Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 17.

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.

Having finished his call to Raymond, Algy found himself again at a loss. For want of something better to do, he made his way to the dining hall and settled himself down with a plate of sandwiches. He was not particularly hungry, but eating gave him something to take his mind of the gnawing worry he felt at Bertie’s disappearance and the powerlessness he felt at being unable to do anything for Biggles and Ginger until Raymond sent the new plane.

He decided that the first thing to do was find Bertie. Biggles and Ginger would just have to take care of themselves for a bit. In any case, he had left them plenty of food and water, and neither of them had appeared injured, so presumably they would be all right for a while.

Not knowing where he should start his search for Bertie, he thought he would go down to the sheds again and take another look at the plane Rick had borrowed for them. He wasn’t sure what, if anything, he could do with it, but he held onto the faint hope that he might have missed a note or something left by Bertie.

Algy was mainly preoccupied with his own thoughts and therefore did not see the South American until he almost run into him. The man muttered something surly in what was probably his native language. Thinking nothing of it, Algy apologized absently and continued on his way.

However, he had not taken more than a few paces when something he saw inside a shed with the door thrown open made him stop and stare in astonishment.

It was a single-seater plane with a green stripe down the nose.

&&&

When Bertie woke again, he found that his empty tray had been removed. Presumably the men had come back to collect it when he was sleeping.

He sat up on the bed and stretched, glancing around the room hoping for some clue as to what time it was and how long he had slept.

‘Bit of a nuisance, not knowing when jolly old Erich’s going to be along,” he murmured to himself. “I wonder if I’m been guarded in here?” He strolled to the door and put his ear against it.

The first thing he heard was Von Stalhein’s voice. The German seemed to be arguing with another man who spoke in a low voice. Bertie strained to hear what the conversation was about, but he could only catch bits and pieces of it. He was just about to give up and go back to the bed when he heard Von Stalhein say, in a voice raised with anger, “We have waited long enough. Get Hoffmann. Tell him I am going to speak with the Englander.”

Bertie jumped back from the door as if he had been shot. Whether the time limit set by the German was already up, or if he had become impatient with waiting, Bertie neither knew nor cared. What mattered was that in a few minutes, Von Stalhein would be coming into the room to ask Bertie what his decision was, and from there, there could only be one conclusion.

He had seconds to think up a plan.

&&&

Algy stared at the plane. Up until that moment, it had not occurred to him that his attacker could be operating from the same base as himself. But in fact, now that he had time to think of it, the aero club really was an ideal base to access the island from. He almost kicked himself for not having considered the possibility before.

The question was, did the pilot know who he was, or would he have shot at any plane that came near the island? Had he been the same person who had shot Biggles and Ginger down—for Algy could not imagine any other circumstance that would have caused the plane to become the burnt out wreckage he had seen.

Deep in thought, he walked over to one of the mechanics and asked who the owner of the green-nosed plane was. In answer, the man pointed at the departing South American’s back. “Hees plane, yes? Mr. Juan.”

Algy stared after the man with surprise and something close to fury. So this was the man who had almost succeeded in shooting him down. “Well, he won’t catch me napping twice,” he muttered to himself grimly, fingering his automatic.

Another thought struck him. Bertie. Bertie had mysteriously disappeared without leaving any messages. Could the South American have anything to do with that?

“I think it’s time I had a word with our trigger-happy friend,” he murmured to himself, hurrying after the man.

&&&

Biggles and Ginger ran for cover as bullets licked the ground around them. A broken branch tumbled into their path from above and Ginger tripped over it and almost fell, but Biggles caught him by the arm and dragged him along with a grim strength that he had no idea he possessed.

Robbs joined them, panting with exertion. “What on earth is going on?” he shouted, running to keep up with them.

“Someone’s trying to kill us,” replied Biggles, through set teeth. “Keep your head down—he’s coming back!”

“I’d like to give him a taste of his own medicine,” growled Ginger, reaching for his automatic, but Biggles put out a hand and stopped him.

“Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “There’s a chance in a million that you’ll be able to hit him, and twice that to bring him down. You’re just wasting bullets, and we might need them later, if I know anything about it.”

They watched as the plane circled around and came back, diving low over the trees as if searching for its targets. It did this twice before the pilot evidently decided to give up, for the plane straightened and started heading back in the direction of the mainland.

“Strewth!” breathed Biggles. “That was hot. It’s a miracle he didn’t hit any of us. I hope old Algy’s all right; I think I saw smoke coming up from his plane as he was leaving.”

“D’you think he’ll still come back later like he said?” queried Ginger anxiously.

“No,” replied Biggles. “At least, he won’t be back straight away. If I know anything about Algy he’ll be dashing around the country looking for the biggest guns he can find before he comes back. A good thing too. He won’t be able to get away with that trick twice.”

Ginger sat himself down on a rock and stared moodily at the ground, chin in his hands. “So what do we do now?” he asked.

“Well,” said Biggles. “If you’re up for it, how about a little treasure hunt?”

&&&

Bertie stared desperately around the almost empty room and grabbed the first object that came to hand. He returned to crouch by the door and was just in time to hear Von Stalhein say, “We have waited long enough, Hoffmann.”

Another voice, presumably Hoffmann’s, spoke. “But surely he will accept?”

Von Stalhein made a sound that might have been a snort. “No. That is what I have telling you. He would rather die, I think.”

Hoffmann, sounding plaintive, said, “It is such an annoyance, that these policemen come now, yes? I do not like to kill them, but they can be so stubborn.”

