Biggles Married III Chapter 15.

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 was vaguely aware that he was falling down a long dark tunnel and that someone was screaming his name over and over. Something squeezed into his chest and for a brief instant he found it hard to breathe.

Abruptly, he was on his feet and there was a bright bright light just a few steps ahead of him.

With a sort of detached wonder, Algy took a stumbling step towards it.

&&&

Gaskin put the shabby gray building under surveillance and subsequently arrested two men, one of whom was carrying fragments of what looked suspiciously like Biggles’ bomb.

The fragments were analyzed and found to contain the contents of a relatively harmless stun grenade. Algy had thrown the bomb into the pool at the most deserted part of the hotel and no one was hurt. With some help from the hotel manager and Gaskin, the official story that was given to the public and the press was that it had all been a harmless prank. Biggles was never charged.

The policeman Algy had shot—by accident while trying to save him from Smith’s men—suffered nothing worse than a minor graze on the leg, and after several days in hospital was able to resume his normal duties.

Biggles never saw Jane again, but two days after Smith and his men were arrested, he received an envelope in the post containing nothing but Jane’s wedding ring. Jane had friends in high places, and her part in the entire Smith affair was later hushed up.

&&&

Biggles sat in the chair beside Algy’s hospital bed with his head in his hands. He had not slept for two days, and it showed in the dark circles underneath his eyes and the unshaven stubble on his face.

Algy had been unconscious for the past two days. The doctors were not hopeful. He had lost a lot of blood from the bullet wound, and he seemed to be suffering from severe shock besides. Only a miracle could possibly save him, they said, warning Biggles not to get his hopes up.

Bertie and Ginger had dropped in several times to see how Algy was doing and to bring Biggles some food which he did not eat. These visits did not usually last long, as all too often casual conversation would peter out into long awkward silences whilst all of them stood around doing nothing but staring at the prone figure in the white bed.

Doctors and nurses came and went in a blur. Biggles lost all track of time. He would stare at Algy, lost in his own thoughts for what seemed like several eternities, only to check his watch and find that no more than five minutes had passed. He spent endless hours pacing up and down in the narrow confines of the hospital room like a caged animal until every stain on the floorboards was imprinted in his memory.

He got up from his chair, stalked to the window, and attempted to light a cigarette with shaking hands. Somehow he couldn’t seem to get the match to light, and with a snarl of frustration, he finally abandoned his efforts, throwing the match and matchbox aside before snatching the unlit cigarette from his lips and tossing it angrily to the ground.

“Don’t do that,” admonished a plaintive voice.

Biggles spun round as if he had been shot. “Algy?” he asked, incredulously.

“Waste of a good gasper, if you ask me,” continued Algy, wincing as he attempted to sit up. “What’s going on? Where am I? What are you doing here?”

In a few brief sentences, Biggles ran over the highlights of the past few days.

Algy grunted, abandoning his efforts to sit up. “That explains why my chest feels as though someone hit it with a hammer,” he said. “Any chance of a bite? I’m starving.”

“I’ll get something,” promised Biggles, hurrying out of the room.

He came back to find Algy staring at the ceiling. “This place depresses me,” complained Algy.

Biggles glared at him. “You’ve only been awake for two minutes!”

“That should show you just how depressing it is!”

“You need rest—”

“I feel perfectly fine!”

“What’s the hurry, anyway?”

“I’ve got work to do,” declared Algy.

“Such as?”

“Paperwork,” replied Algy promptly.

“Bertie and Ginger can handle it.”

“No, they can’t. I need to call the papers too, about that piece they wrote—”

“I’ve already spoken with them, and they’ve printed a full retraction.”

“In tiny print on the fifth page, I suppose?” sneered Algy. “That should clear my name with the general public.”

“They printed it on the first page, under the story about Smith’s arrest. There’s nothing you need to do, so just lie back and go to sleep again or something.”

“I need to be looking for a flat,” said Algy, suddenly, as if the thought had just struck him.

An awkward silence fell.

Biggles cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Actually, I know this place in Mount Street that has rooms free.”

Algy raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he said, expressionless.

“The rates are reasonable…there’s a housekeeper…I think you might like it.”

A slow grin spread over Algy’s face. “Why don’t I come by later today and have a look?” he suggested.

THE END

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