Death of an Airman
Page 24
The Bishop bowed his head. “She was too clever for me even at the last. She—escaped. The coast-guards must look out for her body.”
Sally was looking at him with a strange intentness. “When was this?”
“About half an hour ago.”
“I think Tommy Vane must have known. For it was just half an hour ago when they were leading him away. Suddenly he gave a shout and broke away from the policemen who were holding him. God knows how he got free! He ran across the aerodrome and then, whether by accident or on purpose, I don’t know, he ran into a propeller.…He was killed instantly.…”
He looked at her. He suddenly observed that her face was white with horror. The Bishop began to shake off the nightmare of his trip with Lady Laura and to realize again the existence of an exterior world.
“I must ’phone Creighton,” he said; “stay here, Sally.”
***
Next day he looked in to see Sally and found her on a deserted flying-field.
“Well, that’s the end!” he said with forced cheerfulness. “The police have made a clean sweep of everything. The organization is broken up. I suppose things will resume their old placid way at Baston? You know, I expect, that my leave is nearly up, and I shall soon have to return to my diocese?”
To his surprise, Sally suddenly burst into tears. Never having seen her anything but pugnacious and imperturbable, it gave him a shock.
“The same old way! Do you think I can ever go on with Baston? I’m not fit to be left in charge of a club. And I thought that I was so clever and good at managing things!”
“But, Sally, you have done splendid work here,” he faltered.
“What, when all the time I was helping a gang of criminals without knowing it, and letting my instructors be murdered and the club ’planes crashed, and the club’s name be ruined! How can I possibly hold up my head again? If only I had had my wits about me all these terrible things would never have happened. But I’m just a little conceited fool.” She searched dimly for a handkerchief and, being unable to find one, accepted the Bishop’s large square of linen.
“My dear girl,” he began again.
“I’m not a girl,” she snivelled. “I’m over thirty—I’m thirty-five—and it is too late for me to do anything else. I don’t think I’m really good at anything, not even flying. And I used to be so pleased with myself.…Oh, why did I ever come to this wretched place!”
This gave the Bishop an opportunity to make a suggestion which he had meditated for many days. Only his timidity and his knowledge of Sally’s commitments with her club had prevented him from speaking before.
“I have come to the conclusion I shall never make a pilot,” he said, indicating with a gesture the damaged machine in the hangar, which had been towed there from Sankport. “But as you know, I have a ’plane out in Australia and if I could have a pilot to fly it for me…In short, if you would accept…” He became confused. “I know you are fond of flying, and that’s why I mention it, though, of course—”
“Oh, I should simply love to go out to Australia with you!” Sally said enthusiastically. “But although I would make quite a good aerial chauffeur, what about the scandal of a Bishop’s woman pilot? Are you married?”
“I am not,” he answered slowly; “but there would hardly be any scandal, Sally, if you were to do me the honour of accepting the proposal I am making. For, when you interrupted me, I was about to ask you to be my wife.…”
***
…Which explains why the Flying Bishop of Cootamundra (as he is known), and his wife, have a horror of detective novels.
“It reads all right in a book,” the Bishop will explain, “but it’s dreadful if you encounter it in real life.”
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