Biggles Goes Alone

by W E Johns

  Biggles did not disclose his own occupation, seeing no reason to do so.

  Such was the situation when the tranquillity of the village, and of the hotel, was shattered by an event which, while at first it left Biggles unperturbed, had the effect on the little community that might be expected when sudden death rears its ugly head.

  CHAPTER III

  DEATH COMES TO POLSTOW

  Although he was unaware of it the first indication Biggles had of something wrong was the arrival of a police car with three officers, a Chief Superintendent, a sergeant and the local policeman whom he knew by sight. At the moment they pulled up at the hotel he was hanging his swimming costume on the rail of the terrace to dry in the hot sun. He paid little attention, assuming the visit to be a courtesy call. But as time went on, and the police, who had gone into the hotel, did not reappear, he began to wonder if there was more to it than he had imagined. But at the most he did not visualise anything worse than a lost object, perhaps a theft.

  When the police did emerge they had with them Paul Graveson. They were followed by the lad’s father, in a state of distress, and his mother, who was in tears and on the verge of hysterics. The car drove off, the police taking Paul with them. The parents hurried back into the hotel.

  Biggles lit a cigarette and waited for some explanation of this strange event, although the obvious one was that the boy had been involved in a car accident.

  It was brought by Captain Gower. He, too, appeared agitated, and still, apparently unaware of it, had his table napkin in his hand.

  “What’s going on?” asked Biggles, casually, but with pardonable curiosity.

  “It’s Vera. Vera Harrington.”

  “What about her?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “You mean, she’s been killed in an accident?” To Biggles the sudden death of a young, active and presumably healthy girl, couldn’t mean anything else. “How did it happen, and where?”

  “How did what happen?”

  “The accident.”

  “I didn’t say anything about an accident.”

  “Then what are you talking about?”

  Captain Gower made a grimace and regarded Biggles with eyes eloquent with sinister significance. “The police don’t seem to think it was an accident, anyway.”

  Biggles looked puzzled. “What are you hinting at? Out with it, man.”

  “There seems to be a doubt as to how the girl died.”

  “What’s Paul Graveson got to do with it?”

  “Why do you suppose the police have taken him away?”

  Biggles stared. “You’re not going to tell me she’s been—murdered!”

  “That’s evidently what the police think.”

  “For heaven’s sake! And they suspect Paul Graveson—”

  Gower nodded sombrely. “That’s it.”

  “How was she killed?”

  “The police are not sure of that yet.”

  “I don’t understand. Can’t you be a bit more explicit? If the girl had been murdered how could there be any doubt about it? There’d be signs of violence.”

  “I gather the police haven’t so far found anything like that.”

  “Then why this talk of murder?”

  “What else could it be? The police have taken young Graveson to Truro for further questioning. That should tell you the lines they’re thinking on. I always knew that boy was no good.”

  “It’s a bit early to talk like that. Why should they suspect him?”

  “Because it appears he was the last person to see her alive.”

  “How was that?”

  “He was at the Thatched House late last night.”

  “What about the woman who lived with Vera—her housekeeper, or whatever she was.”

  “What about her?”

  “Wasn’t she in the house?”

  “Miss Lewis. Yes, she was there, but she says she went to bed shortly after she’d let Paul in. Vera was all right then. There’d been nothing wrong with her all day. She says Paul was still there, talking to Vera, when she went up to her room. When she took up her early morning cup of tea, there she was, lying dead on the floor.”

  “Where?”

  “In her bedroom. Miss Lewis had thought there must be something wrong because when she came down, the first thing she saw was the sitting-room lamp still burning, having been on all night. The light in Vera’s bedroom was still on, too.”

  “What did Miss Lewis do?”

  “She rushed over to the Post Office and told Mrs. Hayward. She phoned for the police and a doctor. My God! What a carry-on, in a quiet place like this.”

  “Where did you get all this information?”

  “The Paynes have just told me. No one’s talking of anything else.”

  “So I can imagine.”

  At this juncture Major Payne appeared. He, too, not unnaturally, looked upset and harassed. “This is a nice business,” he muttered grimly. He looked at Biggles. “You’ve heard Vera has been found dead?”

  “Captain Gower has just told me. How much do you know about it?”

  “Paul has been taken to Truro to make a statement; then the police are coming back to question everyone. Meanwhile no one may leave the hotel.”

  Biggles was now taking more interest. “I don’t quite get the hang of all this. According to Gower there were no signs of violence on the body.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then why all the fuss? There’s nothing unusual about people dying sudden deaths.”

  “Mostly old people.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Well, I can’t believe that a girl of Vera’s age, as fit as a fiddle, never a day’s illness in her life, could just drop dead. The police don’t believe it, either. No, she didn’t die a natural death.”

  “How about an accident?”

  “How could she die by accident in a house that size, with no gas or electricity? She didn’t fall down the stairs, and it’s unlikely that such a fall would have killed her if she had. There’d be signs of it. She was found on the floor of her bedroom.”

  “Well, what’s the answer?”

