Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: 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.

Algy, looking grim and more than a little pale, knocked impatiently on the door to Thompson’s office. When there was no answer, he knocked again, frowning. Again there was no answer, and Algy half-heartedly tried the door handle. Not surprising, it was locked.

“Are you looking for someone?” inquired a cool voice behind him.

Algy turned and said, to the pleasant looking man in uniform standing behind him, “Actually, I was looking for Thompson. This is his office, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s his office, but you won’t find him in there. He’s taken a spot of leave for the next couple of days.”

A cold hand seemed to wrap itself around Algy’s heart. “Did he say why?”

“I don’t know the details, I’m afraid.”

The man began to walk away, but Algy called him back. “Just a minute. A colleague of mine came to the office last night with Thompson and I haven’t heard back from him. I was wondering if you might have seen him?”

“Colleague?” said the man thoughtfully. “What’s his name?”

“Bigglesworth.”

At this, the man fell back against the wall and went pale, holding up his hands as if to ward off an attack. “I…I haven’t heard anything,” he stammered. “I’m…I have to go.” And with that, he scurried down the hall without a backward glance.

Algy, taken aback by the sudden departure of the man, did the only thing he could think of, which was to run down the corridor after the man as fast as he could, shouting as he went. The obvious effect this had on the man in question, was, of course, to make him run even faster.

Where it would have ended it is impossible to say, but just as the two of them rounded a corner, the last person Algy expected to see appeared at the end of the corridor.

Erich von Stalhein.

&&&

Having duly disposed of the squib, both Bertie and Ginger were more than a little shaken, to say the least. They went back to their room to talk the problem over, and on the way there ran into Thompson.

Bertie eyed him. "I say, old boy, what are you doing here?"

Thompson affected an expression of surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Well, where's Biggles?"

Thompson looked, if anything, even more astonished. "Bigglesworth? Isn't he back yet? I haven't seen him since last night."

Bertie and Ginger exchanged worried glances. Ginger said, "I don't suppose you ran into Lacey on the way here?"

"No. Why?"

"He was on his way to see you. He was worried when we didn't get news from Biggles."

Thompson shook his head. "No, I haven't seen him. We must have just missed each other. I had to come here to work on the paperwork for the shooting incident last night, so I haven't been in my office all day."

Bertie looked at his watch. Algy had been gone for more than two hours already. At most, it would have taken him half an hour or so to get to Thompson's office, discover that he wasn't there, and then come back. And if he had found Biggles, surely he would have called. Uneasiness crept into his mind, and he exchanged another look with Ginger.

Biggles had been missing for almost twenty-four hours, and it looked like Algy was fast following in his footsteps.

&&&

Algy and von Stalhein stared at each other for what must have been a full minute of shocked silence.

Eventually, it was the German who recovered first, for having already met Biggles the previous night, he was of course not nearly so surprised to see Algy as Algy was to see him.

But if Algy recovered his wits a tenth of a second later than von Stalhein, it did not impair his ability to act. For one stupefied half-millisecond before realization dawned, Algy said blankly, more to himself than to the German, “You’ve got Biggles.”

“I do,” replied von Stalhein, with grim satisfaction, and those two simple words seemed to break the spell.

Algy turned and began hurtling down the corridor the way he had come, horribly aware of von Stalhein close on his heels, shouting shrilly as he went. It could only be a matter of time before he, or one of the people working for him, managed to get a hold of Algy.

Grimly, Algy kept the lead, one hand pressed to his now unbearably painful side. Snatching a quick look down, he was horrified to see red seeping through his shirt.

Von Stalhein was close now, very close. Algy had a vague mental image of the German breathing down his neck as he dashed through an office and upended a chair into von Stalhein’s path. He heard the German curse as he tripped over the piece of furniture, but there was no time to look back and assess the damage done.

Algy dashed out of the office into another corridor that looked exactly the same as all the other ones he had just run through. He knew that he was lost, but the shrill shouts behind him made him realize that he was in no position to stop and work out the way to the exits through a logical intellectual process.

He took a rasping breath, and the jolt of pain this simple action caused his ribs almost made his knees buckle. His eyes watered, and it was all he could do to keep from passing out.

&&&

After a fruitless conversation with von Stalhein, Biggles had been taken into a windowless room containing a desk and a pair of wooden chairs. His escorts had then locked the door from the outside, and apart from a brief visit to provide him with water and a tray of food, he had seen no more of them, although the slow steady tramp of footsteps outside his prison warned him that escape was not as easy as it seemed.

He had left his watch at the hotel, so he had no idea of how much time passed as he paced the room, seeking to find a means of escape. The furniture was flimsy and might be broken to make weapons, which cheered him somewhat when he remembered that the guards were bound to be back to bring him more food or collect the empty tray.

He attempted to pick the lock, but what tools he had were worse than useless for the task at hand, and he soon gave it up.

At one point during this long period of solitude he must have fallen asleep, for the next thing he knew, he had jerked awake and was staring confusedly at the door, wondering why there was such a commotion outside.

&&&

Algy felt his blood dripping through his fingers from the wound in his side, but he dared not waste the time to check the damage or stop the bleeding. Throwing the chair at von Stalhein had gained him a few minutes’ advantage, but he did not think he would be able to hold the lead for long in his condition.

He was just about to dash out of the room he was standing in, when a large cupboard in one corner caught his eye, and a sudden brainwave came to him. Crossing to the other door of the room, he flung it open as if someone had hurriedly passed through, and then quickly returned to the cupboard and folded himself inside it, leaving the smallest of cracks to breathe and see through.

All this took less than five seconds, and he was well hidden by the time von Stalhein burst into the room, still shouting. Algy held his breath, wondering if his plan had succeeded.

For a moment von Stalhein paused and glanced over at the cupboard, and Algy’s heart sank, thinking that he had been discovered. But then the German’s gaze moved to the door Algy had hastily flung open and he rushed out through it.

In the cupboard, Algy allowed himself a weak gasp of relief. And then he turned his attention to the blood on his shirt and he felt a wave of dizziness come over him.

How long he huddled in the cupboard, he did not know. Later, he could only remember his nerves stretched to breaking point as he strained his ears to hear what was happening outside the door. He dared not move for fear von Stalhein would come back.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he shakily pushed his way out of the cupboard and made his way to the door von Stalhein had left through.

