BIGGLES’
CHINESE PUZZLE
AND OTHER
BIGGLES’ ADVENTURES
by Captain W.
E. Johns
V. THE
MYSTERY OF THE TORN PARACHUTE
(Pages 116 – 134)
This story was originally published in the BOY’S OWN PAPER – Volume
76, Issue 12, dated September 1954.
“Biggles looked at his chief
inquiringly as he dropped into the chair beside the Air Commodore’s desk at
Special Air Police Headquarters in Scotland Yard”. Raymond shows Biggles “a piece of flimsy rag
about a yard long and a foot wide, with tattered edges” and asks him if it is
“Animal, mineral or vegetable?” (Johns
has got the order wrong. “Animal,
Vegetable, Mineral? was a British television panel show which originally ran
from 23rd October 1952 until 18th March 1959). “You’ve been watching television,” observed
Biggles. Biggles says if the silkworm is
an animal, then this is animal. Biggles
says that judging from the quality of the stitching it is a fragment of
parachute, but not British equipment.
“And now I suppose you want me to tell you the name of the man who wore
it – and tore it” he adds. Raymond
does. He says the torn parachute was
found at the top of a tree in the Highlands of Scotland by a gamekeeper. He passed it to the local police officer and
in due course it was passed to them. The
gamekeeper had heard a plane go over in the dark, very high. Biggles says it sounds like a case of illegal
entry into the country by someone who probably knew it was a wide
open space. Raymond says this
happened “On Tuesday, a fortnight ago to-day”. There are no planes missing or
pilots or aircrew unaccounted for.
Raymond says three other people went missing at that time. A man deserted from the army. A civil servant absconded. A bank cashier named Lynsdale
bolted with fifteen thousand pounds in used one pound
notes. “After the bank closed on
Saturday he flew to Paris, where he changed some English money into francs at a
travel agency, and then booked on to Marseilles, where he bought a passage on a
Portuguese tramp bound for the Far East”.
Biggles returns to his office and tells Ginger their latest
assignment. “Algy and Bertie being on
leave”. Biggles says France and Italy
use silk parachutes. If it came from
abroad, chances are the plane did as well.
They ring Marcel Brissac at the Interpol Office in Paris. Marcel tells Biggles he has a plane
missing. “A Loire four-seater out on a
charter job; Le Bourget to Liverpool.
The point is, the passenger was an Englishman – fellow named Norman
Harrington White”. Biggles is suspicious
as the man would have to pay in advance in cash and seventy-five thousand
francs is about seventy-five pounds.
“The basic allowance granted in this country for travel to France is
considerably less”. White had said he
was desperately nervous and asked to have a parachute. The plane never arrived in Liverpool. Biggles suspects it went to Scotland. He says about White “His reason for wanting a
brolly is unconvincing. Would any
ordinary man, however nervous he might be, admit funk in front of other
men? I don’t think so”. Working on the basis that the man wanted to
stay clear of Customs airports, the plane couldn’t land, so the only way down
is by parachute. Where did he then
go? Did he walk to the nearest railway-station
or had he arranged for road transport?
No public services would be operating at the hour he must have
jumped. Biggles and Ginger decide to fly
up to investigate on the spot. “Three
hours later, the police Proctor, at five thousand feet, heading for Dalcross
airfield, was over the wide, rolling, heather-clad wastes, dotted with an
occasional stand of pines, that lie between the Spey and the Moray Firth. The river, winding through its broad strath
with the little Speyside railway that keeps it company was below”. (Johns lived at Pitchroy
Lodge, next to the river Spey from 1947 to 1953. Although this story was published in
September 1954, it may have been written when he was still there, otherwise it
was written only shortly after he left).
Biggles asks the name of a certain village and Ginger checks on the map
and says it is Knockando. “There’s a
railway-station there”. (This is a
real village less than 5 miles away from where Johns really lived at Pitchroy Lodge).