  “There can only be one. She was killed, somehow, by someone.”

  “All right. So she was killed. What was the motive? People rarely commit murder for no reason at all. Had she got any valuable jewellery?”

  “I don’t think so, I’ve never seen any.”

  “Did she keep a lot of money in the house?”

  “She hadn’t a lot to keep. I know that because she’s often said so. Her mother, who died about a year ago, left her comfortably off, but nothing more than that, except the house she lived in. According to the doctor Vera had been dead for hours when he examined her. She was still in the clothes she’d worn the previous evening so she must have died overnight, before she went to bed. It was Miss Lewis who told the police that young Paul was there late.”

  “What have they done with the body?”

  “Taken it to Truro for autopsy.”

  “What has Paul to say about this? Does he admit he was there?”

  “He couldn’t deny it. Miss Lewis let him in. That was at ten o’clock. Moreover, he left his gloves there. The police brought them here and showed them to him. He said they were his. He must have left them at the Thatched House.”

  “How did he take this news?”

  “He was just finishing his breakfast when the police walked in. They brought him into my office rather than talk in front of the other guests. He seemed stunned, thunderstruck, when they told him Vera was dead. All he could say was: ‘I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it.’ He seemed unable to grasp it. Neither could I if it comes to that. He swears she was perfectly normal and in the best of spirits when he left her.”

  “Why did he go to the house at that hour, anyway? Surely it was a bit late to make a call?”

  “He says she’d be expecting him. There was nothing unusual about it. He could drop in at any time. He’s often seen her
home at eleven o’clock and after when she’s dined here with us.”

  “I believe he was, or hoped to be, more than friendly with her.”

  “He made no secret that he was infatuated with her. He’d proposed marriage, but she’d put him off by saying she was too old for him. She was twenty-four although she didn’t look it. This, of course, was before she became engaged.”

  “Oh! So she was engaged?”

  “Yes. To a naval officer she’d known all her life.”

  “Paul knew about that?”

  “Of course. She wore an engagement ring.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “There appeared to be no hard feelings. They remained the best of friends.”

  “Where’s this naval type now?”

  “I believe he’s at sea with his ship.”

  “Have Vera’s relatives been told what has happened?”

  “If she has any she’s never mentioned them to us.”

  “Were you in the room when the police questioned Paul?”

  “Yes. The Superintendent had already got a statement from Miss Lewis, and Mrs. Hayward at the Post Office.”

  “What had Paul to say?”

  “His story was this. In the late afternoon he went to Truro to get some tobacco for his father who smokes a brand you can’t get in the village. That was true because he brought the tobacco home and gave it to his father. He said he asked Vera to go with him but she said she couldn’t because she had some work to do in connexion with the Flower Show. In Truro he filled up with petrol and bought Vera a box of the chocolates she particularly liked. On the way back he’d stopped at a nursery garden to buy her some flowers.”

  “Why buy flowers? Had Vera none in her garden?”

  “Nothing to speak of.”

  Captain Gower interposed: “That wouldn’t be the same thing, anyway. Because a woman has flowers in her garden doesn’t stop her being flattered if a man takes her some.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Biggles told him. “You probably know more about that sort of thing than I do.”

  Major Payne resumed. “Paul says he didn’t drop the presents in as he passed her house on the way home because it was getting late and he wanted to take a bath before dinner. He told Vera he’d bring her some chocolates so she knew he’d be along some time. It didn’t matter when.”

  “But taking them later would give him more time with her.”

  “Of course. That may have been the intention. When he came back to the hotel from Truro he didn’t bring the chocolates and flowers in with him. He left them in the car. After dinner he took them along. I myself saw him go out and I looked at the time. It was just half past nine. I mentioned it.”

  “Did he go in the car?”

  “No. The Superintendent asked him that. He said it seemed hardly worth while. It’s no distance to the Thatched House. It was a fine night, anyway, and as he felt like stretching his legs he walked up. Miss Lewis let him in and remarked that she was just going to bed. She’s in bed regularly by ten o’clock. Paul says he didn’t see her again. He stayed talking to Vera for half an hour. She gave him a glass of sherry and had one herself. That appears to be true because Miss Lewis told the police that when she came down this morning the glasses were still on the table. So were the roses and the chocolates. The box had been opened. The lid was off and she noticed that some of the chocolates had gone. Paul says they both ate one or two. When he left she saw him to the door. Her last words to him were she was going to put the roses in water and then go to bed.”

  “What time was that?”

  “He left the house about a couple of minutes after ten-thirty.”

  “That would be right if he says he stayed with Vera only half an hour. How could he be so exact about the time he left?”

  “The Superintendent also asked him that. He said because Vera called attention to the time, which he look to be a hint that he’d stayed long enough. He looked at the clock and saw it was half past ten. He left almost immediately and arrived back at the hotel at twenty to eleven. He went straight to bed. His parents confirm that because they were waiting for him to come in and they all went upstairs together.”

  Biggles tapped the ash off his cigarette. “If Paul’s story is true it should be easy enough to confirm. The post mortem should iron out any mystery. It sounds to me like a heart attack.”

