Chapter 10

A Council of War

"So what did Marcel have to say?" asked Ginger when he and Algy were settled in his bedroom.

"Whoever used the cold chisel wore gloves," answered Algy. "Very convenient if they didn't want to be identified."

"And very inconvenient for us," observed Ginger bitterly.

"They did manage to get a clear set of dabs off the Auster, though," went on Algy to Ginger's surprise. "Three fingers of a right hand, on the landing gear strut up near the door. Not mine and unless you've got a scar running across the tip of your middle finger …?" Ginger shook his head and held up his right hand, as Algy continued, "I suspect not yours, either. Marcel is checking them against French records. In case they are Smyth's he sent a copy to London for comparison. Marcel hadn't found a match or heard from Scotland Yard when I decided I'd better get back. I didn't fancy making a night landing," concluded Algy.

"Good thing, too, in the circumstances," murmured Ginger wryly. "You nearly splattered the Auster all over Normandy."

"What about you?" retorted Algy. "You wrote Henry's bike off."

"Ha ha," responded Ginger mirthlessly. "The only reason my bike decided to mount a kamikaze attack on Taffy's car was because the brakes failed when I started to come down the hill. They were fine when I checked them before I set off from the chateau. I can only conclude that someone got at them while it was parked outside the church. That's the only time it was out of my sight. I won't be able to confirm it was sabotage, though, until I've examined the cables and seen if they've been cut rather than rusted through."

"You think the priest did it?" queried Algy.

Ginger pulled a wry face. "I'd hate to think a man of the cloth was inclined to put someone's life at risk like that, especially a stranger's, but he certainly clammed up and left sharpish when I mentioned I'd met Henry during the war. I'd put money on it being that waiter – if looks could kill I would have died on the spot. He had a scar that he could have acquired during the war."

"You think this might be tied up with settling old scores?" suggested Algy.

"I don't know," confessed Ginger. "I'm completely in the dark. If it is, I don't know why anybody should want to settle my score."

"Someone with a guilty conscience who thought you were getting too close to discovering the truth about dark deeds?" mused Algy.

"What dark deeds?" asked Ginger plaintively. "All we've got so far is a suspicious number of accidents; a fire that could well have started accidentally, a piece of masonry that fell off a seventeenth century building – that could have happened at any time – and a dilapidated bicycle whose brakes failed when they were applied going down a steep hill. Hardly conclusive evidence for skulduggery," he concluded with a sigh. "Besides," he added with inescapable logic, "how did they know I was suspicious? Before the bike incident, the other two events could easily have been accidents. It's a bit much to try to dispose of somebody on the off chance."

"What about the wire across the park?" reminded Algy. "That could hardly be explained away as an accident."

Ginger nodded. "I must admit, that breaks the pattern," he confessed. "Does that mean there is more than one person involved?" he surmised. "Someone who got impatient and acted on his own initiative, reverting to Resistance tactics?"

"Without approval from whoever is in charge?" queried Algy.

Ginger looked at him askance. "Do you think there's an organised ring going round bumping people off?" he asked astounded.

"I was just thinking about the réseaux during the war," replied Algy. "You said yourself 'Resistance tactics'. They were organised in cells with a controller."

"The priest hinted at old scores being settled," mused Ginger. "Or at least he suggested that there were some people who hadn't done their duty, which I take to mean they had sympathised with the Nazis and done nothing to help the war effort."

"Maybe it wasn't so much sympathy as trying to save their skins," countered Algy. "It's all very well for us to pontificate, but we've never been invaded and had to live under Occupation. It's a very different matter when you are in constant fear of your life."

"I suppose you're right," admitted Ginger. "I can't help feeling there was something fishy about the Count's death. Perhaps the priest thought I was digging a bit too deep and feared I might unearth something. He might have had a word with Scarface at the café to cut the brakes. It's a bit hit and miss, though," he conceded. "I mean, even though he probably knew about the slope down to the gates, he couldn't be sure that Taffy would be arriving at that moment to administer the coup de grace. It's not as though there is a lot of traffic on that road."

"No," murmured Algy, "but Robert was in town with the limousine."

Ginger looked at him wide-eyed. "You mean that if I hadn't baled out and Taffy hadn't been there he might have run me down?" he exclaimed in shocked tones.

Algy looked at him reflectively. "I'm sure he could have made it look like an accident."

Ginger stared back askance. "What, with Ferocity and Tex in the back?"

"What could they have proved if he'd done it skilfully enough?" asked Algy. "You said yourself the bike was out of control."

Ginger paused, acknowledging Algy was right. "It would be his word against theirs," he admitted eventually.

"There's a lot more to this than meets the eye," opined Algy. "Quite apart from the wire in the park, there are too many accidents for them all to be coincidences," he concluded.

Ginger nodded and stifled a yawn. Algy stood up and told him to turn in. "We'll have a look for some more secret passages in the morning," he suggested, pausing at the door of the bedroom, "including investigating that secret cupboard in the hall."

"I'm ready for bed," admitted Ginger, "but not until I've had a good soak in the tub," he continued. "I shouldn't think anybody has been down that tunnel we found for years."

Algy stepped back into the room and closed the door softly behind him. "You're wrong," he told his companion quietly, "someone has been down there recently."

Ginger looked up sharply, all thought of sleep banished. "What makes you say that?"

Algy put his hand in his pocket and drew it out. He opened his fingers and extended his palm to Ginger. Lying in the centre was a cigarette butt.

"I picked this up near the exit," said Algy softly.

Ginger met his eyes. "It's quite fresh," he remarked quietly.

Algy nodded. "It can't have been there very long," he confirmed. "It isn't my brand and nobody else in our party smokes," he observed, "so the question is, who dropped it?"

"I haven't seen Robert smoking," offered Ginger.

"Nor have I," admitted Algy, "but I can't say I've been observing him closely in that respect." He sniffed the remnants of the cigarette. "French tobacco," he opined. "Not exactly uncommon, so not much to go on."

"Of course," suggested Ginger, "it could have been the mysterious intruder who tried to get at the Auster. The chap with the scar on his fingertip. He might have had a smoke while he was waiting for it to get light enough to see what he was doing."

Algy nodded. "That's possible," he acknowledged. "It was lying just inside the entrance to the tunnel. Anybody standing there would have been able to see out through the bushes but couldn't have been seen by anybody passing by. A pity Marcel wasn't able to give us any more information on the fingerprints."

"When Marcel does contact you, ask him for a translation of the results of the autopsy on the Count," requested Ginger reflectively.

Algy eyed him curiously. "What for?" he wanted to know. "I shouldn't think there was much left to examine."

"Exactly," agreed Ginger. "I want to know what, if anything, they could find out about the actual cause of death, how they identified the body and whether they were 100 certain it was the Count."

"What put that idea in your head?" asked Algy sceptically. "The lawyers surely wouldn't have let Henry inherit if there was any doubt."

Ginger shook his head. "There's something about this that puzzles me," he confessed. "I can't put my finger on what it is, but there's something odd." He passed his hand over his forehead wearily. "Why did the Count change his habits in the weeks before his death? Was he prevented from going to confession? Did somebody keep him prisoner before he was set on fire? Did somebody kill him and try to dispose of the evidence by setting the body on fire? If so, why? Biggles always says the answer lies in the motive."

Algy put the cigarette stub back in his pocket. "Get some rest," he advised, heading for the door. "Sleep on it and something might come to you in the morning."