Death of an Airman by Christopher St. John Sprigg Read Free Book Online

think that the reason I kept this letter back was to prevent myself being involved in the inquest and all the publicity. Naturally, I thought of that, but I really was more concerned with preventing their returning a verdict of Suicide against George. Very wrong of me, I suppose, but I think the attitude of the law towards suicide is barbaric.”
    â€œI have always understood that suicide is considered noble by barbarians and that it is civilization which has condemned it,” remarked the Bishop silkily. “However, you showed me this letter to get my advice as to what to do. For the moment I should do nothing.”
    â€œNothing?” asked Lady Laura in surprise. “Do you really advise that?”
    â€œYes,” said the Bishop thoughtfully, “indeed I do. For the moment. Do not lose the letter, of course. In fact, better give it to me. Then I can show it to the police when and if necessary.”
    Lady Laura opened her bag again.
    â€œI suppose you think I’m a callous brute, not trying to stop George?”
    â€œIn the circumstances,” said the Bishop carefully, “I doubt if your interposition would have made any difference. It is a very strange business.”
    On his part he apparently dismissed the matter and resumed his contemplation of the evoluting aeroplane.
    â€œCan you tell me,” he asked after a time, “why Miss Sackbut’s blood does not run into her head when she remains upside-down for such a prolonged period?”
    â€œIt does run,” answered Lady Laura, “horribly. She’ll look like a beetroot when she comes down.”
    ***
    â€œI am a patient man,” said the Bishop, breathing heavily, “but if you scream ‘Back! Back! Back!’ at me again I shall say or do something which I shall subsequently repent.”
    The Bishop was sitting in the rear cockpit of the club Moth, which itself was sitting in the middle of the aerodrome. Miss Sackbut was in the front cockpit.
    â€œIf I didn’t say it, you would fly straight into the ground,” she answered reasonably.
    â€œI think even that would be preferable to your wild scream, which is profoundly unsettling.”
    â€œI scream in order to make you realize that your movements of the control column must be coarse as the machine loses flying speed. Your elevators are losing their grip on the air.”
    â€œNo doubt all that is true,” answered the Bishop with dignity. “It means very little to me. I am afraid I must be constitutionally incapable of flying.”
    Sally laughed. “Now then, don’t despair. Everybody makes the same mistakes. Remember, the first check is just a check. Then wait. Then back, back, back!”
    â€œThere you go again!” said the Bishop sharply.
    â€œPut your finger and thumb lightly round the control column.”
    â€œThey are.”
    â€œNow—back, back, back! Do you get the idea?”
    â€œThe control column hit me in the tummy!”
    â€œExactly. It should do. Now, if you want to avoid my scream, bring it back in time, just as the machine is about to sink on the ground.”
    The Bishop’s pleasant and ruddy face took on the expression of a sulky child. “I really think I would much rather do no more flying at all to-day. I get worse and worse instead of better and better.”
    Sally recognized the expression. “Well, you’ve done about twenty minutes, so perhaps you are getting tired. Taxi her back to the hangars.”
    â€œI don’t like taxying,” said Dr. Marriott stubbornly. “I appear to have no control whatever over the machine.”
    â€œOne hasn’t in taxying, in aircraft like this,” answered his instructor airily, “without wheel brakes.”
    â€œThen how do I get to the hangar?” asked the Bishop querulously.
    â€œJust ooze over in the general direction of the hangar,” said Sally with a gesture. “ Coarse movements of the