Death of an Airman

by Christopher St. John Sprigg

  “I’m not so pleased with it now,” confessed Creighton.

  “And I’m not pleased with my murder theory,” retorted Bray. “But it does offer us some starting point for an investigation. My present feeling is this: let us continue to act as if we believed it to be murder and try to scare some of the people involved into opening-up on the dope business. Do you agree?”

  Creighton considered. “I don’t see for why we shouldn’t. But who are we going to scare?”

  “Tell me who’s on the permanent staff of the aerodrome who might be implicated.”

  “There’s Miss Sackbut. We’re certain now she’s in it as she carried the dope on your journey. I suspected her all along on different grounds, and seeing that she knew Furnace I think we can count her in. Probably she corrupted Furnace in the first place.”

  “Frightenable, do you think?”

  Creighton shook his head mournfully. “A tough body. I shouldn’t like to take the job on.”

  “Neither should I,” admitted Bray, his mind harking back to the bright, direct stare and firm chin of his pilot on the Channel crossing. “Who else?”

  “Gauntlett. But of course we count him out.”

  “Good lord, yes! Leave him alone. He’s the last person we want to scare at the moment!”

  “There’s that little red-headed mechanic, Ness,” said Creighton thoughtfully. “Ground engineer they call him. He knew Furnace well, and they often used to go together on these flights for Gauntlett, on which we now know dope was carried. What about him? I should think he could be intimidated?”

  “Good! Send for him, don’t you think? It always scares them more. They get worked up coming to the station.”

  Creighton got through to Baston Aerodrome and, when he had Ness on the end of the line, summoned him peremptorily to the police station.

  “No doubt you’ll know as well as I do what we want to see you for,” he ended with sinister emphasis. “Come along as soon as you can.”

  Creighton hung up the receiver with a satisfied smile on his face. “Dead silence at the other end! I think I might describe it as a horrified silence! He’ll be along pretty soon, I fancy.”

  Ness was, in fact, announced soon after. Apparently he had only waited long enough to take off his greasy overalls, for his clothes were soiled and there was a smear on his nose.

  “Sit down, Mr. Ness,” said Creighton quietly. “This is Detective-Inspector Bray, from Scotland Yard.”

  Ness started, and controlled himself with a visible effort. Bray watched his tongue shoot out and lick his lips. “What do you want to know?”

  “We want to know everything, Mr. Ness,” answered Creighton jovially. “We know most of it already.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t understand what you are talking about.” Ness looked determinedly at his boots.

  “I think you do. Oh yes, I think you do.” Bray’s lips twitched at the appalling portentousness of Creighton’s tone.

  A long silence followed. Bray watched Ness’s knees shake slightly. The mechanic controlled them at last and managed to light a cigarette.

  “Do you know what ‘accessory after the fact’ means?” asked Creighton.

  “Eh?”

  “It has this implication, that anyone who helps a murderer, even by concealing his crime, shares some of the guilt. You understand, I think, Mr. Ness? You know that Major Furnace was murdered. Possibly even why he was murdered. But you have not told us.”

  “What are you getting at?” whined Ness plaintively. “You don’t suggest I murdered Furnace, do you?”

  Creighton gave a sly smile. “That would be a matter for a formal charge. At the moment we are only aware that you know much more about the matter than you originally told us. Inspector Bray has come down here with a good deal of fresh information, and my own feeling certainly was that we ought to arrest you without delay and charge you with the murder of Major Furnace. The main reason why I haven’t warned you is because if you can give us a plausible explanation we will let you go. Otherwise I am afraid we cannot let you leave this police station, and the law will have to take its course.” He paused. “We know, you see, that Major Furnace was dead before the crash.”

  Ness turned a sickly green and dropped his cigarette. His mouth began to tremble and he was unable to stop the rapid twitching of his lips, which fascinated Bray for a moment.

  “I hadn’t anything to do with his murder! I swear to that!”

