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. 

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