A quick glance around showed no one in sight, and it was with considerable relief that Algy began to make his painstaking way down the corridor.

Walking seemed to take more effort than usual, and he stopped halfway down the long corridor, leaning against a door while he fought to catch his breath.

There was a key in the lock of the door, and for no reason that he could think of, he idly turned it.

The door was wrenched open from the inside, and Algy abruptly found himself pitching forward onto the ground.

&&&

All Biggles could hear through the door was muffled shouting and someone speaking angrily in what appeared to be German. Once, something heavy thudded into his door, making him jump.

He retreated to the other end of the room, then, armed with the empty tray, he once again took up his post by the door. “If anyone comes through that door, I’m going to let him have it,” he promised himself. If it came down to him and von Stalhein, well, better to kill the German than be killed himself.

More shouting. Biggles thought he heard von Stalhein’s voice, but he couldn’t be certain. He took a tighter grip on the edges of the tray, his hands shaking with the strain of waiting.

Minutes passed, and he realized that the shouting had stopped. Either that, or the shouters had moved on to another part of the building.

A thought struck him. “By gosh, I hope it isn’t a fire,” he muttered anxiously. He glanced around his prison for something to break the door down with, but nothing struck him as solid enough to do so. “Well, there’s no smoke anyway,” he comforted himself, cautiously testing the door for signs of heat.

Abruptly, the key rattled in the lock. Someone had unlocked the door! Biggles wrenched the door open and was prepared to strike with the tray he still held, when the man on the other side of the door collapsed on top of him.

The two of them crashed to the floor, and Biggles frantically struggled out from under the unknown assailant. He had lost his hold on the tray, but his questing hand closed over the leg of the nearest chair, and he was about to send it toppling over the newcomer, when he took a closer look and realized who it was.

“Algy!”

Go to Chapter 6. 

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents

Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 4.

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.

Biggles followed Thompson into his office and accepted the seat that was offered to hm. “What’s all this about?” he asked.

Thompson’s expression was grim as he surveyed Biggles from across his desk. “I didn’t realize,” he began, severely, “that you had ulterior motives for coming here.”

Biggles looked astonished. “I don’t understand. What do you mean by ulterior motives?”

“Are you seriously expecting me to believe that your sole reason for being here is to investigate the wreckage of a plane?”

Biggles smiled mirthlessly. “Strange as it may seem,” he murmured, “that is in fact the only reason that I am here. I may have already mentioned this to you, but the pilot who was flying the said plane is a friend of mine, and naturally I have some personal interest in finding out what happened to him.”

“Indeed?” replied Thompson skeptically. “That’s not what I’ve been hearing.”

“What have you been hearing?”

Thompson frowned, then rose and stepped to the door. “Would you mind waiting here for a minute? There’s someone I think you need to meet.”

He left, and Biggles sat puzzling out his confusion until the door behind him opened again. He turned, and he sat staring agape at the newcomer, for it was the last person in the world that he had expected to see.

It was Erich von Stalhein, and he was holding a gun.

&&&

Algy woke.

He frowned when he realized that he was lying on a hotel bed, with sunlight streaming into his eyes through a crack in the curtains.

He didn't remember going to bed.

He must have been quite drunk, to say the least.

Algy sat up and reached for his watch to check the time, and it was only when a sharp pain hit him in the ribs that he recalled the events of the night before. "I was shot!" he muttered to himself, in some agitation, truth be told, because he couldn't quite believe it himself. His groping hand found the watch and he held it up by the strap. It was just after ten in the morning.

But which morning? Had he been asleep for days and days already?

And where were the others? Surely they would have left him a note...?

As endless possibilities ran through his mind, the door to the room abruptly opened, and Ginger walked in, carrying a tray of food. "Oh, good, you're up!" he exclaimed. "Just went down for some morning tea. How're you feeling?"

"My ribs feel as though someone ran over them."

"Well, that's to be expected, I suppose."

At that moment, Bertie bounded into the room, carrying several utensils. "Jolly good to see you up, old boy," he commented, laying the forks and spoons down on the bedside table.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Since last night. Why?"

"Nothing. Just asking. Where's Biggles?"

"He went off with Thompson last night, after you got shot. Thompson said he had something to show him."

"What sort of something?"

"We don't know, old boy. He didn't say."

Algy sat up and threw back the bedclothes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Here, what d'you think you're doing?" cried Ginger, making as if to stop him. "The doctor said you should stay in bed for at least a week."

Algy ignored him. "Have either of you heard from Biggles since last night?"

"No, but--"

"He would never stay away this long if everything was all right," declared Algy. "At the very least, he would call to tell us if he was planning to go on somewhere after he'd met with Thompson. No word means that he's in trouble."

"But--"

Algy reached for his jacket, wincing as he raised his arm to put it on. "I'm going to have a word with Thompson."

"But-"

Algy slammed the door.

&&&

“I say, old boy," murmured Bertie, eyeing the closed door. "Do you think one of us should go after him?"

"I really don't know," confessed Ginger. "There's really no telling what he'll do when he's in that sort of mood."

"Oh, well, it's a bit late now," remarked Bertie, peering out the window that overlooked the front courtyard of the hotel. He saw Algy get into a car, slam the door, and drive away. Bertie polished his monocle thoughtfully. "Bit steep, what?" he said, after a brief pause. "Leaving us here like this. Almost vertical, in fact, if you know what I mean?"

"Maybe we should take a look at the planes?" suggested Ginger. "Biggles and Algy might be back wanting to fly somewhere in a hurry, and it would help if we made sure the aircraft was all right beforehand."

Bertie replaced his monocle in his eye and looked at Ginger through it. "Lead the way, old warrior," he invited.

&&&

For a long minute, Biggles sat silent. As a matter of fact, it took him about that long to gather his wits together. When he finally did speak, his voice was light. "Well, well, Von Stalhein," he said. "I didn't expect to see you here."

The German closed the door behind him and came round to stand behind Thompson's desk. He lowered himself into the chair, eyeing Biggles over the pistol. "Let us not waste time lying to each other," he suggested smoothly.

