Biggles Sets a Trap

by W E Johns

  “I shall get orders about that when I’ve made my report.”

  “All this will give Warren time to bolt.”

  “He won’t do that. Why should he? He can’t have the slightest suspicion that what he has been doing is known to the police. He knows nothing about the evidence I’ve collected. Besides, he has too much at stake here.”

  “What about me? This delay will give him another chance to bump me off.”

  “I don’t think you need worry about that. Once he knows the game is up, and he’s likely to know that within the next few hours, he won’t dare to make another move. How goes the time?” Biggles looked at his watch. “Half past four. Now we’ve had the thing out on the carpet there’s nothing more we can do, so we might as well turn in for two or three hours.”

  “Are you taking me with you when you go to the village or do you want me to stay here ?”

  “You can come if you like. We shall use my car. You might like to have a word with Diana while we’re at the telephone, maybe make an appointment to meet her somewhere.”

  “Am I allowed to tell her what you’ve told me?”

  “I shall leave to your discretion how much you tell her. You can trust her to behave sensibly. She’s in my confidence to some extent already, as she’ll probably admit when she knows how much I’ve told you.”

  “Good. I feel a lot better now we’ve got this grisly business in the open.”

  “So do I. Now let’s get to bed.”

  CHAPTER XIII

  DEATH CALLS A TRUCE

  IT was shortly after nine o’clock when the police car left the Hall for Ringlesby village. Leo had accepted Biggles’ invitation to go with them, chiefly because it would give him an opportunity to make contact with Diana, if only on the telephone. It looked like being a fair day. The storm had passed, although signs of the gale were plentiful in the shape of windblown leaves and branches.

  The car had covered about half the distance to its objective when a group of workmen could be seen ahead handling some tackle, and a notice proclaiming one way traffic caused Biggles to slow down. A uniformed A.A. scout raised a hand and brought the car to a stop. By that time the cause of the hold-up was evident. There had been an accident, and judging from the state of a car upside down in the ditch, a nasty one. The workmen were sawing up a tree that had fallen across the road and dragging away the debris to clear it for traffic that was beginning to pile up. The operations were being watched by a police constable.

  Biggles got out and walked up to him, but even before he spoke he had noted the number of the car. It was the Mercedes which according to Leo belonged to Warren the innkeeper. He was shocked but not particularly surprised. Although what had happened was plain enough to see, as he showed the constable his police badge he automatically asked the question “What’s happened here?”

  The police officer shook his head. “A real bad smash,” he said. “Tree across the road and the car must have gone slap into it. Just look at that car. That’ll give you an idea of the speed it must have been going. Sixty miles an hour at least the A.A. chap reckons. Can’t understand a man in his right mind going at such a rate when he must have known what sort of night it was.”

  “Do you know who he was?” asked Biggles, to confirm what he supposed.

  “Yes. Mr. Warren, of The Spurs public house in the village.”

  “Was he alone in the car?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he badly hurt?”

  “They tell me he’s dead. Died before they could get him to hospital. I’ve told Warren’s sister who kept house for him.”

  “When did this happen; do you know?”

  “It must have been in the early hours. It was the driver of the regular milk collecting lorry who found him. He turned round and came for me. He couldn’t get through, of course, what with the car and the tree all mixed up across the road. We’re clearing it as fast as we can to open it up.”

  “Well, some people ask for it,” sighed Biggles.

  “They certainly do,” agreed the constable.

  Biggles went back to his seat and the policeman waved him on. He said not a word until he had covered about a quarter of a mile when he pulled in and stopped tight against the verge. Then he said, simply: “That was Warren’s car. He’s dead.”

  There was silence for what must have been nearly half a minute. Then from Bertie: “So now what?”

  “As you say, now what?” returned Biggles. “We seem to have solved one problem to be faced with another. What you might call an anti-climax. I haven’t had much time to think about it, but taking everything by and large it may be the best thing that could have happened —for everyone concerned.” Turning in his seat he spoke directly to Leo. “The way Warren died may not give you much satisfaction, but as there’s nothing you can do with a dead man except bury him this will save the police a lot of work and you a lot of ugly publicity. As I see it now Warren closed his own case.”

  “What about his sister?”

  “She’s been told. The wretched woman will be feeling as if the sky has fallen on her head. There’s nothing much I can do. I’ve no evidence against her. I mean, it would be difficult to prove that she was in full collusion with her brother in what he was doing. In fact, she may not have been.”

  “She might still be dangerous... vindictive.”

  “I can’t see why she should be. We had nothing to do with what has happened to her brother although of course between ourselves we know why he was driving too fast on such a night. She must realize that. And as far as The Curse is concerned, if her brother was the last of the male line of De Warines what purpose could there be in going on with it? I feel inclined to call on her and have a heart to heart chat. When she knows who I am, and what I know, under the shock she may be prepared to make a confession. If she’ll do that, and give an undertaking never to molest you again, Leo, I’d feel inclined to let things end like that. The Curse is dead, and there’s nothing to be gained by stirring up a lot of muddy water.”