Von Stalhein made no reply.

Hoffmann continued, somewhat thoughtfully, “Perhaps we can offer this English police some diamonds, yes? He will like them and maybe go away?”

“Not this one,” said Von Stalhein, with grim certainty. “We should have killed him already. Even alone he can cause more trouble than you think.”

“Ah,” said Hoffmann, vaguely. “If we must, we must. But I do not like all this killing. If they would just leave us alone, everything would be all right.”

Bertie heard the sound of the key being turned in the lock, and he braced himself for action.

&&&

Ginger eyed Biggles suspiciously. “What sort of treasure hunt?”

Biggles’ eyes twinkled. “Well, it just struck me that as we’ve come all the way here to get a diamond for lord Whatshisname, and as we have nothing better to do at the moment except wait for Algy to come back, we might as well try and find some diamonds to take back. Didn’t you say you’d been to the place, Robbs?”

Robbs nodded. “It’s just on the other side of the cave where we left Wilks. About half an hour’s walk, at a guess. It’s not so much the distance as the thickness of the trees. They can take some time to get through.”

“But didn’t you say that the green-nosed plane landed there?” objected Ginger. “Doesn’t that imply that there’s a landing strip?”

“As far as I can tell, they cleared most of the area themselves. I don’t know how they managed before that. My guess is that there might at some point have been an open space there, and they landed on it and cut down some more trees and things to make it wider and easier to land on.”

“I wonder we didn’t see it when we were flying over,” remarked Biggles.

“You wouldn’t. It’s quite well camouflaged. We didn’t see it either when we were flying over.”

“Well, if no one has any objections, I suggest we make our way back to Wilks to see how he’s doing, and then push on to look at these sparklers,” suggested Biggles.

“Wait a minute,” said Ginger. “What about Algy?”

“What about him?”

“Well, he’ll be back, won’t he? And if he lands and sees no one else here, he might get worried.”

Biggles considered. “You have a point,” he admitted. “But frankly, in a place like this, I’m wary of breaking the party up.” He looked at his watch. “I’d say it would take Algy at least an hour or two to find some big enough guns to bring back here—he wouldn’t be such a fool as to come back empty-handed—so we should have ample time to make our way back here and watch for him.”

“That’s if he managed to make it back at all,” remarked Robbs grimly. “There’s every chance that he might run into the green-nosed plane on his way home.”

Biggles grimaced. “I hadn’t thought of that. But Algy’s got a few tricks up his sleeve. No doubt he’ll be able to take care of himself. Let’s be getting along.”

&&&

The door swung open and Von Stalhein entered, immediately followed by a second, shorter and stouter man who had a distinctly Spanish look about him. Behind them, two armed men stood on guard.

Von Stalhein, one hand lightly touching the door handle, turned to say something to his companion, and it was at that moment that Bertie pounced.

The first thing that had come to hand was the blanket off of the bed, so that what he had picked up when he had returned to stand by the door. This he now threw over the two men.

His aim was good. The blanket landed squarely on the heads of the two men, and they began shouting and jumping around underneath it, very much in the manner of a pantomime horse frolicking across a stage.

At the door, the two armed men hesitated, afraid to shoot for fear of hitting their own men. Bertie took his opportunity to make a rush for the door, and while one of the men was staring at the dancing blanket, Bertie knocked his gun out of his hand, sending it clattering to the floor. The man made a move towards the fallen gun, but Bertie was faster, tripping the man with an outstretched foot and jerking up the butt of the gun to hit the other man in the stomach as he came running to help.

With everyone around him preoccupied, Bertie made a run for it, keeping a tight grip on his newly acquired gun in case he should run into someone.

He ran towards the staircase and was rushing down it when he heard voices coming from the floor below, and they seemed to be approaching in his direction. Crouching down as low as possible on the stairs, Bertie readied the gun for action, but when he saw who it was, he immediately jumped up and started shouting, “Algy, old warrior!”

Algy, who had been holding the pale South American pilot at gunpoint, looked up and smiled in relief. “So there you are,” he remarked calmly, as if the two of them were meeting in a restaurant. “I was just coming along to look for you.”

“So I see, old boy,” said Bertie, glancing at the South American, whose tanned face had all but drained of color. He shaking and muttering phrases to himself in a foreign language. “Your friend doesn’t look very happy, if you see what I mean?”

“Not really a friend,” replied Algy. “But enough of the pleasantries. Is there anyone else in the house who’s going to come after you?”

“Von Stalhein and his three pals are upstairs, if that’s what you mean.”

“What are they doing?” asked Algy, as the two of them began hurriedly making their way to the door by mutual unspoken consent, hostage in tow.

“Fighting with a blanket, I should say.”

Algy gave Bertie a sidelong look. “Did you say—fighting with a blanket?”

“Yes.”

“Why are they fighting with a blanket?”

“Because I threw one over them.”

For a moment Algy stood, staring, as if he couldn’t believe his ears, and then slowly, a grin spread began spreading over his face, which widened and widened until it eventually became a snorting laugh. “How—” he spluttered.

At that instant, a shout came from the direction of the stairs, and, looking up, they saw Von Stalhein, a blanket draped over his shoulders, shouting and pointing at them from the head of the staircase.

“We’d better keep the bedtime stories for later,” declared Algy, trying determinedly to stop laughing.

“Too bally true, old boy.”

“This way.” Loosening his hold on the quivering South American, Algy gave the man a quick push towards the staircase before hurrying for the front door behind Bertie, still grinning. 

Go to Chapter 18.

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