Biggles Married II Chapter 5

By Sopwith

Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the Biggles series characters used in this work. This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered part of the official storyline.

Warning: Non canon type fan fiction works may contain severe time mix-ups and character deviations. 

Biggles twisted in his seat, struggling to locate the source of the screaming. “What’s happening?” he shouted down to Todd, but before an answer arrived his questing eyes had already fallen on what he sought.

Some distance away, an old lady was in front of a hanger in the middle of a tug of war with a tall slim man who was evidently trying to steal her purse. Somehow, the old lady was managing to shriek loudly as she struggled with her assailant, a fact that Biggles’ numb brain found time to marvel at.

Biggles considered jumping out of the Camel, but then realized that he would never be in time to help. As he watched, the man tugged the purse free and began to run away, ignoring the screams of his victim.

Then, to Biggles’ horror, he saw a small, bare-footed figure in a blue sundress in hot pursuit of the thief. “Jane!”

With no alternative option open to him, Biggles did the only thing he could do: he took off. Skimming along the ground, his wheels almost touching the ground, he soon caught up with the man.

There was no need for him to do anything; he saw the man turn, eyes open in comical horror as he saw the Camel bearing down on him. He forgot to look where he was going and the last Biggles saw of him as the Camel passed over was the man tripping over his own feet and pitching headlong onto the ground.

Biggles sailed past and landed as quickly as he could. This wasn’t easy because he was too busy wondering if Jane was all right. Jumping out of the plane, he turned and saw that his petite wife had somehow managed to twist the man’s arm behind his back and was dragging him to his feet. This was all the more impressive because the man was about a head taller than Jane was.

“Jane!” shouted Biggles, running towards her.

Just before he reached her, a couple of policemen appeared on the scene and took the thief away.

“Jane,” panted Biggles. “Are you all right? What happened?”

“Hello, darling,” said Jane. “What lovely flying from you. Nothing much happened, except I hit him with my shoe. I don’t think he’ll be doing much stealing for a bit. In fact, to be honest, I don’t think he’ll be doing much thinking for a bit.”

“But…”

“Oh, don’t look so confused, darling. It’s all over now.” Jane took hold of Biggles’ arm while she put her shoes back on. Apparently she had been carrying them when she had run after the thief. “There. All done.” She smiled and pecked Biggles on the cheek.

People around them began to clap and cheer as Biggles put an arm around Jane.

“I think they’re cheering us, James,” said Jane, leaning in to give him a real kiss.

&&&

When Ginger had made his rather extraordinary statement, it should be noted that he really was rather drunk. In fact, he had spent most of the time between his apology call to Algy and Bertie’s return drinking endless glasses of different drinks. He had initially started by pouring out one glass of every bottle he had found in the cupboard, and then he had tried second glasses of the ones he had liked, and after that he had tried mixing the ones he did like with the ones he didn’t like and trying one glass each of those.

The obvious result was that, even though he had seemed relatively sober when he had been speaking to Bertie (this made somewhat easier by the fact that he was not exactly sober and rational at the best of the times anyway), Ginger was well and truly staggering in the stereotypically drunk manner as he made his way out of the flat and towards the space where Biggles usually left his car when he wasn’t using it.

It took him the best part of five minutes to open the car door. This struck him as funny; he giggled and hummed bits of songs he had heard on the radio as he tried to get his hand to connect with the door handle.

He finally got the door open and slid happily into the driver’s seat, still humming. He couldn’t seem to find the steering wheel, which struck him as strange. “Whish steer’ wheel?” he mumbled to himself. “Hmm. Nic’ and warm in here.”

His head fell onto the steering wheel that his drunken eyes had failed to see, and he began to snore. His forehead slipped onto the car horn, but he was unheeding of the loud, continuous wail it emitted into the silent night.

And that was how Bertie found him when he came rushing out of the flat to seek the source of the noise.

Unfortunately, the noise had also attracted a nearby constable, and just as Bertie reached the car (Ginger had not even bothered to close the door behind him), a voice of authority boomed out behind him, “Now then, what’s all this?”

Bertie, in the act of trying to shake Ginger awake, looked up to see a policeman walking towards him. “Oh,” he said. “Hullo, and all that sort of thing.”

The constable eyed him. “And what do you two think you’re doing with this here car?” he asked.

Bertie looked at the policeman reproachfully through his monocle. “What does it look like, old warrior?” he demanded. “I’m trying to get my jolly old friend out of ‘this here car’.”

The constable turned his eye to Ginger. “He looks drunk.”

Bertie was quick and enthusiastic in his agreement. “Absolutely tanked, what?”

Ginger chose that moment to regain some slight consciousness. “Berti’,” he muttered, then, looking up. “Oh. Ish a poleshman.”

“Yes, old boy. It is a jolly policeman.”

Ginger brightened. “Imm a poleeshman too.”

“Not now, you bally well aren’t.”

The constable took out a black notebook. “I’m going to have to report you two for disturbing the peace,” he announced. “Names and addresses, please?”

Bertie looked astonished. “You’re not serious, old top?”

“Names and addresses, please,” repeated the constable stubbornly. “If I have to ask again I’m adding attempted car theft to the list of charges.”

“Attempted what? This is our beastly car!”

“Really?” said the constable skeptically.

“Well, it’s the chief’s car, you know, the jolly old man in charge.”

“And where is this chief of yours, exactly?”

“He’s on his honeymoon at the moment.”

“And you thought it would be fun to go on a little joyride, eh?”

Bertie turned to face the constable squarely and drew himself to his full height. “Look here, my good man,” he said, in ringing tones. “I don’t know what it is you think is happening here, but I’m pretty bally sure that half of it is complete and utter rot.”

The constable’s chest swelled. “Is that so?” he demanded, coldly. “Perhaps the pair of you would like to come down to the station and explain yourselves in full detail?”

“Here,” protested Bertie, “you can’t arrest us!”

“Ho, can’t I?”

In the driver’s seat, Ginger giggled. 

Go to Chapter 6. 

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