  “But is The Curse dead?”

  “How can it be otherwise? If there’s only Julia left of the De Warines what can she do? When she knows the police are wise as to what’s been going on she’ll also realize that at the first sign of active hostility they’ll be on her like a ton of bricks. Anyway, for a start I’ll have a word with her to see how she shapes. It isn’t a very nice time to call but the sooner the whole miserable business is cleared up the better for everyone.”

  So saying Biggles drove on and did not stop again until he pulled up outside the village post office. “Bertie, you ring the Chief and tell him what has happened. Say I’m going to interview Warren’s sister and that I’ll report back to him as soon as possible. After you’ve done that Leo can have a word with Diana. When you’ve both finished you can walk to The Spurs. You’ll find the car outside. Wait for me there.”

  Bertie and Leo got out and Biggles went on to the tavern.

  As it was not yet opening time the door was of course closed, but a ring of the bell brought Julia herself to it. Her face was white, but she showed no other sign of emotion. She looked composed. There were no tears.

  Biggles said: “I am a police officer. I am sorry to trouble you at a time like this; but it is important, in your interest as well as mine, that we should have a little talk. There are a few questions I think you could answer for me.”

  “Come in.”

  Biggles followed her into a comfortably furnished sitting-room.

  “Please sit down,” she invited. “I will help you as much as I can.”

  Biggles sat, and when she was settled in a chair facing him he began: “Am I right in thinking your real name is De Warine?”

  “You are quite right,” she agreed, speaking in a flat voice.

  “Thank you,” acknowledged Biggles. “That simplifies my task. I have been staying at the Hall, and I may as well tell you right away that I know a good deal about the feud that has gone on between your family and the
Landavilles. We needn’t go into the details of that because you probably know more about them than I do. Let us come to the present. You know where your brother had been last night when he met with the accident on the way home?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you in agreement with what he hoped to do? I know what that was.”

  “No. I tried to dissuade him. It was no use. He always had his own way.”

  “Had the accident not happened he would today have been arrested on a charge of attempted murder, if not actual murder. I had all the evidence I needed and I have in my pocket a warrant to search this house. As you are being frank with me I hope that will not now be necessary. One of the things I expected to find was a twenty-two calibre firearm, but I already have it. Your brother dropped it in his haste to get away from the Hall when he found me waiting for him.”

  “So you knew who it was?”

  “Yes. I already had his finger-prints. They were on a tool he left behind at the Hall. They are on his revolver. His car was seen in the drive by my assistant. But these matters need not concern you if you will answer this question. Was it you or your brother who killed Charles Landaville?”

  She winced at that. “It was my brother.”

  “Did you have anything to do with it?”

  “No. I did my best to prevent it. I could see no object in it, and always I had a feeling that the pursuance of the feud would end in trouble for us.”

  “Have you ever killed, or helped to kill, anyone?”

  “Never.”

  “What about the raven?”

  “So you know about that, too. Yes, we have one, and I’ll admit I sometimes carried it. I had to.”

  “What was the object of this, the origin of the raven?”

  “Didn’t Sir Leofric tell you that?”

  “He doesn’t know.”

  “Then the Landavilles must have forgotten. I’m not sure about the details myself, but as I understand it there was some connexion between ravens and the beheading of a De Warine at the Tower of London for which in some way the Landavilles were responsible. There may have been ravens present at the execution. Anyhow, with us ravens have always been part of the tradition. We were brought up to hate the Landavilles and with my brother it was an obsession. To him they were usurpers. He was not an easy man to live with. He was intensely proud of his lineage. He had a blazer with our arms on the pocket.”

  “Was he wearing this when he shot Charles Landaville?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Because that crest must have been the last thing Charles Landaville saw before he died. He mistook the mullets for stars. What was your brother’s object in trying to open the chest in the Hall?”

  “He always supposed the original Charter would be there. He thought if he could get it and destroy it the Landavilles would lose their title to the property; in which case, as we hold a deed from William the Conqueror making the De Warines tenants in capite we might reclaim it. Henry VII was a usurper and had no right to take it from us.”

  “In those days kings could do anything. Now tell me this. What was the idea of shooting at Miss Mortimore?”

  Julia frowned, her eyes searching Biggles’ face. “Was she shot at?”

  “Yes. Didn’t you know?”

  “No. This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  “Can you think of any reason why your brother should try to kill her?”

  “No. That is...”

  “What?”

  “Well, a thought comes into my mind. A few days ago when I was trying to persuade my brother to bury his dreadful passion for revenge I did say to him it was a pity the quarrel couldn’t be settled by marriage, as was so often done in days gone by. He pointed out there could be no question of me marrying a Landaville if for no other reason than Sir Leofric was more or less engaged to Miss Mortimore.”