"Why should I lie about being surprised to see you?" returned Biggles, reasonably. "Besides, you yourself saw how surprised I was when you came in. I'm not that good an actor."

"You expect me to believe that you are here on some sort of pleasure cruise?" inquired the German, cynically.

"I don't expect you to believe anything," rejoined Biggles. "As a matter of fact, I'm here to find out what became of a pilot named Wilkinson. His plane crashed in these parts, and as he was a friend of mine, I felt a personal urge to come out here. I don't suppose you've got this pilot tucked away somewhere up your sleeve, by any chance?"

"No," was the curt reply.

"Well, that's too bad," replied Biggles. "And is there anything you feel like telling me about, while we're in the business of exchanging pleasantries?"

&&&

Ginger inspected the three machines closely, knowing that the slightest glitch could mean the difference between life and death in a dangerous situation. He had almost completed his inspection, and was just about to join Bertie, who was filling in forms to gain access to the petrol needed to refuel the machines, when something attached to the left wing of one of the Austers caught his eye.

A few minutes later, he walked over to Bertie, holding a small object in his hand. “Look at this,” he invited.

Bertie looked. “What is it, old boy? Looks like a squib to me, what?”

“That’s exactly what it is,” replied Ginger grimly.

“All right,” agreed Bertie amiably. “What about it?”

“It was attached to the wing of one of the Austers. If we’d taken off with that on board it would have blown the machine apart.”

Bertie’s eyes widened. “I say, that’s a bit steep, what? Why would anyone do something like this?”

“I don’t know,” said Ginger. “But I have a feeling that someone here doesn’t like us very much.”

Go to Chapter 5. 

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents

Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 3

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. 

Two days later, three planes landed at Congonhas Airport in Brazil.

First came Bertie and Ginger, flying an Auster. Behind them came Biggles, flying the other Auster. Last came Algy, flying a new type of amphibian known as the Penguin.

It had been Algy who had opted for the amphibian, arguing that they might have to make emergency landings on water, in which event the Penguin would prove invaluable, and flying it out would be quicker than borrowing a similar craft from the South American authorities.

Biggles had initially been against the idea, thinking that it would take too long for the plane to be delivered, but the Air Commodore had stepped in as soon as he learned of the matter, and the plane had been delivered to Biggles’ hangers well before take-off.

Algy climbed stiffly from the cockpit and strolled over to join the others, who were waiting for him on the tarmac.

“See anything on your way?” inquired Biggles.

“Not a thing.”

“Well, we’d better be getting along. I was told to meet a fellow named Thompson; he’s some sort of brass hat in these parts, and Raymond says he’ll be able to get us to Wilks’ plane. I think we’d better see that before we make any assumptions about what’s happened to him—hello! I wonder if this is Thompson coming now?”

A tall, serious-looking man was walking briskly toward them. “Are you Bigglesworth?” he called, in a British accent. 

“Yes. Are you Thompson?”

“That’s right. I got a letter from the Foreign Office about you. How can I help you?”

“We’re going to need some petrol for those planes, for a start. After that, I’d be obliged if you could let us have a look at the plane wreckage you picked up a few days ago.”

“The petrol you can have, of course,” said Thompson. “I’ll get someone to take care of it right away. That second request might be a bit harder, however.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because we don’t have the wreckage anymore.”

“Don’t have it! Why, what’s happened to it?”

Thompson’s somber eyes met Biggles’. “Someone was kind enough to burn down the hanger the wreckage was kept in,” he replied, mirthlessly. “That’s what.”

&&&

For perhaps half a minute no one spoke.

“Was there anything else in the hanger where the wreckage was kept?” asked Biggles.

Thompson shrugged. “Two or three planes—Tiger Moths. Nothing very special.”

“And you’re sure this was done deliberately?”

Thompson smiled faintly. “There could be no mistake about that,” he said softly. “The hanger was practically drenched with petrol. It’s hard to see how that could have been an accident.”

“How many people knew about the wreckage?”

“Oh, just about everyone, I should say. We didn’t see any reason to keep it a secret, and in any case, the natives who found the wreckage had already spread the word by the time we showed up to take charge of it.”

“Let me put it another way,” said Biggles. “How many people knew that that wreckage was kept in the hanger?”

“Hard to say,” was the quiet reply. “There are about a dozen or so people who might have had occasion to learn of the fact. But then again, people talk, so there’s no telling who knows about it. As I said, we saw no reason to keep it a secret.”

“I see,” said Biggles. “Well, the thing’s gone, more’s the pity. I would have liked to get a dekko at that particular piece of wreckage.”

“Really? May I ask why?”

Biggles hesitated for a minute, then said, “Between ourselves, a pal of mine was flying that plane, and I’d very much like to find out what happened to him.”

“I see,” replied the other, slowly. “If it helps, I can probably find the report we filed when the wreckage was found. I believe that photographs were taken at the time, and no doubt the report will have noted the exact location where it was found.”

“That’s fine,” declared Biggles. “How soon can you get your hands on it?”

“An hour or so.”

“Right,” said Biggles. “In that case, perhaps you could tell us where we can grab a bite to eat and get some rest in the meantime?”

“The Hotel Grand is quite close. Most of the pilots stay there, as it’s close to the aerodrome. You needn’t come back here afterwards; I can send the report over to you by car as soon as I’ve found it.”

“Suits me,” agreed Biggles. “Come on, chaps. See you later, Thompson.”

&&&

“Well, here’s the report from Thompson,” observed Biggles, taking out a slim folder that had arrived in the middle of dinner. They had all gathered in Biggles’ room to discuss matters. Biggles opened the folder and handed the photographs around while he read the report.

There was silence for a few minutes, and then Ginger said, “I wonder why someone would burn down the hanger. They couldn’t possibly know we were coming.”

“I don’t know about that,” replied Biggles. “From what Thompson said, this wreckage business has drawn a lot of unwanted attention, and Thompson didn’t seem too unduly bothered about the secrecy of it all. For all we know, the whole country may have known that we were coming here—or Wilks, for that matter. I must say it looks bad for him. These aren’t the sort of people who baulk at burning down hangers, and goodness knows what else they’re capable of.”