“Biggles landed at Dalcross. An
airport car took them to Forres, from where, in a hired car, they returned to
the wide open spaces which they had surveyed from the
air. “It’d be hard to find a more ideal
spot for a parachute jump,” remarked Biggles.
“Look at this road. Not a house
or a tree for miles. I still suspect our
unknown visitor chose it deliberately”.
The railway inspector at Knockando had not sold a ticket to a stranger
on the Tuesday in question. In fact, he
hadn’t sold a ticket anyone. “He knew
everyone up and down Speyside, and had there been a visitor about he would have
heard of it”. They find the local
constable and he advises Biggles to go and see Captain Mackenzie if he wants to
know about cars in the area. “He’s in
charge of the river watchers here for the Spey Fishery Board. Gangs come from as far afield as Glasgow
these days, to net the salmon. No car
gets in and out of this area at night without its number being taken”. Biggles finds out that there were only four
cars on the road between 3.00 am and 7.00 am a week last Tuesday. The one that interests Biggles is Mrs
Williams. “Englishwoman. Lives on Strathspey, near Tomindalloch. Took Dalglennie
House about two months ago. Nice young
woman. Drove her car up from
London”. Apparently, the lady is a widow
who lives alone. Biggles wonders why
such a woman living alone would be out at that time. They pull up by the local shop and post
office and by chance happen to see Mrs Williams, although they don’t speak to
her. Biggles finds out she collected a
parcel a fortnight ago. They drive to
Mrs Williams house and watch it. They
see a man, dressed in old tweeds, who walks with a pronounced limp, help her
unload her groceries. “Seems that the
lady doesn’t live alone after all,” observed Biggles drily. “I though she was
buying a lot of food for one”. They
decide to return to London. It’s nearly
noon the following day when, back at Scotland Yard, Biggles goes to see
Inspector Gaskin. He asks him about the Lynsdale case, the London bank cashier who bolted with
fifteen thousand pounds. Gaskin says the
man had a sister, a widow, called Mrs Williams.
Lynsdale was a bomber pilot in the R.A.F
during the war and served at Dalcross in Scotland. He broke a thigh in a crash and was invalided
out. Walks with a limp now. Biggles tells Gaskin “At the moment he’s
living with his sister at a nice little place in Morayshire called Dalglennie House, near Tomindalloch. I fancy you’ll find the missing notes
there”. Biggles give Gaskin the piece of
torn parachute but says “Let me have it back for my collection of criminal
curiosities when you’ve finished with it”.
Leaving the Inspector, Biggles is greeted by Air Commodore Raymond. “Did you find our mysterious night-bird?” he
asks. “Yes,” answered Biggles,
inconsequentially. The Air Commodore’s
expression of gentle banter switched to one of amazement. “You did?” he ejaculated. Biggles nodded. “Who was it?”
“Lynsdale, the missing cashier”. Biggles says that Lynsdale
assumed the area he dropped into would be asleep. But on the contrary, they’re very much alert
due to salmon and deer poaching. Biggles
says Lynsdale only kept enough notes for his
immediate purpose and posted the rest to his sister. Biggles tells Raymond “Having chartered a
plane in the name of White he had to get rid of it, and the pilot. Somewhere over the Midland he must have
knocked the unlucky pilot on the head and gone on to Scotland. Having got to his objective, where his sister
was waiting with a car, all he had to do was turn the nose of the machine
towards the North Sea, set the controls for level flight, and step overboard
with his brolly. The aircraft, running
out of fuel, would crash in the sea and disappear without trace. A clever but dastardly piece of cold-blooded
murder. His sister had got the new home
ready, and there, no doubt, they reckoned to live in comfort without any more
money troubles. That’s all. I’ve told Gaskin”. “In which case they won’t live in comfort
much longer,” said the Air Commodore gently.
“Good show. You deserve a lunch
for that. Let go round to the club”.