Death of an Airman

by Christopher St. John Sprigg

  Bray rang up Creighton and told him of his experience.

  Creighton seemed astounded.

  “It’s a very odd thing,” said Creighton, “for Vane was supposed to be one of the club’s worst pupils. Yet apparently he is an expert pilot and has been so for years. There must have been some idea behind his pretending to be a novice.”

  “Search me! Anyway, we’ve lost him,” answered Bray. “Not for good, I hope. I don’t think he knows we suspect him, which, I suppose, is something.”

  “What are you going to do now?” asked Creighton.

  “I’m going to see the Superintendent,” said Bray firmly. “I’ve been thinking it over going down in the train. You know, Creighton, I think we’re taking a big risk leaving it much longer. If there’s another murder, we might be held responsible through not acting before. Much as we want to get the Chief, it’s not a risk we ought to run. If my Superintendent agrees, the Yard will give the word for the round-up to take place to-morrow in all countries, and rely on being able to find evidence against the Chief in the documents we seize. It’ll be a huge killing, after all, and I can’t believe one of them won’t squeal.”

  “If they know!” said Creighton sceptically.

  “People like Roget must know,” insisted Bray. “If Durand offers him the bait of his freedom, then surely to goodness he’ll turn State evidence. I know Durand would do it. What does your Chief think?”

  “General Sadler leaves everything in the Yard’s hands. So do I. Good luck!”

  “Thanks, Creighton. Jolly decent of you!”

  Bray returned to Scotland Yard and had a long talk with Superintendent Learoyd.

  “It’s been rotten for the Chief, Bray,” Learoyd admitted, worry plainly written in the set of his leonine face. “He spent hours with Lord Entourage. Of course, it may be political death to Entourage. He says he may have to resign. I don’t think it’s at all likely, but I understand the old chap’s feelings. I’m quite sure he hadn’t an inkling his nephew was a bad hat. Still, it’s all over now. We’re quite ready to go ahead at once. To-morrow afternoon, I suggest. The warrants are all prepared, filled in with names and addresses—Gauntlett, Randall, Miss Sackbut for luck, Vane alias Hartigan alias Vandyke, the two Customs men, all the English pilots and van-drivers, and the firm’s clerks. Our gaols will be chock full!” Superintendent Learoyd looked through his papers and made a note. “Zero hour is two p.m. to-morrow, then. I’ll confirm it to the other countries.”

  “Cheer up, Bray,” he added, noticing his subordinate’s despondency. “Damn it, you can’t expect everything. Here we are, rounding up the biggest white drug organization known to our records. What does it matter if we can’t lay hands on the Chief?”

  “I know. I ought to be content. But the cold-blooded way he slaughtered that wretched little ground engineer got under my skin somehow.”

  Chapter XVIII

  Awkwardness of an American

  The Executive Committee of the Baston Air Display rested for a while on its labours and was content.

  It sat, as was its due, in the Distinguished Guests’ Enclosure, to the right and left of the Lord-Lieutenant of Thameshire, who was disposed in an uncomfortable-looking chair and attired with Ascot resplendence. Mr. Walsyngham was also effulgent beneath a grey top-hat, and wore on his face an expression of bright interest. This disguised his extreme indignation at the fact that, although he had been staying at the Lord-Lieutenant’s house for a week, he had been completely unsuccessful in getting him to subscribe to any of the shares of his new flotation, Planet Airways. Beside him, dressed in a battleship-grey toilette which unfortunately increased her resemblance to a tank, Lady Crumbles was engaged in conversation with Lady Laura Vanguard.

  “My dear, have you seen the Bishop?” asked the Countess.

  “No,” answered Lady Laura off-handedly. “At least, only for a moment. He was walking quickly behind the hangars.”

  “My dear Laura, what did he want to go there for?” exclaimed Lady Crumbles.

  “To avoid you, I think. You were just arriving, you know.”

  “What delicious things you do say, darling,” replied Lady Crumbles acidly. “Well, I must find him before the afternoon is over. I want him to give the prizes away. I’ve put them out all nicely on the table there.”