“So what should we do now, old warrior?” asked Bertie, handing back the photograph he had been examining.

“I don’t know, and that’s a fact,” admitted Biggles. “This report is useless to us. I can’t see anything unusual from these photographs, and the report is so short it’s practically nonexistent.”

“Let’s run down what we do know,” suggested Algy shrewdly. “We know Wilks came here, looking for the diamond.”

“We don’t know if he ever got there, though,” put in Ginger.

“Wherever there happens to be,” murmured Bertie. “Does anyone know where the jolly little island is?”

“I do,” said Biggles. “It’s marked up on my map. Raymond gave me the details before we left. I didn’t pay too much attention to it, because I don’t plan to go there unless we absolutely have to. I’m not risking my life just so some nobleman’s wife can have a new accessory to hang around her neck.”

“Tell us about the island,” urged Ginger, looking interested.

“It’s got some complicated native name, which I believe roughly translates to ‘Dark Island’—a reference to the thick forests, by the way, nothing sinister.” As Biggles spoke, he took his map out of his pocket and handed it around so that the others could see the location of the island for themselves.

“Well, if you’re not planning to go there, where are you planning to go?” asked Algy. “I assume that as we’ve taken the trouble to come here, this will be our starting base?”

“It makes sense,” replied Biggles. “This is the biggest airport in Brazil, and Wilks was bound to make his first port of call here. He would have arrived here with almost empty tanks, the same as we did, and the first thing he would have done would be to fill them up.”

“Do you think anyone would remember if he did come here?” asked Ginger excitedly.

“They’re bound to. He’d have to sign for the petrol, for one thing. I think I’ll ask Thompson—”

Biggles broke off suddenly as the window shattered, and something cracked sharply across the room.

“What the—?” he snapped.

“That was a bullet!” exclaimed Ginger, jumping to his feet.

Algy dashed to the window, drawing his pistol as he went. Brushing the loose glass out of his way, he peered out into the darkness.

Another sharp crack sounded, and before the others’ horrified eyes, Algy jerked violently and then crumpled to the ground in a heap.

&&&

Biggles was the first to reach him, turning Algy roughly over to check the extent of his injuries. To his horror, a dark red stain was spreading rapidly across the front of Algy’s shirt, and it appeared to be coming from his chest. “Algy!” he shouted. “Algy, can you hear me? Get away from the window, you fool!” he snapped, for Ginger had now darted to the window and was peering out, much in the same manner that Algy had. “Do you want to get shot too?”

“Whoever did it, he’s gone,” declared Ginger, stepping away from the window.

“If I ever catch the skunk who did this,” choked Biggles, and then broke off as Algy stirred weakly. “Algy! Algy, old man, can you hear me?” Algy coughed, one hand reaching aimlessly towards his chest, possibly to check the chest wound. “Don’t move,” said Biggles, quickly. “You’ve just been shot.”

Bertie had crossed to the room’s telephone and was talking rapidly into the instrument. “The doctor should be here in a few minutes,” he murmured, hanging up the phone and walking over to the door to open it.

“What should I do?” asked Ginger, helplessly, standing by the window, his eyes roaming over the chaos in the room.

“Go into the bathroom and get me a towel,” ordered Biggles. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding somehow. I think he’s unconscious again,” he added, as Algy slumped lifelessly back to the ground.

Bertie came running back from the hotel corridor where he had been waiting for the doctor to arrive. “He’s coming,” he told Biggles. To no one in particular, he said, “Hope he speaks jolly old English, what? Might be awkward otherwise.”

“Stop blathering to yourself and get out of the way,” snapped Biggles, for Bertie was standing directly in line with the door.

“All right, all right, old boy,” murmured Bertie, looking somewhat hurt as he moved aside. “Sorry, and all that sort of thing.”

The doctor, carrying a white medical bag, burst in through the door, closely followed by the hotel manager, and Thompson.

&&&

"What's going on here?" demanded Thompson, as the doctor bent to work on Algy.

"Someone shot at us!" replied Ginger.

"Who?"

"No idea, old boy," said Bertie, taking out his monocle and starting to polish it with quick, nervous strokes. "The shots came in the jolly window, don't you know."

"Is he going to be all right?" asked Biggles anxiously, as the doctor rose to his feet.

The doctor spoke rapidly to Thompson in Portuguese, and Thompson translated. "He says the bullet fractured one of your friend's ribs, but other than that, there isn't any serious damage. He's probably fainted from the blood loss, but he should be all right after a few days in bed."

Biggles breathed a sigh of relief. "That's taken a load off my mind," he declared.

"I'll get someone to clean this up," offered Thompson, indicating the broken glass and bloodied towels. He nodded to the manager, who hurried out of the room. "In the meantime," he said, turning to Biggles. "You and I should talk. I think there's something you ought to know."

Go to Chapter 4. 

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents

Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 2.

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. 

It was about a week later that Biggles was rudely awakened by the insistent ringing of the telephone that stood on the table by his bed. Muttering to himself,, Biggles dragged himself forward in the manner of a crocodile and reached out a hand for it. “Sergeant Biggleworth.”

“Ah, Bigglesworth,” said Air Commodore Raymond. “Sorry to wake you, but this is a matter of some urgency.”

“Why, what’s happened?”

“I can’t say too much over the phone. Could you come down to my office as soon as possible?”

“Well, all right. Should I bring the others?”

“You might as well.” A slightly ironic tone had crept into the Air Commodore’s voice. “It looks like you’re going to South America, after all.”

&&&

The Air Commodore took out his cigarette case and offered it to the four airmen. “Help yourselves,” he invited. He paused briefly, waiting until they had made themselves comfortable before continuing, “It’s like this. After you refused the PM’s request when I last spoke to you, I happened to run into an old friend of yours: Group Captain Wilkinson. You remember him, don’t you, Bigglesworth? He told me that he had been running his own airline, but had decided to turn it over to one of his younger pilots. He said he was looking for a spot of ‘real flying’—his words, not mine—I couldn’t see any harm in it, so I told him about the PM’s proposal.”

“And I suppose he jumped at the opportunity?” asked Biggles, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. “That’s old Wilks for you.”

