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