Algy Goes Alone: Chapter 3. Ginger Cuts It Fine

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 did not take Biggles long to hire a car and drive up to the Valentia. The fifteen minute journey was uneventful, except for the frequent appearance of various types of planes overhead, a fact which Ginger remarked on.

“I’m not too surprised,” said Biggles. “Naturally, the crooks would go somewhere with a lot of planes. I suppose it’s mostly people from the aero club. Although this does make our job harder, not knowing which plane will be pinched.”

Having arrived at the Valentia and parked the car, Biggles proceeded to find the manager and inquire as to whether there were any rooms available. To his relief, it was a relatively simple matter to book a room for himself and Ginger, as the inn was practically empty. The manager said mournfully that they found it difficult to attract customers, as the best fishing spots were slightly more downstream.

“Is there anyone else staying here at the moment?” asked Biggles, taking out some money to pay for the room.

“Four American gentlemen, sir, and one Irish gentleman. But they’re mostly out very early in the mornings, and they don’t come back until after supper, so they shouldn’t disturb you. Supper’s served at seven, sir, and lunch is served until one o’clock. But we do picnic lunches, sir, if you don’t want to come back for lunch.”

“We noticed there seemed to be a lot of planes passing by,” said Biggles.

“There’s an aero club nearby, sir. I don’t know if you saw it. Most of the pilots like to fly up here for the view. I believe some of them do take passengers on occasion. But there are some very nice walks, if you wanted to do that.” The manager handed Biggles a small booklet that appeared to be a map of nearby attractions. “The stairs are this way, sir.”

Once inside their room—which turned out to be surprisingly spacious—Biggles turned to Ginger with a frown. “I didn’t expect four of them,” he said. “I was expecting two or three at the most. After all, all they really need is the pilot.”

“I looked at the guestbook whilst I was signing it,” remarked Ginger. “They’ve been here for two days already. You’d think that would be enough time to steal a plane, with so many of them coming here all the time.”

“Yes, it does seem queer,” agreed Biggles. “I can’t help thinking that perhaps something’s come unstuck somehow. This doesn’t strike me as an efficient way to run their operation. Still, I suppose we can only wait and see.”

“Shall we go out and try to find them?”

“Not on your life. They could be anywhere.”

“But what if they steal a plane?”

“The chances of us accidentally coming across them just as they’re stealing a plane are too small to consider,” said Biggles. “If they do manage to steal a plane today, there’s nothing much we can do about it; driving up and down the countryside looking for them is likely to accomplish nothing. It’s getting dark now, anyway. My instinct tells me that if they’ve been here for two days already, they’re probably expecting to stay a third day. It can’t be that difficult to steal a plane here, so they must be waiting for something, or perhaps someone, to turn up. I think I’ll give Algy and Bertie a ring to let them know where we’ve ended up, and then we can go down and find ourselves a bite to eat.”

&&&

Early the next morning, Biggles and Ginger made their way downstairs to the dining room and found the four Americans already seated at a corner table. Konn, at the head of the table, was easily recognizable by his shaven head. Going on the descriptions given to them by Eddie, the two men on either side appeared to be the two pilots, Johnson and Reeves. The last man was obviously Eddie’s undercover policeman, Clark.

Biggles seated himself at a table in the middle of the dining room and proceeded to order his breakfast as if the crooks were not there. Ginger marveled at Biggles’ calmness. He himself was so nervous he was sure the Americans could see him shaking.

Thankfully, the crooks were more preoccupied with their own affairs; they didn’t even seem to notice that someone else had entered the dining room, for they were deep in discussion.

“So you’re sure he said it would come today, right?” drawled Konn.

“That’s what he said, boss,” replied Johnson, leaning back in his chair in a relaxed attitude.

“That’s good news. We’ve been in this place far too long. All these views are driving me nuts. What’s the point of having all those animals and grass and trees? I’d cut ‘em all down and build some houses.”

“Sounds about right to me, boss.”

Konn checked his watch and rose from the table. “I’m going to see if I can get someone to make us lunch,” he told his men. “You can go and get the car ready.”

As the remaining three Americans left the room, Ginger turned to Biggles with an anxious look. “Shall we go after them?” he hissed, almost jumping out of his chair with impatience.

To his surprise, Biggles was leaning back in his chair and starting to light a cigarette. “There’s no need to be so excited,” he said calmly.

“But-but-but,” spluttered poor Ginger. “They’re getting away! And whatever it is they’ve been waiting for, it’s coming today! We’re going to lose them!”

“Calm down. We can hardly go running out after them without looking suspicious. Just step over to the window and see what their car looks like, will you? I’ll ring Bertie and tell him to fly over and keep an eye out for the car. We can follow on in our own car, but if we lose them it will be useful to know that Bertie’s on the chase as well.”

Ginger walked over to the window as instructed and looked out. “It’s a black Bentley.”

“Right. I’ll go ring Bertie and tell him what to look for. You can be getting the car ready while I do that. Shan’t be a minute.”

&&&

Five minutes later, with Biggles at the wheel, they followed the Bentley at a discreet distance. Fortunately, there were several other cars going the same way as they were, so the fact that they were directly behind the Bentley did not seem overly suspicious.

From time to time, airplanes would pass overhead, and Ginger, sitting in the passenger seat, wondered which of them would become the crooks’ target. A few minutes later, he glanced up and saw a plane with markings that he easily recognized. “Bertie’s here,” he told Biggles.

“Good,” replied Biggles. “We may need him.”