“He did. He spent a day or so purchasing aircraft and equipment, and he took one of his friends with him. Three days ago I received a telephone call from him, telling me that he and his second pilot—a lad named Robbs—had landed safely in South America and would be making their way to the island in question in due time. That was the last time I heard from them. This morning a call was put through to me from the South American authorities. They had found the wreckage of a plane, a few hundred miles off the Brazilian coast. The markings matched those of Wilkinson’s plane, and I am afraid—I am very much afraid—that something has happened to them.”

“And you would like us to go after him, sir?”

The Air Commodore spread his hands. “I can’t order you to do so, of course. This whole operation is strictly unofficial. The press, for one, would have a field day with it if word ever got out. But I imagine now that it’s become something of a personal matter, you’re going to involve yourself in any case.”

“Put like that, how can I possibly refuse?” murmured Biggles sardonically.

Raymond shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I’ll let you have as much assistance as possible, of course. I don’t expect you’ll be in need of financial aid, but I can provide you with the necessary papers and documents. I will also inform the various governments of your arrival, and ask them to cooperate with you in any way they can.”

“Thanks,” replied Biggles briefly. “I’ll make out a list of things I might want and let you have it sometime tonight. We should be ready to leave by tomorrow afternoon, at the latest. And now, if you don’t mind, I would like to take my boys to lunch so that we can talk the position over.”

&&&

“Getting Wilks out of trouble seems to be all we ever do," complained Algy, as soon as their meal had been served.

Biggles smiled. "It certainly looks that way, doesn't it?" he murmured. "Well, there's not much we can do about it now, and we certainly can't leave him there. I must confess I'm rather surprised that he agreed to do the job for Raymond. Wilks may be a lot of things, but he isn't a fool."

"I expect he was hoping to get one up on you," suggested Algy, grinning. "Raymond probably told him that he'd already told you about the proposition."

"That's as may be," said BIggles softly. "But he's old enough to know better than that. Shooting down balloons during the war when we were all young and carefree is one thing, but it's ridiculous to go on doing it now. Anyway, let's get down to brass tacks. Wilks set out for this place in South America, but he was stopped along the way. Or
his plane was, anyway."

"It may have been a genuine accident," put in Ginger.

"I don't think so," said BIggles thoughtfully. "Wilks would hardly go beetling off to the other side of the world without checking his equipment properly, so I think we can rule out the possibility of that. It seems to me that he must have been shot down, either on purpose or by accident."

"But I say, old boy," broke in Bertie. "If someone had shot him down by accident, wouldn't they have reported it? To the jolly old air force or whatever they have over there?"

"Not necessarily," rejoined Biggles. "They might hush it up for fear of getting in trouble with our people, or something along those lines. But I agree, it’s not very likely."

"So you think he was shot down on purpose, then?" queried Algy.

"It seems to be the only reasonable explanation. We know what he was going out there for, maybe somebody else knew as well...the question is, why would whoever it is want to stop him? To get the diamond for themselves, or to stop him from getting to the diamond?"

"Why would anyone want to stop Wilks from getting to the diamond?" demanded Ginger, incredulously.

"Because it may not be there anymore," replied Biggles. "Or perhaps because it was never there in the first place. But those are wild guesses at best. We'll drift along presently and ask Raymond to provide us with some maps or aerial photos of the place. Maybe that will give us some idea as to why Wilks went down. I'll also ask Raymond to get the people in charge of the plane wreckage to let us have a dekko at it. We might see things that they haven't--bullet holes, or some trouble with the engine, for example. After that, we'd better get home and pack. I want to be
in the air as soon as dawn breaks. We've got no time to lose."

Go to Chapter 3. 

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents

Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 1.

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. 

Detective Inspector James Bigglesworth, known as "Biggles” to his many friends and enemies, stretched in his chair and yawned. "It's almost ten o' clock," he observed. "If Raymond doesn't come in ten more minutes, I'm going up to bed. We've been waiting for two hours. I wonder why he didn't call to say it would take so long."

"Perhaps he's in a meeting," suggested Flying Constable "Ginger" Hebblethwaite.

"Perhaps."

"I hope he isn't going to think up some bally mission for us to toddle off to again," remarked Lord Bertie Lissie. "We just got back from South Africa, and that wasn't much fun, no, by jove.!"

"You exaggerate," chided Biggles, with a slight smile. "It wasn't a picnic, but it wasn't as bad as you made it out to be."

"My jolly old clothes got in a frightful mess, what?"

"Only because you were idiotic enough to jump in the river when I joked about it," said Algy, grinning. "You could have just hid in a bush, like I did."

"The blighters might have started hitting the bushes, what?" murmured Bertie reproachfully.

A knock sounded on the door of their headquarters, and Biggles got to his feet. "That must be Raymond.” He opened the door and grinned somewhat ruefully at his chief. "Come in, sir. Take a pew."

Raymond settled himself into his chair and lit his pipe thoughtfully. "I'm sorry to be so late," he apologized. "The situation was rather...unusual."

"I take it that means you're expecting us to head out to the deepest jungles or highest mountains," said Biggles.

The Air Commodore smiled faintly. "Well, not both, hopefully. But yes, I do need you to go somewhere."

Bertie groaned. "My bally clothes will get dirty again before they have a chance to dry, what?"

"You'd notice if we left you behind," remarked Ginger.

Bertie glared at Ginger through his monocle but did not reply.

"This...quest, if I may use the word," said Raymond slowly, "is quite a strange one.'

"How strange?"

"Well, to put it plainly, I'd like you to rescue a princess from a nestful of dragons."

&&&

There was a pause.

Biggles' eyebrows rose comically. "I must be getting deaf in my old age, sir. I could have sworn I heard you say we were supposed to go rescue a princess from a nest of dragons."

"You aren't getting deaf," said Raymond.

"That's what I was afraid of," murmured Biggles. "Dare I ask what sort of dragon?"

"The fire-breathing sort."

"Ah."

"I'd better explain. On a certain island off the South American coast..."

"Africa today, America tomorrow, what?" said Bertie.

Raymond ignored him. "As I was saying, on this island, there exists a certain breed of lizard that 'breathes fire'. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say it breathes acid. You see, the saliva of this lizard happens to contain a very acid substance, and when the lizard gets frightened or angry, it spits."

