The Paris plane rolled to a stop. The passengers stood in the aisle, waiting for the door to be opened. From the windows they could see their friends and relatives waiting for them. But they were in for a rude surprise, for the door was opened, not to admit a smiling stewardess whi would conduct them to the Customs department, but a grim faced inspector, accompnaied by a uniformed policeman.
The bewildered passengers found themselves being led to a small private room, and unpleasant interrogation - for high over the channel a murder, quick and mysterious, had been committed,