  “And you think he might have decided to—er—remove her, to make marriage possible?”

  “I can think of no other reason. My brother’s actions were quite unpredictable. The feud was the dominant factor in his life. He lived for nothing else. How do I stand in this matter? You might as well tell me the worst. Nothing matters much to me now. I’m only glad it’s all over.”

  Biggles hesitated. “Well, a case might be made against you as an accessory. But we needn’t go into that now. You must understand that at this moment I am only expressing my personal opinion. The final decision will be taken by a higher authority. But I would like to satisfy myself on this point right away. Will you give me an undertaking never again to interfere with the Landavilles in any way whatsoever?”

  “Willingly. I’m glad the whole thing is over.”

  “Will you write out a statement—not now, later will do —describing briefly to the best of your knowledge what has been going on here? You are under no obligation to do this.”

  “Why do you want it?”

  “As a guarantee of your good faith. The statement would be filed with my report on the case. It is unlikely that it would ever be used.”

  “Very well. I will do that.”

  “Thank you. Have you made any plans for the immediate future?”

  “No. I haven’t had time to think about that.”

  “Very well. You can let me know in due course what you intend to do. For the moment I must ask you to remain here in case my headquarters wishes to make further inquiries.”

  “I’m not likely to go away. All I have in the world is here.”

  “Have you ever met Sir Leofric Landaville?”

  “I know him by sight. We’ve never spoken.”

  “He’s a nice lad. It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you apologized to him for what’s been going on and told him personally that as far as you’re concerned the past is dead and done with.”

  She looked a little wistful at that. “Do you think he’d be prepared to let bygones be bygones?”

  “If he’s the sort of man I think he is, yes. A load of unforgiving hatred isn’t a nice thing to carry about all your life. I’m willing to speak to him about it. He’s outside now.”

  “He knows the truth about this?”

  “I told him early this morning.”

  “Has he brought a charge against me?”

  “Not yet. He’s hardly had time to go into that.”

  “Then I’d be grateful if you would speak to him. I’d rather face him now than have him glare at me every time we passed each other; and if I stay here that’s bound to happen.”

  “Excuse me a moment.”

  Biggles went out to the car in which Bertie and Leo were waiting. To Leo he said: “I’ve come in the nature of a peace maker. Miss De Warine has confessed to everything we suspected. Her brother was the root of the mischief. She says she was against it and tried to put an end to the miserable business; and I feel sure she’s sincere. If you’ll meet her she’d like to apologize and give you her assurance that as far as she is concerned the family feud is dead and buried.”

  Leo looked at Biggles with doubtful eyes. “Would you advise this?”

  “I would. People with a pedigree as long as yours can afford to be generous. Anybody can, if it comes to that, when the other man is down and out. At this moment the lady has plenty of grief on her plate.”

  “What would Diana say about this?”

  “When she’s married to you, she, too, could afford to be charitable.”

  “Very well,” agreed Leo, although a trifle stiffly.

  He got out of the car and Biggles took him through to the sitting-room where the sole surviving member of the De Warine family stood waiting.

  Biggles introduced them as if the meeting was nothing out of the ordinary. All he said was: “This is something that should have been done a long time ago.”

  Julia said, simply: “I’m sorry. I can’t say more now, except that for me it’s all over.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” returned Leo.

  “Shake hands on it so that I can bear witness to that,” reque
sted Biggles. “In future you should be able to look each other in the face when you meet, and for people who have been entitled to wear armorial bearings for as long as you have that is how it should be. That’s enough to go on with. We needn’t prolong what must be an awkward moment for both of you.”

  Taking Leo by the arm Biggles led him back to the car. They got in without a word. The car went on.

  After a little while Biggles said: “Have you arranged to meet Diana?”

  “She’s coming to the house.”

  “That’s fine,” declared Biggles cheerfully. “When are you going to get married?”

  “That’s what we’re going to talk about.”

  “In that case you won’t need any more advice from me. We’ll press on back to Scotland Yard where I shall probably get the cane for exceeding my official duties.”

  Biggles drove on, whistling softly.

  THE END

  Table of Contents

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter I: Biggles Has a Visitor

  Chapter II: Coincidence - or What?

  Chapter III: Stranger Than Fiction

  Chapter IV: So it was Murder

  Chapter V: The Old Oak Chest

  Chapter VI: The Raven Croaks

  Chapter VII: A Lady Asks Some Questions

  Chapter VIII: A Glimmer of Daylight

  Chapter IX: At the Sign of the Spurs

  Chapter X: Warning for Diana

  Chapter XI: A Near Miss

  Chapter XII: Biggles Explains

  Chapter XIII: Death Calls a Truce