  “I’m afraid we can’t believe that, on your bare assurance.”

  Creighton and Bray exchanged a pleased glance. Ness was badly scared. When the process had been carried far enough, it would be possible to press the man to give information about the dope-running business. The fact that the police knew about this might alone be enough to precipitate a confession from the man they saw before them, white and shaking. Their calculations were totally upset by his answer.

  “I knew nothing about it until after it was done! I swear it! Look, I was at the pictures all the evening before. You can confirm it,” he said eagerly. “I went with three other people from the aerodrome. They’ll be able to tell you. I’ll give you their names.”

  Creighton looked staggered. “What on earth has the previous evening—” he began, when Bray stopped with a warning glance.

  “When did you know he was dead?” Bray asked the ground engineer.

  “When I came back in the evening”; he shuddered. “Oh, it was horrible! And then when Vandyke told me I’d got to help him get rid of the body, I nearly threw my hand in. If I hadn’t been certain I should be treated the same way as Furnace, I’d have done it!”

  “So it was Vandyke who killed him?”

  “No. Vandyke was in Baston with me. It was the Chief.”

  “Who’s the Chief?” said Creighton at once.

  Ness looked at him wonderingly. “I don’t know. Nobody knows. I don’t think even Vandyke knows. The Chief shot him and told Vandyke how to clear it up.”

  “Who’s Vandyke?” asked Creighton after a glance from Bray.

  “Don’t you know who Vandyke is?” The engineer’s shifty eyes fixed foxily on Creighton’s face. “I believe you’re trying to draw me out! I don’t believe you know anything!”

  “Yes, we know, young fellow,” said the policeman sternly.

  “You don’t! You’re trying to trap me!” His mouth worked nervously. “You tricky—! I’m damned if I’ll fall for it! I don’t know anything, see? I don’t know anything, damn you!”

  “Come on, now,” said Creighton gruffly; “you can’t get away with that!”

  “I can! Tell me who Vandyke is, and I’ll tell you more.” The two policemen were silent. The engineer laughed hysterically. “See? You don’t know, you double-crossing swine!”

  Bray hesitated. The witness was slipping out of his control. Should he take a plunge on the information he already had? If only Finch had identified Vandyke! He might have done so by now. But the opportunity was already about to evade them, and he could not wait for Finch.

  “We know who Vandyke is,” said Bray carefully. “Valentine Gauntlett.”

  Ness looked at him for a moment in wonder and then burst into peals of nervous laughter. “You think Valentine Gauntlett is Vandyke! Gaud, that’s rich! Why, you don’t know a thing, you lousy crooks, and you’re trying to bluff me that you do. Well, fine fools you look! I’ve just been pulling your leg, see?”

  “We’ve got you where we want you, Ness!” shouted Creighton furiously, with an unconscious recollection of the films. “You’ve told us all we want to know.”

  “I deny it! I deny every word of what I told you! Prove it if you can!” The engineer had changed from despair to an impudent elation. “You haven’t warned me and you haven’t got a statement. I don’t believe you know a thing about the murder. You’re trying to bluff me, blast you! This is the
last time you get me in a police station, with your damned knowing airs. Furnace committed suicide, and you’re trying to make it murder to get promotion.”

  Creighton was livid with fury. He evidently meditated detaining Ness. He exchanged a look with Bray, who shook his head.

  “Give him a bit more rope for a while,” he whispered.

  Ness was released by Creighton with an ill grace.

  The ground engineer left the room with an ugly sneer, and Creighton ran his fingers through his scanty grey hair. “This tears it! What in hell’s name do you make of this?”

  “It blows your sweet little theory sky-high, Creighton. It wasn’t suicide, at all events.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense!” moaned Creighton. “How can a dead man pilot a machine? If he was shot the previous evening, how was he flying round the next day?”

  “Are your witnesses of this flight really sound?” asked Bray reflectively.

  “Gosh, yes! Half a dozen of them, and one of them a belted Bishop, or whatever they are.”

