Biggles Married II Chapter 6.

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. 

Algy finally landed at his destination, and was grateful to see the general waiting for him as he taxied to a halt on the runway. He jumped out and saluted smartly. “Good afternoon, sir.”

The general eyed him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Lacey,” he said slowly. There was something very much like sorrow in the way he held out his hand for Algy to shake. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise, sir.”

“I’ll have some men get the crates out. Come and have a drink?”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I would rather supervise the unloading of the machine personally.” According to Raymond, two men had died as a result of sabotage to their planes. Algy had no desire to become the third.

“As you wish.” The general looked at Algy as if he would like to say something more, but whatever it was, he didn’t say it.

Algy waited for the crates to be unloaded before moving the plane into the hanger provided for the purpose. The general handed him the only key to the hanger, and he pocketed with no little satisfaction. For the time being at least, the plane seemed to be as safe as he could make it.

“Come along and meet the others,” suggested the general. “It’s getting on for teatime, so they should all be in the main hall. We usually have our meals together; it makes it easier for the kitchen staff to clean up after us.”

“I see, sir. Would you mind if I just rang my headquarters in London first?”

“No, of course not. There’s a telephone in my office. This way.” Algy followed the general into the main building and up the stairs to his rather tiny office, which was sparsely furnished with only a desk and two chairs. “There’s the ‘phone. Come downstairs when you’re done. Turn left at the foot of the stairs.”

“Thank you, sir.” Algy briskly dialed his own number and drummed his fingers impatiently on the table while he waited for someone to answer. He frowned as time dragged on and no one came to the phone. “Where are they? They can’t have both gone out.” He tried again, but the result was the same. In some frustration, he hung up and made his way down the stairs and into the main hall.

There were several people seated at the table, with the general at the head. He rose as Algy came in. “Everyone, this is Mr. Lacey, who has been kind enough to deliver our supplies.” He went quickly around the table, introducing everyone. There was only one woman scientist, whose name was Bartlett. The man next to her was an American by the name of Wilson. Next to Wilson was Gorski, a Polish scientist.

At the end of the table directly opposite the general was a haughty American called Rogers who refused to even touch Algy’s outstretched hand.

“We have two more scientists, Farstein and Maplely. I expect they are tied up with experiments at the moment.”

Tea was a quiet affair, with no small talk. The only time anyone spoke was to ask for something to be passed to them. Most of the scientists seemed to be in deep thought. The general, staring down at his plate as if it were his worst enemy, ate with a fierceness that made it impossible for Algy to ask him any questions.

After tea, Wilson, who was sitting next to Algy, asked if he would like a quick tour of the laboratories. To this Algy readily agreed, thinking that it would be a good idea to know his way around as quickly as possible.

The laboratories were housed in another building some distance away from the main one. There were thick walls partitioning off each room. “In case something goes boom,” joked the American, with a laugh. “And to muffle the screaming, of course.”

“Of course,” murmured Algy.

“This is Bartlett’s lab,” said Wilson, throwing open a door. “She does something very complicated with physics that I’ve never been able to understand—I work in chemistry myself.”

Further on down the corridor was another laboratory. “This is Farstein’s. He’s pretty bad-tempered so I’d keep out of his way if I were you.”

On the second floor were two more laboratories belonging to Rogers, the haughty American, and Gorski, the Polishman.

“Where do you work?” asked Algy.

“Me and Maplely are in the basement. Want to see?”

Algy duly followed the American down the stairs in the dark and somewhat stuffy basement. “Sorry it smells kinda bad. We don’t have any windows down here. That’s Maplely’s lab. He works in chemistry, like me.”

“What sort of stuff do you make, or experiment on, or whatever?”

The American grinned. “Alchemy.”

“What?”

“It’s not as crazy as it sounds, pal. Don’t look so skeptical. We gather up some base metals and run them through extreme temperatures. You’d be amazed at what we’ve been able to make.”

“I’m sure I would,” said Algy slowly.

“Here’s what I do,” said Wilson, picking up a box on the table. “I take some common metal—this is copper, I add some chemicals to change the acidity of the metal, and then I put it in this—” he pointed behind him and Algy noticed a small, closet-like chamber in the corner of the laboratory, “where I then subject it to extreme cold conditions. Just pop that in for me, will you?”

He passed the box to Algy, who took it somewhat gingerly as Wilson swung open the heavy door with both hands.

“Where do I put it?” asked Algy, taking a step into the closet.

“Top shelf would be great, thanks.”

Algy took another step forward and slid the box onto the top shelf. As he did so, the heavy door slammed to behind him and he heard bolts being drawn on the other side. Realizing his danger, he thumped violently on the inside of the door, desperate for it to be opened. “Hi!” he shouted. “Hi, Wilson! Let me out!”

There was no answer.

He banged on the door again, but got no reply.

Then, to his horror, he saw smoke seeping into the closet from the bottom of the door.

And not just any smoke.

Green smoke.

&&&

Ginger groaned. Judging from the throbbing weight in his temples, he seemed to have grown an extra head while he’d slept. He shifted on his bed, trying to get comfortable. Something appeared to be digging into the small of his back.

His bed was really very hard…

He opened his eyes and discovered that he wasn’t in bed.

At least, he wasn’t in his own bed.

In fact, he seemed to be in a…jail cell?

He tried to sit up, then, feeling the pain in his head, decided not to.

He turned slightly and saw what looked like a giant insect staring down on him. He almost jumped out of his skin.

And then he realized that the giant insect was, in fact, Bertie’s monocle reflecting the light, Bertie himself almost hidden in a shadowy corner of the cell.

Ginger relaxed slightly, until he realized that the eye behind the monocle was glaring at him in a highly irate manner.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Matter?” echoed Bertie bitterly. “Care for a guess, old top? We’re in a beastly jail cell, in case you hadn’t bally noticed. And, not to be critical, but you do stink rather.”

“What happened?”

“You,” said Bertie deliberately, “got drunk.”

“What? No, I didn’t—” Ginger trailed off. Bits and pieces came slowly back to him. “What did I do?” he gasped.

“Well, let’s see. You tried to go to America, disturbed the general peace, and stole Biggles’ car.”

“What?”

“I know,” said Bertie, taking out his monocle and polishing it. “Pretty steep, what? I say, d’you think they’ll be serving munchables in this place? I haven’t had anything since last night.”

“Last night!” cried Ginger. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost lunchtime.”

Ginger groaned. “How did I get myself into this mess?”

“That’s what I’d like to know, old boy.”

They both looked up as a key rattled into the lock. A policeman was at the cell door. “Inspector Gaskin’s given orders for you to be released,” he said curtly. “He says he’ll be calling on you personally as soon as possible. You’re free to go.”

“About bally time,” muttered Bertie, scooping up his coat and getting to his feet.

After signing a number of forms, the two of them strolled out of the station, blinking in the bright sunlight. Ginger was unsteady on his feet and kept having to find things to lean on.

As they passed by a newsstand, Bertie darted forward with an exclamation. A familiar face stared out at them from the front pages of multiple newspapers.

Well, two familiar faces.

HONEYMOONING WINGED INSPECTOR NABS CROOK

FLYING POLICEMAN AND NEW BRIDE FIGHT CRIME

FORMER AIR ACE AND WIFE DELIVER JUSTICE

“Goodness gracious,” muttered Ginger. “What next?”

Go to Chapter 7. 

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