  “Yes, I was just looking at them,” remarked Lady Laura. “But how will the poor dear know which to give to whom? They’ve got nothing engraved on them.”

  “Engraving is so expensive, dear,” lamented the other. “Besides, as it is for a charity, I hope some of the winners will give their trophies back and then the engraving will be a nuisance. I am sure they will if I speak to them.”

  “I am sure they will,” admitted the girl.

  “Still, it may be a little puzzling for the Bishop. Do you mind writing out the labels? Shall I tell you which are which?”

  “I don’t think it matters very much, darling,” said Lady Laura sweetly. “Better leave it to me. Are you doing the judging?”

  “I am one of the judges—yes.”

  “Well, I shall be simply furious if you don’t give the first prize to my new ’plane in the Concours d’elegance. It’s one of the new Dragon Sixes with the sweetest cocktail-bar inside the cabin. And full of gorgeous leather armchairs.”

  “Is it that big silver thing out there?” asked Lady Crumbles.

  “Yes; isn’t it ducky?”

  “Well, I don’t know how you do it, with income tax and everything,” answered the other enviously.

  “I wonder myself sometimes. There’s poor Sally beside it. She does look worried! She keeps on driving about herds of those little girls in blue who seem to have suddenly infested our aerodrome.”

  Lady Crumbles peered shortsightedly at the aerodrome. “My dear, those are my Airies. Don’t you think they’re sweet?”

  “I can honestly say I’ve never seen so many repulsive small girls,” replied Lady Laura sincerely. “Sally spends all her time driving them away from aeroplanes on which they want to scrawl their initials.”

  “Dear, dear, the naughty little mites! Still, perhaps I’d better speak to their patrol leader. Do be nice to them, they are so keen and enthusiastic! Sally has promised to give the most useful ones some ginger-beer.”

  “I will, too, if you like,” offered Lady Laura. “I’ll have some gin put in it as well and make it a real party for the little angels.”

  “Laura, I hope and pray you are only joking!” gasped the Countess. “Please remember I am the President of the local Temperance Association.”

  Lady Laura was, however, already leaving the enclosure and went into the club-house without answering. Sally had returned to her office and was hurriedly checking off a list of entrants.

  Lady Laura smiled at her. “Hello, Sally, can I help with that? I’ve just escaped from the Crumbles bird.”

  “No, thanks,” answered Sally; “but, darling, if you want to be useful you might go and relieve Sir Herbert at the microphone in a moment. He’s being rather a lamb, but I can hear him getting hoarse, and then he does have such fights with his aitches.”

  “Right-ho, I’ll take him a drink. Oh, by the way, lend me some ink. I’ve promised to do the labels for the prizes. Tell the Bishop if you see him he’s got to give them away. They’re such cheap things, I should be ashamed to give them myself, but the dear will probably agree. Where is he, by the way?”

  “He’s with some queer American friend,” replied Miss Sackbut. “A funny little white-haired man with a bulbous nose and the loveliest soft American accent. The Bishop’s been a perfect angel on the Executive Committee, a kind of buffer State between the Crumbles person and myself, but I think he’s feeling the strain a bit now.”

  “I’m rather surprised not to see the Inspector here,” went on Lady Laura. “I thought he was a permanent fixture on the aerodr
ome. I suppose he has given the case up. Really, I think the police are awfully inefficient nowadays.”

  “Yes,” said Sally thoughtfully, “they always have some excuse. Not allowed to question witnesses, and so forth. Heavens, how they’ve questioned me! Laura, be an angel and pop out and see if Waxy has started doing ‘Falling Leaves’ yet, because, if so, that’s the end of his turn, so grab a couple of Airies by the ears and send them off to the Control tent to give the signal to let the ‘Round the Houses’ race begin. And then pop off to the microphone. Oh, and do you want your Dragon got ready to fly away after the Concours?”

  “No, I arranged with Winters to do a flight-trial on it. I was going to borrow the club Moth. It’s not in use to-day and I shall be returning it to-morrow. So put my big fellow in the hangar. I’m taking the ink with me.”

  “Right! Bless you, Laura,” murmured Sally, her head bent over her entry list again.