"And whoever gets hit gets hurt, eh?" said Biggles.

"Yes. The wounds are painful, and in the humid atmosphere, they are easily infected. Which means that getting hit is close to signing a death warrant."

Algy shifted in his chair. "I don’t suppose there's such a commodity as a spit-proof vest or mask?"

"No. And the thing about these lizards is, they're very hard to spot among the plants and things, so it's easy to trod on one. They're a bit like snakes in that respect."

Ginger shuddered. He hated snakes.

"And what about the princess?" asked Biggles. "Is she a lizard too?"

"No. She's a diamond."

"Really, old boy?" murmured Bertie, thoughtfully. "Tell us more. Diamonds, by jove."

The Air Commodore shook his head. "Not diamonds in the plural, my boy. Just one. Known to the public as the Princess, it belonged-belongs-to Lord Robert Ackbury. Or to be more accurate, it belongs to his wife, Lady Margaret."

"And how do we come into this?" inquired Algy. "Why not just send a boat over to the island and pick it up?"

"Aeroplanes are quicker," replied Raymond. "And I believe it's all but impossible to get onto the island if you go over in a boat. It's sheer cliff on all sides."

"I'm more interested in how the perishing diamond got there in the first place," put in Ginger. "It seems a funny sort of place to bring a diamond to. Did Lord Ackbury drop it, or something?"

"No. As a matter of fact, I haven't been entirely frank with you..."

"Then it would be best to start now, sir," suggested Biggles.

"The fact is, no one knows what the diamond looks like, where it is, or how to get it. No one's ever seen it before."

&&&

In the dead silence that greeted this unusual statement, Biggles lit a cigarette. He smoked for a few minutes without speaking, watching the smoke spiral toward the ceiling with an unreadable expression. Then, he said, sarcastically, "Let me get this straight, sir. You want us to fly over to an island infested with acid breathing lizards for the purpose of gathering a diamond that no one has any information on?"

"That's right."

"I don't want to state the obvious," put in Algy. "But if no one has ever laid eyes on it, how do we even know it's there? Even if it is there, how in the world are we supposed to find it when we have no idea where it is anyway?"

"Bally mess, what?" agreed Bertie, polishing his monocle.

"I know it sounds fantastic," said the Air Commodore.

"It doesn't sound fantastic," said Biggles softly. "It sounds impossible. I would also be interested to know how our nobleman's jewellery relates to us."

Raymond shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Well, Bigglesworth...the fact of it is, Lord Ackbury has been rather generous with the Prime Minister over a matter of national importance. This is the PM's way of repaying him."

"Indeed?" Biggles blew more smoke at the ceiling, his face bland. "I'm sorry, sir, but I must confess that I don't really see my way to risking my neck over a matter of politics. I have no trouble fighting in wars and spying on the enemy for the sake of my country, but frankly, this matter is simply a whim of the Prime Minister's. If some other blighter is silly enough to break his neck looking for a needle in a volcano haystack, that's his business, but I'm not going to."

“That is your decision, of course,” acknowledged the Air Commodore. “Between you and me, I’m glad you refused. It sounds like a wild goose chase to me, and there are certain political issues concerned that, well, let’s just say that the paperwork would be considerable.”

“Best for all of us, then.”

“Quite,” said Raymond, reaching for his hat. “Good night.”

Ginger waited until the door had closed behind Raymond before bursting excitedly into speech. “A diamond no one’s ever seen, surrounded by fire-breathing dragons! Raymond must be losing his mind!”

“Or the PM has,” put in Algy.

“What’s it matter, anyway?” observed Biggles matter-of-factly. “We’re not going, so there’s an end to it. Well, I’m going to bed. Good night, everyone.”

Go to Chapter 2.

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents

Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel Chapter Contents

Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the Biggles series characters used in these works. These fan fictions were written for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered part of the official storyline.

Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel

Join Biggles in one of his most curious adventures--sent on a modern-day quest by Air Commodore Raymond to find a diamond known as the Princess on an island populated with fire-breathing dragons. 

Chapter 1. 
Chapter 2. 
Chapter 3.
Chapter 4. 
Chapter 5. 
Chapter 6. 
Chapter 7. 
Chapter 8. 
Chapter 9. 
Chapter 10.
Chapter 11.
Chapter 12.
Chapter 13.
Chapter 14.
Chapter 15.
Chapter 16.
Chapter 17.
Chapter 18.
Chapter 19.
Chapter 20.

Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 20.

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.

Even before the enemy plane’s bullets had left its guns, Algy came down on it like a ton of bricks. Biggles doubted that the pilot even saw what it was that sent his plane up in a burst of flame.

The other plane, the one that had been in front of the Penguin, evidently decided that it was no match for Algy, for it straightened out and fled just as Algy turned to begin the attack.

“Running away like a scared rabbit,” said Ginger, with only a hint of sneer in his voice.

“Try Algy on the radio again,” suggested Biggles, as, with the coast clear, he finally managed to lift the Penguin off the water.

Ginger obliged, but came back in under a minute to report, “Still nothing.”

“His radio must be broken. Well, there he goes, back to the mainland at top speed. I hope to goodness his plane holds together until he manages to land it. Keep an eye on him if you can, in case he runs into difficulties.”

&&&

After that, there is really little more to tell. The two planes flew back to the aero club without mishap, to be greeted by an astonished Rick and some of the local policemen.

Bertie and Wilks were rushed to the hospital. Algy, despite his protests, was made to go with them. Wilks had all but recovered from his injuries, and the only thing really wrong with him was a slight touch of fever, which the doctor assured him should pass in a day or two. Bertie’s arm was not badly injured either. The bullet, thankfully, had merely grazed it, and not caused any lasting damage.

Except for a few minor burns and bruises, Algy escaped relatively unscathed from his adventures, although the doctor insisted on keeping him in the hospital for two days to ensure that the bullet wound in his side would have a chance to heal.

Acting on Algy and Bertie’s information, the police went to the house where Bertie had been imprisoned and arrested three members of the diamond smuggling gang, one of whom Biggles later found out happened to be Thompson. During the raid on the house, the police also found some diamonds, and these were subsequently turned over to the Brazilian government.

