Free Death of an Airman by Christopher St. John Sprigg Page A

noticed nothing suspicious before then yourself?”
    â€œNo; and he was certainly dead when I saw him, for I looked at him fairly closely.”
    â€œQuite. Now here is the position,” said Creighton frankly. “We are faced with two very difficult problems. First, I am assured by the Air Ministry that either the crash was accidental or it was suicide. We must rule out the question of foul play. Since we have the letter to Lady Laura, we must, I think, incline to the suicide explanation.”
    â€œYes, that would be only logical. But it only makes the subsequent murder more unreasonable and more unpremeditated.”
    â€œExactly. Now we come to the murder. As far as my inquiries go, none of the three men was left alone with the body even for an instant. So that rules them out. But the whole of the intervening period until you came on the scene, my lord—and Furnace was then dead—is accounted for by Miss Sackbut having been with the body.”
    â€œLook here,” said the Bishop, “you aren’t surely suspecting that child of having anything to do with this dastardly business?”
    â€œOf course not. Had I suspected her, I should naturally have warned her before questioning her, as required by regulations.” The Inspector looked indignant. “I am merely recounting the position. It is difficult, very difficult.” He sighed. “We must find a motive.”

Chapter VII
    Admission of an Analyst
    Thereupon the Inspector began his fruitful search for the motive which had caused some person or persons unknown to slay George Furnace with so little apparent provocation or necessity. Had the Inspector been a member of a French police organization, no doubt he would have started by making discreet enquiries about Furnace’s lady friends and the friends of the lady friends. This did not occur to him as the first line of attack. Instead, he paid a visit to Furnace’s bank manager, and took the dead man’s ledger record home with him to study. This gave him ample material for reflection. He made a few notes on the back of an envelope and called in on Sally Sackbut.
    â€œWhat was Furnace getting from the club as an instructor?” he asked her.
    â€œFour hundred pounds a year and flying pay,” answered Sally, a trifle defiantly. “It’s not much, I know, but since the subsidy was cut down it’s been no easy job making the club pay. Though goodness knows I suppose we’re lucky to get anything. In fact, if it weren’t for that sweet old dear, Lord Anchorage, who gave us a Moth—”
    The Inspector interrupted. “What would that amount to in all with flying pay?”
    â€œAbout six hundred pounds on an average year.”
    â€œWould he have earned anything from any other source?”
    â€œWell, he used to do taxi-flying for Gauntlett when it didn’t interfere with club flying. That was part of the arrangement. In fact, I used to help him out by doing the instructing myself when he’d had a fat taxi job offered him. It was the main reason why I got an instructor’s endorsement on my B licence.”
    â€œI see. Could you tell me how much his earnings there would amount to, in round figures, over a year?”
    â€œDamned if I know. Might be anything. You’ll have to pop across and ask Gauntlett.” She peered out of the window. “We’ll go along now and see him. His car’s outside, so he must be in the office. What do you want to know for?”
    â€œA matter of form, miss,” answered the Inspector woodenly. “We have to ask these questions.”
    They went across to a small tin shed painted in bright yellow. On it was written in scarlet lettering, “Gauntlett’s Air Taxis”.
    Miss Sackbut banged on the door and called imperiously, “Hi, Val!”
    Valentine Gauntlett emerged. An impassive young man. He was slim but wiry, dressed in white overalls and carrying a