  “Then someone’s wrong,” insisted Bray. “Here, what about this? They shove the dead body into an aeroplane, let the darn thing take off with the controls lashed, and then it crashes?”

  “I don’t know enough about flying to say. It sounds improbable to me. I don’t believe it’s technically possible.” Creighton meditated for a moment. “How about this? Supposing somebody else had crashed there, and the murderer happened to be on the spot and popped Furnace’s body in place of the real pilot?”

  “I don’t think that’s one of our best theories, Creighton,” smiled Bray. “It demands a remarkable lot from coincidence. Besides, what’s happened to Pilot No. One’s corpse?”

  “Yes, that’s awkward,” admitted Creighton. “It didn’t sound very convincing when I said it. Do you think someone could have towed the aeroplane, with Furnace’s body in it, above the aerodrome, and then cut the rope?”

  “No,” answered Bray decisively. “We can’t get away from the fact that that machine was flying about in a way which excited no suspicion whatever among the experienced pilots who were watching it until the moment it began to spin. I don’t think you can go beyond that.”

  Creighton began turning over the Furnace dossier. Then he gave an exclamation. “Look here. What about the Home Office expert’s evidence? He says Furnace’s crash took place very shortly after the bullet wound. He’s quite positive about that. So Furnace must have been alive when he went up in the machine that morning. How about that, eh? Furnace is dead the previous evening, then the next morning dies again. Then is alive again a few hours later.”

  Bray reflected a moment. Then he smiled. “We’ve been damned fools, Creighton. That little fellow was feeding us with a lying story on purpose. He pretended to be scared in order to mislead us both. The cunning little devil! He was play-acting all the time. That means we ought to go by contraries. Valentine Gauntlett is Vandyke in that case. What about the Chief being someone nobody knows? Need we believe that either?”

  “Another little invention, I expect,” admitted Creighton. “Fortunately Ness doesn’t guess yet that we know there’s even a smell of dope in this business. They couldn’t know that Furnace’s visit to the analyst came to our knowledge, so we’ve one card left that will surprise them.”

  “Still, we’re back where we were,” Bray reminded him; “except that we know Ness is in the dope gang, and we guessed that before. Damn it, I thought for a thrilling moment that we really were on to something big there.”

  “Well, it’s getting late. Let’s have some lunch—and no shop! It may clear our brains. Do you golf, Bray?”

  “’Fraid not. Too expensive in London. Do you fish?”

  “Do I!” answered Creighton enthusiastically, “Why, I came back from a fishing holiday a month ago. Listen, you may think I’m only telling you the usual story, but on my last day, for a pool that the landlord told me was absolutely hopeless but I liked the look of, I tried a ‘Scarlet Soldier,’ and in five minutes…

  ***

  (One hour later).

  “…My dear Creighton, I swear that if I’d stayed at that place another week I should have gone out and got a rifle and shot that fish through the head as it lay laughing at me!”

  The lunch had drawn to its close, and the two policemen were gossiping and watching the leisurely life of Baston pass the restaurant window. A blue figure walked questingly past.

  “Hello,” said Bray, “that constable there seems to be looking for you.”

  Creighton rapped on the window and attracted his attention. “Do you want me, Murgatroyd?”

  “Yes, sir. Miss Sackbut has just rung up from the aerodrome. She says there’s been a terrible accident to their ground engineer, Ness.”

  Creighton turned white, but said nothing. The two men reached for their hats.

  “I brought the car along as I thought you’d probably want it, sir.”

  “Quite right, Murgatroyd. Drive us straight along there.”

  They got into the car.

  “Stop at Doctor Bastable’s,” ordered Creighton. “We’ll collect him if he’s in.”

  Dr. Bastable was able to come and the four arrived a little later at Baston Aerodrome. Miss Sackbut, looking pale, met them at the gates.

  “Is this never going to stop?” she asked Creighton reproachfully. “First George and then Andy! Surely there must be someone you can get at?”