The police spent some time searching for the last plane that had left before Algy had been able to shoot it down, but no trace was found of either the plane or its pilot.

Of the diamonds that Biggles had pocketed during his stay on the island, only three were considered to be really valuable, and the most valuable one was given to Lord Ackbury, who of course was the reason Wilks had gone to South American in the first place. Of the two that were left, one was given to Wilks as a reward for his part in the affair, and the third diamond was eventually handed over to Biggles.

“Pity we didn’t get more when we had the chance,” lamented Ginger.

“We were lucky to get out alive at all,” Biggles reminded him. “Besides, greed is what drives men to crooked ways, my lad, and you’d do well to remember it.”

THE END

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents 

Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel: Chapter 19.

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.

“He knows how to pick his moments,” said Biggles bitterly, as Algy’s plane swung around sharply and proceeded to open fire on the plane that had been shooting at Biggles. “Good thing he’s remembered to bring his guns this time.”

“I wonder where they got the Penguin from?” Ginger said, wide-eyed.

“From the North Pole, probably,” replied Biggles, the sarcasm evident in his voice. “What did they bring it here for, anyway? It certainly can’t land on this island, not unless it wants to wreck itself.”

“Ha!” said Ginger, who had been watching the fight raging above. “Got him!”

“Move!” snapped Biggles, dragging Ginger forward, seconds before the flaming carcass of the plane dropped out of the sky, landing perilously close to them. “Dash it, that was close.”

“Bigglesworth!”

The shout made him turn, and he was not really very surprised to find Von Stalhein standing behind him, brandishing a gun. “You do turn up in the most unexpected places, don’t you, Von Stalhein,” he said, with something like a sigh. “And diamonds this time, too. You do get around.”

Behind the German, other figures were starting to approach. “You can’t get away,” said Von Stalhein, evenly. “You are surrounded.”

“Forgive me if I don’t burst into tears,” said Biggles drily. “But I’m in a bit of a hurry, and I’m getting tired of this nonsense.”

Von Stalhein’s eyes flashed with rage. “You do realize I will shoot you if you take another step?”

“You can shoot all you like,” retorted Biggles. “In case you missed the show earlier, I’ve got Lacey and Lissie up there ready to shoot your men on sight.”

Von Stalhein snarled something in German and began to speak, but just at that moment, an ominous rumble that seemed to come from the very center of the earth shook the ground underneath their feet.

Unlike the earlier tremor that had frightened Ginger earlier, this time the ground shook for perhaps a full minute before it subsided.

A sudden hush fell over the entire island as Von Stalhein and Biggles stared at each other, and abruptly the silence was broken by a deafening crack which echoed all around them.

Ginger looked down and saw, with horror, that small fissures had begun to appear in the earth at his feet.

&&&

“Run!” snapped Biggles, and as one, the two different parties began running—Biggles’ group to where they had left Wilks, Von Stalhein’s group to their planes.

“What’re we going to do?” panted Ginger, struggling to keep up with Biggles. “We can’t get off the island.”

“In another minute, no one’s going to be able to get off anything,” gasped Biggles, brushing aside an overhanging tree. “Robbs, which way?”

Without a word Robbs once again took the lead, and about ten minutes later they ran into Wilks, who had come to meet them.

“What on earth is going on?” he demanded. “I heard shots.”

“Never mind that now,” grated Biggles. “Are you all right to run for a bit?”

“I suppose so, but what is it we’re running from, exactly?”

“The volcano’s going to blow up!” said Ginger, white-faced.

Wilks turned pale. “I thought that tremor went on a bit longer than usual,” he said, as he fell in step with the three airmen. “But what are we going to do?”

“We’d better get to the other end of the island for a start,” said Biggles, as the ground once again rumbled beneath their feet. “The only way to get out of this is by plane, and unless you feel like asking the crooks for a joyride, we’ll have to rely on Algy or Bertie to pick us up.”

“How would they—” began Wilks, but he trailed off as, above their heads, one of Von Stalhein’s planes began to fire randomly at the ground.

Biggles shouted something, but just then there was another crack from the volcano that drowned out his words and no one heard him. There was clearly no way for them to go forward with the plane above strafing the road ahead, so all the four of them could do was take cover by a large tree.

“This is a fine mess,” muttered Biggles, as the Penguin swept down on the shooting plane like an avenging angel. “There goes Bertie. We’d better leave them to it.”

“I can see Algy,” reported Ginger, in the manner of a radio presenter. “It looks like he’s trying to land on the other end of the island.”

“I hope he makes it,” said Wilks. “If he doesn’t, we’ll all be in the soup.”

“Time enough to talk about soup when we’re actually in it,” replied Biggles. “Come on, we’d better be there to meet him, or he’ll wonder what’s happened to us.”

Ginger never forgot the wild run to the other end of the island. Tremors shook the ground every few minutes or so, and the oppressive heat pressed down on him like a live thing. Above their heads, Bertie and the other plane were still fighting. There was something so surreal about it all that Ginger had to pinch his arm to convince himself that he was not dreaming.

Algy’s wheels touched down on the island just as they burst through the trees on the edge of the open area where they had tried to land the Mosquito. He saw them coming towards him and glided forward to meet them. Even before his wheels had glided to a complete stop, he was leaning over the side of the cockpit, throwing things to the ground.

“What are you doing?” shouted Biggles, as he came within earshot.

“Brollies,” shouted back Algy. “You’ll have to jump for it. Bertie will pick you up in the Penguin.”

“He’s still fighting with one of those planes.”

“No he’s not. He won. I’ve just told him to land and pick you up. You’d better buck up. I’ve just had a good look at that volcano, and it’s glowing red as if it’s going to blow up any second.”

“Are you telling me?” sneered Biggles, distributing the parachutes among the four of them. “What about you, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go back up and hold off Von Stalhein’s chaps while Bertie picks you up. We can rendezvous at the Aero Club. Bertie says he’s run out of ammunition.”

“You must be crazy! It’s four against one.”

“What would you like me to do then? I’m the only one with guns now, and someone’s got to keep the hounds at bay, unless you want to be shot while you’re swimming towards the Penguin.”

“Let me do it, then,” said Biggles.