  Lady Laura emerged and found “Waxy’s” green ’plane tumbling earthwards in the graceful fluttering of the aerobatic known as the “Falling Leaf.”

  After despatching two Airies to the Control tent with the necessary message, she hurried to the Announcer’s tent.

  The change-over was accomplished, but unfortunately Lady Laura’s dulcet tones were amplified over the aerodrome to the waiting thousands at the moment when she told Sir Herbert to “get back to the Crumbles menace, but Sally has a drink waiting for you to help you to bear it.” The Distinguished Guests’ Enclosure thought it better not to hear this “aside,” and in a few moments Lady Laura’s voice was retailing the ordinary pleasantries of the announcer.

  Five aeroplanes took off, wing-tip to wing-tip, roared shatteringly over the crowd, and jockeyed for position in a tight bank round the hangar windsock. The “Round the Houses” race had begun.…

  Meanwhile the Bishop, with his American friend, was engaged in evading his duties on the Executive Committee, as Lady Laura’s sharp eyes had already noticed. She had been talking to Mrs. Angevin when they rapidly disappeared as Lady Crumbles entered the enclosure.

  “I am sorry that we did not stop to speak to the lady after all these years,” said his American companion.

  “You will get a chance to do so later,” assured the Bishop. “Quite frankly, not even for you would I run the risk of being caught by Lady Crumbles so early in the afternoon.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, Bishop. It was strange, wasn’t it, that we should have been placed next to each other at the Anglo-American banquet?”

  “Yes,” admitted the Bishop, “but even so, I should not have known we had a common friend in the woman if her father had not been sitting opposite us, which made you mention that you knew her.”

  “I fear he does not know what you and I know,” said the American gravely. “I sometimes wonder whether I was right in entrusting you with that little secret. I am afraid it was the wine and your extremely winning personality, Bishop. Please do not on any account divulge it to a third person.”

  “I shouldn’t dream—” The Bishop saw his friend stiffen, and broke off. “Good lord, what is the matter? You look surprised.”

  The Judge pointed. “That fellow Hartigan I told you of! There he is. He looks as wild as ever. A winning character, but headstrong.”

  The Bishop laughed. “My dear Judge, you must be mistaken. That’s our youngest member, Tommy Vane.”

  “I may be getting old, Bishop, but I can still trust my eyes,” said the American positively. “That young man is not so young as you think. And he’s the Spider Hartigan I spoke of to you.”

  The Bishop smiled and shook his head. “I’m very sorry, but I fear you are misled by some likeness.”

  The disputed person was now within earshot. The Judge looked at him again. “Hi, Spider!” he shouted suddenly.

  Tommy Vane turned and stared at the Judge. For a moment the Bishop saw him pale, and then, collecting himself with an obvious effort, he was about to pass on, but changed his mind at the last moment.

  “Hallo, Judge,” he said, extending his hand. “Glad to see you; but my name is Thomas Vane.”

  The Judge smiled benevolently. “Perhaps, but not always.”

  “I have long given up my stage name,” answered Tommy Vane, who had rapidly recovered from any embarrassment he may have felt. “Why on earth have you turned up here?”

  “I came on to England for a holiday,” explained the Judge. “But it wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t sat next to the Bishop here at a banquet the other day. We got talking, and I told him of that queer little ceremony at which I presided.” The Judge dug him playfully in the ribs. “You’ve kept it very quiet. Of course, I told him in confidence!”

  The young man looked angry. “You shouldn’t have told him at all, Judge. Damn it, you promised at the time not to breathe a word!”

  “So I did,” admitted the American. “So I did. But then, Spider, you promised me that the silence need only be temporary, a matter of a year at the most. And it was more than two years ago. So that relieves me of the obligation. But don’t worry,” he added, as he saw the other’s angry frown; “the Bishop is a clergyman, and I told him more with the purpose of asking his advice than anything else. I certainly don’t propose to broadcast the fact.”

  “Thank you for that, at any rate,” said Tommy Vane with an ill grace. “And what about you?” he asked the Bishop.

