Free Death of an Airman by Christopher St. John Sprigg

there in the afternoon.”
    The Inspector groaned. The case seemed infernally free from any loophole for suspicion. He walked thoughtfully away.
    The interview with Miss Sackbut was a little wearing. She returned with insistence to the point that the enquiries he was making were entirely irrelevant. The Inspector possessed himself in patience and extracted from her a confirmation of the stories of the other three. Furnace’s body had been put in the hangar. She had never left it until the Bishop relieved her.
    It was only then that the Inspector told her, as if incidentally, of their discovery.
    â€œYou see, it’s all very difficult, miss. Major Furnace wasn’t killed by the crash. He was shot afterwards.”
    â€œShot!” exclaimed Sally, turning white. “Do you mean murdered?”
    The Inspector nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
    â€œThen he wasn’t dead when he was pulled out?”
    â€œIt seems so.”
    â€œPoor George. We might have saved him. Oh, why didn’t we try—”
    The Inspector interrupted. “No; from what the doctor says, he wouldn’t have lived anyway. That makes it all the more extraordinary, miss.”
    â€œOh, something is wrong!” exclaimed Sally. “For there were several of us with him up to the time he was put in the hangar. And then I was with him until the Bishop relieved me.”
    â€œExactly, miss,” said the Inspector. Their eyes met, Sally’s sad, distracted, surprised; the Inspector’s sharp and inscrutable. Then the Inspector made his exit.
    Early next morning he left Baston for London and walked from Victoria to Gwydyr House. He climbed the stairs to the Department of the Inspector of Accidents thoughtfully. A lot depended on the clues he could pick up here, but after Flying Officer Felix Sandwich had listened carefully to his story his hopes were dashed.
    â€œI’m sorry, Inspector,” said the expert, “but I can’t hold out any hope at all. This was one of the few cases where we could be extremely sure about what happened. The machine was not much damaged by the spin and, in addition, it was watched by several people who were themselves pilots. The aircraft spun into the ground in an absolutely normal way. The engine had been deliberately throttled down and was in perfect condition. The control cables were unbroken and there was no sign of jamming. All the main members were structurally intact except for damage which could only have been caused by the accident. Quite frankly, I shouldn’t waste any more time over any theory that includes the idea of sabotage. Either there was an error of judgment or a deliberate act. But the machine was in no way to blame.”
    More thoughtful than ever, the Inspector returned to Baston.
    He explained his doubts and difficulties to the Bishop with almost complete candour. The Bishop was recovering from a painful argument with Miss Sackbut, who, for some reason known only to herself, had decided that the Bishop was to blame for the whole deplorable affair. His episcopal blandness had been nearly shattered by her recriminations, and he had preserved his even temper with difficulty. While reproaching Miss Sackbut for her unreasonableness, he appeared to show a trace of the same failing by passing the blame on to the Inspector.
    â€œI intended to go down and break the news gently to her,” he said to Creighton. “It must have come as a shock to her when you blurted it out. What on earth did you want to rush down like that for?”
    â€œPure thoughtlessness, I’m afraid, my lord,” said Creighton innocently.
    â€œWell, it’s done now. What is the present position, if I may ask, Inspector?”
    â€œUndoubtedly the three men, Ness, Vane, and Randall, were together until the body passed into Miss Sackbut’s care. No one, I understand, approached it during that time, and she was subsequently relieved by you. I take it you