“It would take too much time. You can go, or stay, as you like, but I’m going.”

“All right.” Resigned, Biggles started to put on his parachute as Algy settled down in his seat and turned to the controls.

“So long,” said Algy, cheerfully. “See you later.”

“So long,” echoed Biggles. “And Algy, old man…do be careful.”

Algy’s reply, if he made one, was drowned in the roar of his engines.

&&&

They stood on the edge of the island and saw Bertie waving to them from the cockpit of the Penguin. He had brought it as close to the coast as possible, but Biggles could see that some swimming would be required to reach it. “Do you think you can make it?” he asked Wilks, quietly.

“I shall have to,” was the frank reply. “I’d rather try than be burnt to a crisp by the volcano.” As if in agreement, the ground shook again beneath their feet.

‘You’d better go first,” suggested Biggles. Wilks nodded and launched himself into space. Those on the island suffered a few tense seconds before his parachute finally billowed to life. “There he goes,” murmured Biggles, watching as Bertie taxied forward and helped Wilks into the plane. “Ginger. You’re next. And Robbs, you’ll go after he does. I’ll bring up the rear.”

He waited until Bertie had helped Robbs into the plane before he jumped. The shock of the water hitting him was stronger than he had anticipated. It was also much colder than he had expected, and he found himself gasping for breath as he struggled to swim.

Hands caught hold of his collar and pulled him forward, and after a few confusing seconds that he could never afterwards remember, he found himself lying on the floor of the Penguin, gasping and wheezing like a fish.

“Where’s Algy?” he gasped, when he could talk.

“He hasn’t taken off yet,” said Ginger. “At least I haven’t seen him in the air yet.”

“Well, he’d better get a bally move on if he’s going to be watching our backs, what?” murmured Bertie, somewhat reproachfully. “There’s someone using us for jolly old darts practice.”

That this was true was evident by the way the plane rocked from side to side as, every so often, a bullet hit it.

Biggles struggled to see what was happening outside. He was dimly aware of more bullets striking the amphibian from above, and he was also conscious of Bertie zigzagging wildly to spoil the other pilot’s aim as Ginger tried to keep the attacker at bay with pistol shots, but all that felt distant to him as he stared at the shaking island, which now had an long crack running down the middle of it.

Faster and faster the crack travelled, widening with each passing second. Trees and bits of earth were tumbling into the sea on all sides, as if a giant invisible hand were knocking them down.

Finally, the inevitable happened.

With a loud roar, the island split itself in two, right down the middle, and before Biggles’ horrified eyes, crumbled into nothing as if it had been a sand castle swept away by the tide.

An ear-splitting explosion thundered through the air, and suddenly the ocean was glowing red with chunks of larva. A thick column of smoke leapt upwards, obscuring everything from view and making his eyes water painfully, but still Biggles gazed at the spot where the island had been, praying with increasing desperate despair for Algy’s plane to reappear.

&&&

“Radio,” croaked Biggles, in a strangled voice that he did not recognize as his own. “Get him on the radio. Now”

Ginger was already sitting at the instrument. A minute later his voice came back, reluctantly. “Nothing.”

Biggles’ hands clenched into fists by his side as he stared at the churning sea around them. “I’ve going after him,” he declared.

Wilks, who had collapsed in a corner of the pain to take a rest, looked up with alarm. “You’re not serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

“What is it you’re going to do, exactly? Even if he is down there you haven’t a hope of finding him. Not to mention all the larva floating around and the people shooting at you.”

“Well, what is it you think I should do? Nothing?”

The argument was abruptly cut short as the plane lurched underneath them. “Bally sorry,” came Bertie’s voice, from the pilot’s seat, “but would one of you chaps mind taking over for a bit? I think I got a bit of a scratch on my arm, what?”

Biggles hurried to his side, and was horrified by the expanse of red spreading over Bertie’s shirt. “Where did you get hit?” he snapped, as, with Ginger and Robbs helping, he got Bertie out of the seat.

“Shoulder,” murmured Bertie, sounding almost sleepy. “But it’s nothing to worry about, really….dashed silly thing to do…”

“Keep an eye on him,” ordered Biggles, as he slid into Bertie’s place. “What wouldn’t I give for a couple of nice big guns,” he grated, casting a final look at the spot where the island had been before turning his attention to the planes still attacking them.

&&&

With one plane shooting the way before them, and another coming hard upon their heels, there really was no room for Biggles to take off. In fact, it was all he could do to keep as many bullets as possible from hitting the Penguin.

The thick smoke pouring out from what had once been Dark Island surrounded them, sometimes making it impossible to see what was happening around them.

Ginger, with the forlorn expression of the desperate, was firing at the planes with his pistol, but so far all he had succeeded in doing was waste bullets, for most of his shots went wide, so quickly did the planes above change their positions.

Biggles was wondering how long they could keep up what seemed to him a miraculous run of good luck when he heard Ginger yelp behind him. Not daring to look back, he shouted anxiously, “Are you all right?”

Ginger, sounding slightly shaken, replied at once. “I’m all right. Just some broken glass flying around, gave me a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

Biggles breathed again, but not for long, because the plane in front of them was in a position to prevent them from going any further forward, and a quick look over his shoulder revealed the other plane coming lazily down on them for what Biggles knew in his heart would be the final attack. At such a distance they presented a sitting target, and it would be insulting the most amateur pilot to assume the possibility of the bullets missing.

Ginger, huddled up by the side of the plane just behind Biggles, had evidently seen the plane as well, for he said in a hoarse voice, “Here he comes.”

“Hold on,” grated Biggles, hands tightening over the controls as if he could somehow will them into performing magical acts.

And just as the plane lined up for its first shot, Ginger let out a yell of delight, startling Biggles so much that he almost lost control of the machine altogether. “What on earth—” he began angrily, turning to Ginger, but Ginger was gesticulating wildly at something behind Biggles, apparently too agitated to speak.

Biggles turned to see what had so affected him.

Rising up out of the dark smoke ahead like some angel of doom was a blackened object that Biggles took a minute to recognize as a plane.

He did not need Ginger’s shout to tell him what he already knew.

It was Algy’s plane.

Go to Chapter 20.

Go back to Sir Biggles, Order of the Camel contents