  “Naturally, my boy,” answered the Bishop blandly, “I don’t propose to make it public, either. But in the circumstances you can’t expect me to keep completely quiet about the whole affair. There are other interests to be considered, and I think you yourself must realize that there are certain persons I must tell, otherwise they have been misled in a way which is not fair, having regard to their responsibilities and duties.”

  The Judge, with innate tact, had already realized that the Bishop and Vane might be hampered in their conversation by his presence, and the Bishop’s obscure circumlocution indicated that this was the case. He therefore excused himself and wandered off to watch the next event, which promised to be amusing.

  “Look here,” said Vane, “it’s damned awkward your knowing. If it had only been the Judge I shouldn’t have worried, as I think I could have persuaded him not to speak, in view of the promise he made. But I appreciate the way you feel, and I know you will do what you think right. But can you keep silent for just one day more? Let’s move somewhere where we’re less likely to be overheard.”

  “Why for one day?” asked the Bishop, weakening, as Vane drew him gently by the arm towards the refreshment tent.

  “Because I promise after to-morrow to make the whole thing public myself,” answered Vane earnestly. “But you can imagine how difficult it is for me as long as I have no job and no position. I’m just an out-of-work film extra. To-morrow, if all goes according to plan, I shall have an assured job and a definite position, and then I’m going to make a clean breast of the thing to all the persons concerned. Then I don’t mind whom you tell. Do you understand? I’m sure you do!” he added with a smile.

  “Very well,” said the Bishop, responding to this reasonable appeal. “In the circumstances I don’t think I can refuse. I will say nothing for another day at least.”

  “You’re a sport, Bishop,” exclaimed the young man enthusiastically. “I’m most awfully grateful. I don’t know how to thank you enough. I say, will you have a drink with me?”

  The Bishop laughed. “It is certainly hot. If you can get me some lemonade I shall be grateful.”

  After five minutes Vane returned with a glass of tired-looking yellow fluid. “Bit of a struggle, but I got it. Let’s go and look at the race, shall we? You ought to have been in this one, Bishop.”

  The competitors were required to cover different stages of a course by aeroplane, car, donkey, wheelbarrow and fairy-cycle.

  “I fear I am too old,” said the Bishop
after it was over. “Really, I had no idea Mrs. Angevin could ride so well. She got a positive gallop out of her donkey. I find all these displays a little tiring. To be perfectly frank, I should be exceedingly glad of a comfortable chair and a sleep.”

  “I am afraid the distinguished guests have got all the deck-chairs,” replied Vane. “Why not go into their enclosure?”

  The Bishop shuddered. “No! If I were to sit down anywhere, it would be in some quiet corner where there was no fear of Lady Crumbles finding me.”

  “If that’s what you want, why don’t you crawl into the front seat of the club machine there.” Vane pointed to the scarlet-and-silver machine on the tarmac. “You can get well down with your head below the level of the cockpit doors and no one will trouble you. Lady Crumbles certainly won’t. She never goes near an aeroplane, as she has some lurking fear that the thing will explode or that the propeller might come round and hit her.” He paused. “It probably would if I were flying it,” he added reflectively.

  “That is really quite a good idea, Vane,” exclaimed Dr. Marriott. “If I am not visible when the show is over, please dig me out, as I shall be expected to give away the prizes. Do please remember, for I feel so abominably sleepy that I shall certainly not wake without being called. And look after the Judge for me. I believe he’s my guest,” mumbled the Bishop, “but I feel so drowsy I can hardly remember.…”

  The Bishop had climbed into the front seat with the agility necessary for this task and curled himself into the cockpit as well as he could. For a time the roar of an engine being run up near him beat an uneasy staccato accompaniment to his increasing drowsiness. His hand came upon a flying helmet in the dashboard cubby-hole, however, and putting this on he shut out the offending noise.

  Just as he was coming up for the last time in the waters of oblivion before sinking into their woolly depths, some strange insistent warning seemed to be struggling to clear the mists. It was as if a danger lurking merely as a shadow at the back of his brain could now be more clearly perceived. But it was too late. With a final gurgle, the Bishop sank helplessly, fathoms deep into slumber.