  Creighton did not answer the question. Instead he asked coldly what had been done.

  “The body was left just as we found it,” answered Miss Sackbut with a shudder. “There was nothing that could be done. You’ll see why. I’d better take you there, I suppose.”

  Ness was lying about four hundred yards from the boundary of the aerodrome, and on the opposite side to the hangars. Bastable knelt beside the limp form for a moment but quickly got up again.

  “Dear, dear! There’s not much for me to do here. You can see for yourself. This unfortunate man has fallen from a height of several thousands of feet. The head’s gone right into the earth. The skull must have been smashed at once.”

  “That’s quick work!” Creighton whispered to Bray. “Someone must have found out Ness had been to see us. Poor devil! I suppose they thought he was going to squeal—or that he had squealed. They got him up in an aeroplane and threw him out. Pretty brutal sort of people we’re up against, eh?”

  “It’s rather strange all the same,” answered Bray. “I shouldn’t have thought it was easy to throw anyone out of an aeroplane, anyway; and impossible if they were expecting it. And surely Ness must have been a little suspicious after his visit to us.”

  Bray shrugged his shoulders. “Evidently he wasn’t. So they must have told him some plausible story to get him into the aeroplane.”

  Creighton noted in his book the position of the body and turned to the constable.

  “Stand by, Murgatroyd, for a little. I’ll ’phone up the station and get some more men to come along. The body will have to be photographed; then it can be taken to the mortuary.” He turned to his colleague. “We’ll go back to the aerodrome, Bray.”

  Creighton ’phoned for some more men from the manager’s office, and when he had concluded he turned to Miss Sackbut with a business-like tone which might, quite unfairly, have been mistaken for callousness.

  “Now, Miss Sackbut, how was this discovered?”

  “Lady Laura discovered it,” answered Sally dismally. “She’d just flown over from her private aerodrome at Goring. She burst into my office and said that as she was gliding-in to land she’d seen something queer in the next field. She didn’t like the look of it. So we went over and found him. Poor Andy!”

  “Where is Lady Laura?”

  “In the bar.”

  “I’ll go through,” answered Creighton, motioning Bray to accompany him.


  Lady Laura was sitting at a table drinking a glass of brandy, her lips like slashes of blood against the dead white of her face. She looked blankly at Creighton for a minute or two before she recognized him.

  “Nasty!” she said with a shake of her head. “Nastier than I ever want to see again. I was a fool to go over and find out what it was. I guessed it was something horrible. Poor little man!”

  Inspector Creighton sat down opposite her.

  “Do you mind if we ask you one or two questions? Or would you prefer to wait till you feel better?”

  “No! Anything to take my mind off that sight. What is it? How can I help you?”

  “As a pilot you can help us a good deal. We are assuming you know Ness didn’t fall but was deliberately thrown out of an aeroplane. Murdered.…”

  “That’s what Sally thinks,” admitted Lady Laura soberly. “What a ghastly death!”

  Creighton nodded briefly. “Now the question that occurs to us is: How could a pilot get rid of a man in mid-air? You see, we don’t know enough about flying to say. As a pilot you could tell us. Would he loop, for instance?”

  “Good lord, no!” answered Lady Laura decisively. “That would keep your passenger in his seat. Centrifugal force, you know. No, the only way of doing it that I can see is to roll over on one’s back suddenly and stay there for a little. But I don’t think that can have happened in this case.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because any man of Andy’s experience would do up the safety-belt automatically, directly he sat down in the cockpit. That would hold him in.”

  “But would every aeroplane have a safety-belt?” asked Bray.

  “Certainly,” she said positively. “It’s a statutory requirement. Here’s another point: What type of aeroplane would it be?”

  Creighton looked surprised. “We haven’t the remotest idea. Does it matter?”

  “Yes. It couldn’t be a cabin type, for instance, that’s obvious. Come and look at my Leopard Moth afterwards and you’ll see that no one could fall out of that.”