Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: 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.

Algy sat up slowly, rubbing his arm ruefully. “What are you doing here?” he demanded of Biggles. “Why didn’t you come back last night?”

“Just a minute,” said Biggles, forestalling the torrent of questions he could see Algy was going to ask. “I’ll tell you all about it, but first we need to find somewhere a little bit safer than this. Have you got a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” For the first time, Biggles noticed the blood on his partner’s clothes. “Are you hurt?”

“Not much more than before. I think I tore my stitches when I was running away from von Stalhein.”

“This is a nice kettle of fish,” muttered Biggles. “You’d better do something to stop the bleeding.” With the help of both his handkerchief and a strip torn from his shirt, he managed to bandage up the wound. “Can you walk?”

“I think so. Although I’m not in condition to do much else.”

“Walking will do for now. You’d better put on my coat to cover up the blood on your shirt. You might as well give me the gun. That’s it. Ready?”

Algy nodded.

Biggles took a breath and opened the door.

&&&

Bertie and Ginger divided their time between guarding the planes and going back to the hotel room to see if either Biggles or Algy had returned. Over a hastily snatched lunch, they discussed the situation.

“Seems to me we should take a look at Thompson’s office,” declared Ginger. “That’s where both Biggles and Algy were going when we last heard from them, so whatever’s happened to them, it either happened there or on the way there.”

Bertie polished his monocle with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “Here, hold on, old boy,” he said. “If something or someone has Biggles and Algy, what do you think is going to stop it from getting a hold of us? We’d all be in the soup together.”

“There is that,” admitted Ginger, glumly staring down at his almost untouched plate of food.

“And what about Wilks?” was Bertie’s next question.

“What about him?”

“Well, old boy, isn’t he the reason we came to this bally hole in the first place? Perhaps we should be trying to get some clues as to where he is, if you know what I mean.”

“We wouldn’t know where to start with finding Wilks,” said Ginger. “All we have so far is a burned wreckage and a report that says nothing at all.”

“A jolly old dead end, in fact,” said Bertie thoughtfully. “I wonder—” he began, and then stopped short.

Ginger eyed him. “I know that look,” he said, resigned. “You’ve got an idea, haven’t you?”

“Perhaps,” said Bertie. He pushed back his chair and stood. “You know, old boy, you were right about one thing. Biggles and Algy were both going to Thompson’s office when they disappeared.”

“So now you think we should go to Thompson’s office?”

“No. I think we should talk to Thompson.”

&&&

Biggles cautiously stuck his head around the door and was relieved to find the corridor outside empty. “Come on,” he whispered to Algy, and together the two of them made their way outside, Algy carefully shutting the door behind them.

“Which way?”

Biggles shrugged. “Beats me. This place is like a maze. Let’s find a way to get out of the building for a start.”

“That should be easy,” remarked Algy, crossing into the room opposite theirs and throwing open the window.

“Are you mad?” protested Biggles, as his friend started hefting himself up through the window. “Haven’t you been hurt enough?”

“It’s only four feet or so,” said Algy. “And it opens up onto the front of the building. It would take days for us to find the front door by ourselves. I reckon this is the best way.”

“But I—”

Algy paused to grin reassuringly at Biggles. “Tell you what, I’ll go first. If I can do it, you should be able to.”

“What if you don’t make it?” inquired Biggles sarcastically.

Algy, perhaps wisely, chose to ignore this, and swung himself out of the window. For a minute, his feet scrambled wildly to find a toehold on the brick wall, and then, without warning, he slipped out of view as gravity caught up with him.

Biggles, hearing the muffled crash of Algy hitting the ground, stuck his head out of the window as far as he dared, and was rewarded with the sight of Algy’s grin. He looked slightly pale, but otherwise unhurt. “You made a dickens of a noise going down. Are you all right?”

“Right as rain. Come on.”

Reluctantly, Biggles mimicked Algy’s movements. He, too, found himself slipping clumsily down the wall as his feet failed to find purchase, but fortunately Algy was there to break his fall.

“Well, we’re out,” observed Algy. “What now?”

“We’d better get back to the hotel. Bertie and Ginger will no doubt be wondering where we are. And goodness knows what story Thompson’s told them about me.”

“I hope they’ve managed to stay out of trouble. I’ve had more than enough to last several lifetimes. I don’t think I can take any more.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to try,” replied Biggles seriously.

“Why?”

“Because I can see Von Stalhein leaning out of that window, and he’s pointing a gun at us.”

Go to Chapter 7.

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