Biggles Sets a Trap

by W E Johns

  “No matter. Let’s have a look.”

  “I’ll fetch the key of the chest.” Leo went off, to return in a minute or two with an enormous iron key, dark in colour and somewhat rusty. “Here we are,” he said. “Come on.”

  The others followed him along a gloomy stone corridor the walls of which were decorated in places with military equipment of another age, pieces of armour, swords, lance heads, and in one place, a mace and a battle-axe, crossed.

  “Who did these antiques once belong to?” asked Bertie.

  “I haven’t the foggiest idea,” answered Leo. “Some of my warlike forerunners, no doubt. I’m glad we don’t have to clutter ourselves up with that sort of ironmongery.”

  “Isn’t it worth anything?”

  “Had it been I’d have sold it. It isn’t worth much more than its weight as old iron.”

  A short spiral staircase, still of stone, and another short corridor took them into a rather small room completely devoid of furniture except for an enormous oak chest, black with age and bound with massive bands of copper or brass; it was not possible to say which. Two of the bands, towards the ends, were broader than the rest, and the reason for this was apparent. Each carried, a few inches from the top, a ponderous padlock, the arm passing through an iron ring.

  “That wasn’t built yesterday,” observed Bertie.

  “Nor the day before,” returned Leo as, key in hand, he stooped to use it.

  “Just a minute, Leo,” said Biggles, sharply. “Don’t touch it yet.”

  Leo looked up, his face registering surprise. “What’s the matter?”

  “How long is it since this chest was opened?” asked Biggles, stepping closer.

  “I can’t remember the date. Anyway, not for a long while. The last time was when, as I think I told you, the Charter had to be photographed for the authorities in support of our claim to have some of the clauses set aside. The Charter was on top, so it wasn’t necessary to touch anything else. Why do you ask?”

  “Because it looks to me as if it had been interfered with fairly recently. Did you have any difficulty in opening it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Biggles dropped on a knee and examined one of the locks. “Take a look at this. You can see where a tool of some sort has been used as a lever. You can see where it bit into the metal. Those marks are fresh. They still shine. Moreover, the hasp has been slightly bent.”

  “You’re right. I don’t understand it,” said Leo.

  “You told me you’d never been burgled.”

  “We haven’t.”

  “I’d say you have.” Biggles looked suspiciously in the direction of the wall in which were set two picturesque casement windows with leaded diamond panes.

  Leo looked concerned. “I suppose it would be possible for someone to get in. With about 200 windows it’s be hard to keep a determined burglar out. I couldn’t go round every window every night. It’d be a two or three hours’ job, and I doubt if it would be possible to make them secure, anyway. I’m afraid I assumed nobody had ever got into the house for the simple reason there isn’t a thing worth stealing. I’ve no jewellery, and two or three pounds is as much as I ever have in the house at one time. I told you, anything of value was sold long ago.”

  “What about the Charter? Wouldn’t you call that valuable?”

  “Yes, but only to me. It would be no use to anyone else. Besides, who except me and Falkner would know the Charter was in the chest?”

  “So Falkner knows.”

  “Of course. Why not. He lives here, and has lived here all his life and his father before him.”

  “It would be a serious matter for you if you lost the Charter?”

  “It could be very serious. If I was asked by the Treasury, or one of the other Government offices, to produce it, and was unable to do so, I might lose everything. It’s the only proof of our claim to the estate—and my pension, if it comes to that.”

  Biggles nodded. “Well, your visitor was unable to get the chest open, because if he had he wouldn’t be able to lock it again. To get inside he would have had to break it open, and to do that turned out to be a bit more than he bargained for. When we’re finished here you’d better hide that key very carefully. It might be worth considering putting the Charter somewhere else, too.”

  “How could anyone know the Charter was in here, even if we supposed someone wanted it?”

  “It looks to me as if someone has an idea there’s something valuable in the chest, anyway.”

  “There’s no money in it.”

  “A burglar isn’t to know that. He might not be after money.”

  “This is another complication,” muttered Leo.

  “Open the chest, and let’s make sure everything is all right inside,” requested Biggles. “This business may be even more complicated than you’ve realized.”

  “How?”

  “The fact of someone being able to get into the house any time he feels like it. If he knew where your bedroom was there might be an accident inside the house. Do you lock your bedroom door at night?”

  “Of course not. Why on earth should I?”

  “I’ve just been trying to tell you it might be a good thing from now on. But we’ll talk more about that presently. Get the chest opened.”

  Leo turned the locks one after the other, took out the padlocks and lifted the heavy lid, an operation that required the use of both hands. He allowed it to fall back so that the contents were exposed to view. A strange, musty aroma floated up from a pile of yellowish grey material that nearly filled the chest.

  “Phew! What a collection,” muttered Biggles.

  With great care Leo lifted the top object, a sheet of yellow-tinged parchment, and held it up for them to see. Rectangular in shape it was about two feet deep and half as wide. Almost as stiff as a piece of cardboard, it could be seen that one side was covered with small, beautifully formed writing, each letter clear and distinct. The first letter of each paragraph, of which there were several, was in red ink, illuminated with arabesques and scrolls. Affixed to the document by a broad piece of faded ribbon was a flat piece of lead, the size of half a crown, on which a device had been stamped.

