle.

  “What’s going on? Who’s there?”

  I hollered and listened. There was that muffled shriek again and then a faint thud. I was trying to run towards the sound and then as I stumbled I listened again and there was no sound at all. Then it began again and near me, and as I moved forward cautiously again, there was a man.

  He seemed to be bent double and was clutching at his throat and making queer gurgling noises. I had no torch but as I took him by the shoulders I knew who he was. “What’s the matter, Collect? What’s happened?”

  It was a moment or two before he could get out anything at all.

  “Someone attacked me.” He gulped and tried to clear his throat again, and he was trembling as if from fever.

  “Let’s get along to your room,” I said. “Let me lend you a hand. That’s it. Take it easy.”

  My eyes were more accustomed to the dark and I could see the black bulk of the hut against the clouds. Inside his room I lowered him into a chair and asked if there was a handy drink. He pointed to the low cupboard, where I found a bottle of whisky. The two inches neat took a bit of swallowing, and now he had turned back the collar of his British warm, I could see the bruises on his throat and neck.

  “Feel like telling me what happened?”

  He was still shaking like a leaf; his face was pale and he looked ten years older. It must have taken him five minutes to tell me his story, for it hurt him to talk, and what he had to tell wasn’t much. He had intended to go to the cinema, and all at once he was seized from behind. An arm was round his throat and he was as terror-struck as one is in a nightmare. Then by the grace of God he had remembered a ju-jitsu trick and had tried to hoist his attacker over his shoulder. What he had done was to loosen slightly the grip on his throat and had been able to get out that strangled shriek. When I hollered, the assailant had taken fright. Collect had been literally hurled away and he hadn’t even heard the noise of the assailant’s feet as he disappeared.

  “Someone trying that trick of Mortar’s on you,” I said. “Lucky for you he didn’t go right through with it.”

  It was curious how much more animated Collect became when he told me what redounded to his own credit. Like a flash he had known that someone was trying to kill him, and as Mortar had described, and that was why he had tried the ju-jitsu trick. All the same he admitted that if the thick collar of the British warm hadn’t been turned up round his ears, he must have stood a poor chance.

  “You’ve not the faintest idea who your assailant was?” He shook his head. He was a big man, he thought, and he didn’t even know why he thought that. After all, he was shortish himself, and a man of his own height could have got him round the throat.

  Then he said he’d have another drink, and he was firm enough now on his pins to get it for himself. I had a weakish one, and chiefly because I wanted to talk to him in confidence, and a drink always helps.

  “One thing’s certain,” I said. “Someone tried to break your neck, and you know why. Because you’d announced you had information to give me or Wharton.”

  His eyes were so firmly fixed on his glass, and he was thinking so hard that I guessed his thoughts. I was wrong, at least partly, for what he said surprised me.

  “The curious thing is that when I came to think it over afterwards, I thought it wasn’t important at all. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it.”

  “What was it?” I asked.

  “No, really, Travers. It was nothing. I made a mistake.”

  I smiled. “All the more reason you should tell me what it was.”

  But he stood his ground, and I knew why. He was scared dead stiff. The suddenness of that attack in the dark had absolutely demoralised him, and his nerve had completely gone. In the morning, he said, he would apologise to everybody about making a mistake.

  “Listen to me, Collect,” I said. “Someone tried to kill you. Is that someone going to believe you? Won’t he consider it a put-up job?” I shook my head. “You and I are going to the Colonel, and you’re either going away for a day or so, or be under protection till Wharton gets back.”

  “No, no,” he said quickly. “I won’t have that. I won’t have the Colonel told.”

  I let out a breath. “Very well then. Here’s my ultimatum. If you don’t tell me what you were referring to at this afternoon’s talk, then I shall go to the Colonel.”

  He refused, so I got to my feet.

  “Well, it was this,” he said, and by the way he avoided my eyes I knew he was lying. “I thought I saw Ferris looking for the Blacker bomb.”

  “I see,” I said. “And what was unusual about that? Wasn’t he the kind of person who ought to look for it?”

  You never saw anyone more grateful for such a suggestion.

  “I know. That’s why I realised afterwards that it was silly of me to have mentioned it.”

  I thought for a moment or two, then got to my feet again.

  “Well, we’ll keep it to ourselves. If you care to apologise in the morning, do so, but if I were you I’d slip a gun in my tunic pocket and keep it there. You’ve got a gun?”

  He was only too eager to show me his automatic, and then I think he rather guessed what I was thinking about him, for he tried to be heroic and said he could look after himself.

  “When you’re in here alone, lock that door,” I said. “Put that gun under your pillow to-night, and every night till Wharton comes back. How’re you feeling now? Fairly all right?”

  He said he was, though the hand that held the glass was still shaking. I said I’d get him a gargle for his throat, and he said it wasn’t the throat exactly, but the larynx that seemed to be hurt. What he’d pretend was that he had a cold. In the morning it ought to be easier.

  I left him like that, and I was feeling like a man who has been given three urgent jobs to do at once, and knows he’s making a hopeless mix-up and muddle of each. But I did slip my own loaded gun into the pocket of my British warm. Whoever had been trying to kill Collect must have known my voice. It would follow therefore that if I had rescued Collect, then Collect must have told me all he knew. Therefore the assailant of Collect now had two objectives—Collect and myself.
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  I made a careful way to the cinema. One of Flick’s men was operating, but a minute or two later I saw Flick near the projector. I had edged along the wall and taken a seat somewhere at the middle left-hand side, and as the picture was one I had seen before, my thoughts were switching back to what had just happened. I asked myself what it was that Collect was concealing. I could admit that there was reason for him to have the wind up, for the experience must have been a terrifying one, but that was no reason why he should have lied about the information in his possession, or have refused so adamantly to go with me to the Colonel.

  Then suddenly I had an idea that made me fumble at my glasses. Was it all a fabrication on Collect’s part? More than possible, I thought. He knew I was going to the picture, for he had heard me say so at dinner. Then he might have waited at a convenient distance till he saw me emerge from my room, after which there was only to make gurgling noises, fall on the ground, shriek, and, when I came nearer, try to get up and be clutching a supposedly injured throat, the redness and bruises on which had been made by himself. What about the trembling? Once more perhaps a case of turgid and easily summoned emotion. Collect’s nerves were on edge and it was easy therefore to counterfeit shock. And, most peculiar of all, when I had driven him into a corner with my ultimatum about going to the Colonel, he had said his information was only about Ferris looking for the bomb. Since my first suspicions against him had been his looking for the bomb, didn’t that show which way his thoughts were running?

  So satisfied was I with that theory that I stopped worrying about Collect’s safety. When Wharton came back I would report on what had supposedly happened, and George could take what action he liked. As I was thinking that, the film came to an end and up went the lights. I hooked my glasses on again and had a decorous look round, Flick was standing by the projector. Nurse Wilton was not in her usual seat. Staff and Mortar’s successor were a row or two in front of me. Then as I looked round to the right, there was Ferris kneeing his way along my row. His shoes, I noticed, were perfectly clean.