Biggles Married II Chapter 8.

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.

Warning: Non canon type fan fiction works may contain severe time mix-ups and character deviations. 

Algy couldn’t help it. He screamed. There is only so much that a human brain can take in the way of shocks, and Algy’s had taken more than its fair share already. In fact, it was a wonder that he was still sane and functioning at all.

He reached into his pocket for his gun, only to discover, to his dismay, that it was no longer there.

“Ah,” said the apparition. “Mr. Lacey, the new man. It’s good to see you on your feet. I trust that you have recovered from your little adventure with the green smoke?”

“What’s going on?” demanded Algy. “Who are you, and what is the meaning of all this?”

“All good questions. My name is Geoffrey Lyle, and I used to be the general’s secretary until my untimely death. Ah, I see you’ve heard the rumors of my demise. Greatly exaggerated, I assure you.”

“Oh, goody-goody,” muttered Algy, recovering some of his sarcasm now that he knew that the man in front of him was not a ghost.

“I apologize for removing your weapon, but I couldn’t risk you doing something dangerous.”

“Can I have it back now?”

“I’m afraid not. You see, you’ve chosen a rather poor moment to come to this island. I’ve got a plan to execute, and your presence is a bit of a problem.”

“What sort of plan?” asked Algy suspiciously, not liking the turn the conversation was taking.

“There’re some things on this island that many people would kill to get their hands on,” replied Lyle, in an oddly casual tone. “As a matter of fact, some of them have killed to get their hands on the things, but that needn’t concern us at the moment. Tonight, I’m planning to get everything that I need and then leaving this island to start a new life. Quite a good plan, wouldn’t you say?”

Realization burst upon Algy like a balloon that has been pricked in the middle. “So you’re the spy,” he breathed. “The man who’s been leaking secrets to the Russians.”

“Oh, so you’ve heard of that, have you? The others didn’t know anything about it. Pity. It would have gone so much easier for you if you had been in the dark. But that just means I’ll have to put a little more thought into your death.”

“Who says I’m going to die?”

“I do, and I’m usually right about these things. Look at what happened to all the other secretaries that came out here. All snuffed out like flies.”

“What makes you think you’re going to get away with this?”

“Quite a lot of things, dear chap. I’ve got friends in high places who would pay any amount of money for the things I have to give them. Also, everyone else in the world thinks I’m dead, which makes things a hundred times easier, wouldn’t you say? In any case, I shall be blowing up the entire island shortly after I leave. Dead men don’t talk, you see.”

Algy stared at the man, aghast. “You don’t think anyone will come to investigate an island blowing up for no apparent reason?”

“Oh, my dear chap, do you know nothing of the British government? They’ll send someone out to take a look around, and then they’ll go back and hem and haw for a few months, and then the whole thing will be dismissed as a regrettable incident. Scientists conducting experiments—something was bound to blow up sooner or later. By then, I shall of course be far, far away.”

“Have you ever considered,” asked Algy, in his most irritatingly smooth manner, “that your head might need examining?”

For the first time since the conversation had started, Lyle’s face darkened. “Enough talking,” he declared, extracting a gun from his pocket and pointing it expertly at his captive. “Do as I say, and don’t try any funny business. It makes no difference to me whether I shoot you or throw you off a cliff. Oh, and by the way.” He slipped a hand into Algy’s jacket pocket. “I almost forgot. You don’t mind if I borrow the key to the hanger, do you?” he asked, with a smile. “You see, I need a plane to leave in, and yours looks perfect.”

&&&

Ginger, somewhat recovered, was able to sit in an armchair when Inspector Gaskin dropped by. “Heard you lads got into a spot of trouble.”

“It was a misunderstanding,” blurted Ginger, and proceeded to explain the situation, with Bertie putting in a word here and there. “…I didn’t really realize how drunk I was,” he finished in a rush. “I mean, I sort of felt all right when I was talking to Bertie…”

“That’s what they all say,” said the inspector sternly. “I’ll let you off this time, but you’d do well to keep an eye on your drinking habits for a few weeks.”

“I will,” promised Ginger fervently. “After the headache I’ve just had, you can be assured that I won’t be drinking for a long, long time.”

“Good to know.” Gaskin snapped his notebook shut and stood. “Well, that seems to be that, then. When does Biggles get back?”

Ginger and Bertie exchanged a glance. “We’re not sure,” admitted Bertie.

“His last honeymoon was supposed to take a fortnight, but Raymond needed him for something, so he had to cut that short,” explained Ginger, feeling guilty again as he thought of Algy. “And then Raymond said he should take some real time off for a good honeymoon, and that he could have a month off.”

“Saw him and his wife in the papers,” said Gaskin, grinning.

“You and half the world,” agreed Ginger.

“Not lost his touch, has he? Give him my regards when you see him, won’t you?”

“Of course. And, er, if you wouldn’t mind keeping this little…affair…between us…?”

Gaskin winked. “I won’t say a word.”

&&&

Lyle forced Algy to walk in front of him to the hanger where the plane was kept. “So thoughtful of you to bring me a means of escape, my dear chap,” he murmured, having once again recovered his good humor. “Just when I was worrying about how to get myself out of this, too.”

“Well, aren’t you lucky?” muttered Algy, who wasn’t in the best of moods. “Be careful you don’t trip over yourself, now.”

“I’d watch that mouth of yours, Lacey. It’ll get you in trouble one of these days.”

“You mean, more trouble than I am in now?” asked Algy, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

“You like hearing yourself talk, don’t you?” said Lyle. “Unfortunately, I don’t.”

Raising the gun, he swung it straight at Algy’s head.

Go to Chapter 9. 

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