  “The Charter,” said Leo. “The seal is that of Henry VII, the first Tudor monarch. That scrawl at the bottom is his signature. Thus did kings reward those who supported their cause.”

  Biggles and Bertie looked duly impressed. “Can you read it?” asked Biggles.

  “Some of it, with difficulty. It isn’t necessary. We have a version in modern English, a translation you might call it. I believe it was my grandfather who had it done.”

  Leo put the relic on one side and lifted out a heavy mass of parchments stitched together down one side.

  “What’s all this?” asked Biggles.

  “I suppose it could be called a book, but as far as I’m concerned it’s just a bunch of old sheepskins,” answered Leo, casually. “I know what it’s about. They’re old Common Pleas and Judgements, nearly as old as the Charter, covering several years. In other words they’re the records of local court proceedings, crimes, trials and punishments, interesting no doubt to an antiquarian. Apparently some of the early Landavilles were the judges who tried the cases and pronounced sentence. Somewhat different from today.”

  “Have you read them?” asked Bertie.

  “No. It would take months of work to put them in modern language. When I was a small boy my father brought along some professor chap, an expert at this sort of thing, who wanted to see them. One item I remember concerned a fellow named Derwen. He was sentenced in his absence to lupinium caput.”

  “What on earth did that mean?”

  “Wolf’s head. There were wolves about in those days, and as is done today with vermin a price was put on their heads. If a man was required by law to give himself up and failed to do so he was declared wolf’s head. That is, he became an outlaw, with the same price on his head as a wolf. Anyone could kill him on sight, anywhere, and
by taking his head to the sheriff collect the reward.”

  “Well, that was one way of getting rid of crooks,” averred Biggles. “But it doesn’t tell us what we want to know. Carry on, Leo.”

  Leo continued to dig into the contents of the chest, taking out parchment after parchment, and after a glance laying it on one side.

  “At this rate we shall be here all night,” remarked Biggles.

  Leo continued digging into the chest. “I haven’t an idea of what most of this stuff is about,” he confessed. “Some of it, I believe, is old household accounts. They’d make the modern housewife open her eyes. Three hundred years ago one could afford to keep plenty of servants. They didn’t get much in the way of wages, but what they did get went a long way. They were well fed. Beef, mutton and bacon were cheap and plentiful. Strong ale was a penny a gallon and eggs a penny a dozen. Even we could afford to keep twenty or thirty servants in those days. Now I’m down to one, and I’m lucky to have him. Were it not for the fact that his people have worked here for I don’t know how long he wouldn’t be likely to carry on for little more than his keep.”

  “I’m afraid we’re wasting our time,” decided Biggles, presently. “You were right, Leo, when you said this stuff wouldn’t help us. We can’t read it.”

  As Leo was returning the parchments to the chest Biggles picked up a small document that had fallen from between them. It was a single sheet, folded once, longways. Attached to it was a small piece of faded ribbon. It was covered with dust, and when he blew it off a small crest painted on the outside was exposed. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Looks like a piece of vellum.”

  “Vellum being the same material as parchment but of finer quality, I believe.”

  “That’s right.”

  Biggles opened, or unfolded, the document. There was nothing written on it. Not a word. He turned it over and held it to the light. “Nothing,” he said. “I don’t think there ever was anything on it. I’d say this is simply the case, to serve as an envelope, for something that was inside. A letter, probably. Hence the piece of tape. That was to tie it in. At least, that’s how it looks to me. Pity the whole thing isn’t here. As it is it isn’t much use to us. What this sheet contained may have held the thing we were looking for.”

  “The original Curse.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. Whose was this badge, I wonder. It looks like a buckled chevron with some loose gear wheels.”

  Leo stopped what he was doing to look. “It isn’t ours.”

  “How would you describe it ?” inquired Biggles.

  “Azure, between three mullets of five points argent, an embattled chevron d’or. In other words, on a blue ground, a castellated gold chevron between three silver mullets.”

  “I thought a mullet was a fish.”

  Leo smiled. “So it is, but not in heraldry. As heraldry started in France, or at any rate William the Conqueror and his lot brought it over here with them, the colours and so on were in French, and French they remained. The mullet is supposed to represent the rowel of a spur. Hence we have the hole in the middle. As a matter of detail, if I remember rightly, the number of mullets had something to do with the order of a son in a particular family. Thus, three mullets would be shown on the arms of a third son.”

  Shaking his head Biggles handed back the document. “I’m getting a bit out of my depth,” he admitted. “Just a minute, Leo, before you close the chest. I don’t want to appear an alarmist, but if I were you I’d put the Charter somewhere else. There must be plenty of places, not so obvious, where you could hide it.”

  Leo shrugged off the suggestion. “It’s been here close on 500 years without taking any harm so there seems no point in moving it now. If I move it I might forget where I put it, apart from which the mice might get at it. Here, I shall always know where it is.”

  “Please yourself. It’s your property.”