  “I hope you’re right, otherwise it looks as if that young man will have some difficult questions to answer,” put in Captain Gower, stiffly.

  Biggles frowned. “What are you implying?”

  “Er—well—”

  “Are you suggesting that Paul murdered her?”

  “It looks that way to me.”

  “You’re prejudiced. You don’t like the boy.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. The way he speaks to his mother sometimes makes me want to clout him.”

  “How he speaks to his mother doesn’t make him guilty of murder.”

  “So you don’t think he did it?”

  “Murder has yet to be proved. If it is, where do we look for the motive? Paul was in love with the girl, or he thought he was, which comes to the same thing. We may call it calf-love, but lads of that age can get it badly.”

  “If he’d got it as badly as that the motive might have been jealousy.”

  “Jealousy of what, or whom?”

  “On account of Vera’s engagement.”

  Biggles shook his head. “No. That won’t do.”

  “Why not?”

  “When jealousy is a motive for murder you don’t have to look for signs of it. A jealous man kills in the heat of anger, usually after a quarrel. He may shoot, stab, strangle or use his fists, or possibly the first weapon that comes to hand; and you can’t kill anyone like that without leaving marks to show how it was done.”

  “Apparently the police have found nothing of that sort,” put in Major Payne.

  Biggles resumed. “Had there been a row voices would have been raised. Had there been a scuffle, or a cry for help such as a girl would naturally make if she was attacked, in a cottage that size Miss Lewis must have heard it—that is, unless she’s deaf or an exceptionally heavy sleeper. Tell me this. Was there any indication of the house having been broken into?”

  Major Payne answered. “No. Miss Lewis says when she came down she found everything locked up as usual. Door bolted, windows fastened, and so on. Vera, always being the last to go to bed, attended to that herself.”

  “How about poison?” murmured Captain Gower. “That wouldn’t leave any marks—anyhow, not on the outside of the body.”

  “How would it be administered?”

  “Perhaps in the sherry.”

  “Nonsense. It was Vera’s own sherry. As hostess she’d pour it out herself. It’s hard to see how anyone else could have had access to it, except, of course, Miss Lewis; in which case Paul would have had a dose, too.”

  “What about the chocolates? Remember, Paul brought them home with him before he took them to her.”

  “Are you suggesting that he doctored them?”

  “He might have done. He had the opportunity.”

  “Oh, come now, wait a minute, skipper,” reproved Biggles gently. “You shouldn’t jump to such conclusions without a shred of evidence to support them. A man’s life may be at stake. Murder by poison is not a method employed to kill on the spur of the moment, it’s the result of a lot of thought and careful planning. People may walk about with a gun or a knife on them but they don’t carry poison in their pockets. A man contemplating that sort of crime must first get the fatal dose from somewhere, and that isn’t easy. It must come from a source that can’t be traced to him, and that implies deliberate cold-blooded premeditation. Can you see Paul Graveson behaving like that, so utterly callous, because I can’t. Assuming he was capable of working out and carrying out such a damnable scheme would he be such a fool as to go about the business openly, scattering clues right and left, letting everyone know he was going
to call on Vera and aware that Miss Lewis would let him in? That doesn’t make sense to me. And if it comes to that we’ve only Miss Lewis’ word for her part of the story. How long has she been with Vera?”

  Major Payne answered. “All her life. She nursed her as a baby. She loved the girl like her own child. She’s nearly out of her mind. We needn’t think about her. She’s in the clear.”

  “You’re probably right; but don’t overlook that that sort of love can be capable of almost insane jealousy.”

  Biggles stubbed his cigarette. “We’re going too fast, though, on what little information we have. I suggest we drop the subject until the police have produced evidence as to the cause of the unfortunate girl’s death.”

  Major Payne agreed. “Paul’s a queer chap in some ways but he doesn’t look the type to kill anything larger than a butterfly.”

  “Looks are nothing to go on,” stated Biggles. “But here are the police back. I see they’ve brought Paul with them, so it doesn’t look as if they’re going to hold him in custody. Presumably they haven’t enough evidence for that.”

  “They’re going to question everyone in the hotel,” said Major Payne.

  Biggles smiled faintly. “In that case I hope we’ve all got a cast iron alibi.”

  “They also said something about searching Paul’s room,” went on Major Payne. “I believe they still want to question one or two people in the village.”

  “Who, for instance?”

  “Mick Trelawny for one. They couldn’t get hold of him this morning. He was out in his boat going round his lobster pots.”

  “Why him?”

  “He’s been friendly with Vera for a long time and often takes her in a fish.”

  “There was some talk in the village about those two at one time,” offered Gower, meaningly. “People seemed to think they were getting a sight too friendly.”

  “In a place this size a man and a woman have only to be seen together once or twice to set tongues wagging,” sneered Biggles.

  “In fine weather she’s been known to go out with him, baiting the lobster pots.”

  “And why the devil shouldn’t she?” demanded Biggles, irritably. “There’s little enough to do here, in all conscience.”