  Leo put the Charter in the chest. Having closed and locked it he stood up. “Let’s go and have a cup of tea,” he suggested. “I need a drink to wash the dust out of my mouth. I’ll put the key away and join you outside.”

  Reaching the dining-room he disappeared, leaving the others to make their own way to the chairs outside. Before sitting down Biggles stopped to look pensively at the shield over the door.

  “You seem very interested in that thing,” remarked Bertie.

  “Now the sun is lower and the light falls at a sharp angle one gets just the faintest impression of a shadow where the surface is uneven—that is, where there was a device before it was knocked off.”

  “What about it?”

  Biggles took a cigarette from his case and flicked his lighter. “That’s what I was wondering,” he replied, inconsequentially, as he dropped into a chair.

  Falkner appeared with a tray. “Tea, gentlemen,” he said respectfully.

  CHAPTER VI

  THE RAVEN CROAKS

  “You might pour me a cup,” Biggles said to Bertie as Falkner retired. “Leo won’t expect us to wait for him. He was right about going through the old oak chest being a dusty job. From time to time one reads of something interesting turning up in some old country house: now I’ve seen what Leo has packed away here I can understand it.”

  “What do you make of this business of someone breaking in?” asked Bertie, as he passed Biggles a cup of tea.

  “I don’t know,” answered Biggles, thoughtfully. “It may have nothing whatever to do with Leo’s reason for bringing us here. The man who entered may have been a common thief with no particular object in mind. Seeing the chest he’d naturally try to open it, having visions of finding it full of family plate. Against that someone may have come here looking for the chest. If that’s the right answer I would take it to mean that Leo is in greater danger than he supposes. His chief concern seems to be marriage and the risk of his eldest child being murdered. It doesn’t seem to have struck him that the murderer may not wait for that.”

  Bertie frowned. “That’s a bit grim. You really think so?”

  “I do, now that I know for certain that Charles’ death was not an accident. He had had his warning.”

  “You mean—the raven?”

  “Yes. It’s beyond human credulity that the only time this unholy bird is heard, death follows. Don’t ask me to believe that’s coincidence.”

  “You don’t think it is a bird.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I have an open mind about it. Either way I can only think it’s someone trying to put the wind up the next person on the list of victims. Apparently Leo hasn’t heard the infernal thing since his brother was murdered. If it should happen that he hears it he’ll have to take more precautions against sudden death than he’s taking at present. Maybe it’s because he was brought up with this curse hanging over him that he treats it less seriously than I do, hearing about it as a stranger.”

  “A case of familiarity breeding contempt.”

  “You could put it like that.”

  “Here’s Leo now,” said Bertie softly.

  Leo joined them. “Good. I see you’ve helped yourselves,” he said cheerfully. Having sat down he turned to Biggles. “You look worried.”

  “I don’t like this idea of a man being able to break into the house any time it suits him.”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do about that. To bar every window would take a long time and cost a small fortune.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of what might happen?”

  “Not particularly. I suppose that living the sort of life I’ve had to live here makes one a fatalist. You can’t dodge your destiny. When my time comes I shall die, and not before.”

  “That may be a logical argument but I wouldn’t accept it.”

  “What would you do? How does one escape from a curse when it operates as well as ours has?”

  “Curse! Fiddlesticks! If you’re killed it won’t be by hocus-pocus. It’ll be by a lethal weapon; and I’d take precautions to delay that as long as possible. Which re
minds me. You were always convinced that Charles had been murdered, shot by a weapon of the same calibre as the one he carried.”

  “Yes. A twenty-two rifle.”

  “Not necessarily a rifle. But that isn’t the point I’m trying to make. To carry either pistol or rifle would require a firearms certificate, and they’re checked periodically by the police. After Charles’ death did you make any inquiries about firearm certificates held by local people?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It didn’t occur to me to do so. Not that it would have been much use, anyway. In a rural district like this there might be dozens. How would I know the murderer? He might never have applied for a certificate.”

  “I suppose there’s something in that, although the police have their own methods of checking. But let it pass. In your place I’d want to know who was getting into the house.”

  “How could I stop him?”

  “I didn’t say stop him. For reasons that you’ve explained that would be practically impossible. But there’s no reason why you shouldn’t know when he was entering the house.”

  “I don’t feel like sitting up all night and every night waiting for him.”

  “That wouldn’t be necessary. We could arrange something. When you’ve finished your tea I’ll show you what I mean. By the way, if your invitation to sleep here still stands I’d like to accept it.”

  “You think I need a bodyguard?” Leo looked amused.

  Biggles’ expression hardened. “It’s time you took this a little more seriously. A thief has been in your house once and he didn’t get what he came for. That being so, the chances are he’ll come again, better equipped for the job. I’d like to have a look at him.”

  “All right. I’d be delighted if you’d stay. I haven’t many friends, and those I have seem to fight shy of the place. It’ll be a change to have someone to talk to.”

  “If it comes to that it makes a nice change for me to be able to sit in peace and quiet without breathing petrol vapour or having telephones jangling all day. So we’re both happy. Now, if you’ve finished your tea you can point out the windows of the room we were in just now— the one with the chest. All I know is, it’s on the first floor overlooking the front.”