Little was he to know how quickly his prediction would come true.

They drove in silence for perhaps twenty more minutes, and then the Bentley in front of them pulled off the main road and turned into a clearing. Biggles deliberately drove past the turning point, and, seeing the Bentley parked and its occupants emerging, proceeded to drive his own car a short distance down the road before parking it. “Come on,” he said briskly to Ginger.

The two airmen cautiously approached the clearing.

Biggles was not really expecting anything to be happening. As he said later, he had thought that the crooks had turned into the clearing to wait for a suitable victim, and so he was not really prepared for much except a long wait.

Consequently, the events that followed took him by surprise.

Peering at the crooks from a convenient patch of shadows, Biggles was astonished to see the crooks making for a plane casually resting in the middle of the clearing.

Ginger let out a horrified gasp. “They’re stealing it!” he exclaimed, in a low shocked voice.

It was at this point that Biggles, in his anxiety not to let the crooks get away, made something of a blunder. Afterwards, he admitted that he hadn’t been thinking logically, and that he had completely forgotten the existence of Bertie, keeping an eye on them from somewhere above their heads.

In any case, what he did was rush forward brandishing his gun. “Just a minute!” he snapped.

His sudden appearance caused something of a panic among the Americans, who had originally been walking at a relaxed pace towards their prey. The two men in front, Konn and Reeves, producing guns of their own, broke into a run. Clark, at their heels, also picked up his pace.

And then Biggles realized that one of the Americans was missing. He was just looking around for the fourth man, Johnson, when a cold voice behind him said, “Get your hands up and drop the gun now.”

At the same time, something cold and hard was jammed into the small of his back.

&&&

Left behind in the shadows, Ginger was in a quandary. He had an automatic of his own, of course, but he dared not risk shooting for fear of hitting Biggles. However, as Johnson forced Biggles closer and closer to the other three Americans, Ginger began to see that he would either have to take action soon, or he would soon be left in the position of having no action to take, for he certainly could not risk shooting at the plane once the crooks and Biggles were both inside.

In sheer desperation, he stepped forward and snapped off a shot deliberately aimed at the ground. The bullet bounced off a stone by Johnson’s feet. Instantly, the American pilot turned, searching for the source of the bullet, gun at the ready.

Surprisingly, the other three Americans ignored the bullet and hurried on their way as if they had not even noticed it.

Taking advantage of his captor’s momentary distraction, Biggles twisted free of the American’s grip and made a rush for it just as Johnson caught sight of Ginger and began firing at him.

Ginger took cover behind a tree, wincing as a stray bullet brushed past his face so closely that he could feel the ripple it made on the air beside his cheek as it passed. In sudden anger, he fired back. 

It was perhaps a good thing that Ginger was too confused to really aim at anything; as it was, the bullet almost hit Biggles, who by now was running towards the Bentley to take cover behind it.

The plane’s engine roared to life, shattering the relative silence. Ginger nearly jumped out of his skin with fright. For a moment, he had all but forgotten about the other crooks.

Johnson, cursing, was still firing at Ginger, although he was slowly backing his way towards the plane. Ginger heard someone in the plane shout something, but he was too far away to make out the words. Whatever was said, it had the effect of making Johnson redouble his attack on both Biggles and Ginger. In fact, so desperate was the American pilot that he now began running towards Ginger, snapping off bullets as he went.

Ginger, in a blind panic at this point, took an unconscious step back and promptly tripped over a tree root. His fingers instinctively squeezed the gun in his hand, and as he tumbled down in a heap onto the ground, he saw the bullet leave his gun, ricochet off a tree branch, and bury itself in Johnson’s head.

As Ginger’s head collided violently with the ground underneath him, he saw the plane take off into the blue skies above. The following few minutes became a blur in his mind, and then he looked up to see Biggles staring down at him anxiously.

“Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Ginger sat up somewhat unsteadily. “What’s happened to Johnson?”

Biggles looked grim. “I think you killed him.”

Ginger leaned back against the tree in shock. It wasn’t so much that he felt remorse at killing the pilot; rather, it was the sudden knowledge of taking away another man’s life. “I didn’t mean to shoot him,” he said miserably. “It was an accident.”

“Forget it. He would have shot you, given half a chance, and I doubt whether he’d be cut up about it.”

At this point in the conversation, the sound of an airplane passing overhead made both of them look up. It was the Auster. As it passed, something small and shiny dropped out of it and bounced on the ground. Biggles was on his feet at once, running towards it. Ginger saw him pick up the object and come hurrying back.

He recognized it as soon as Biggles held it out. It was Bertie’s cigarette case, with his initials engraved upon the lid. There was a dent in it, doubtless made when it had hit the ground.

Biggles opened the case to find it empty. However, the meaning the case conveyed was clear enough. Bertie was on the trail. Looking up, they were just in time to see him disappear behind a cloud.

“There he goes,” murmured Biggles.

Ginger, remembering something, looked around. “Where’s the pilot of that plane they pinched? He doesn’t seem to be kicking up much of a fuss.”

“Maybe,” said Biggles soberly, “because he can’t.” In answer to Ginger’s questioning look, he pointed towards the Bentley. Lying next to it was a middle-aged man. A knife protruding out of his chest told its own story. Ginger started forward but Biggles shook his head.

Ginger, looking away from the gruesome sight, asked, “What d’you think we should do now?”

“We’ll have to report this, of course. Then, I’m going to find a phone and let Eddie and Algy know how things stand. We’d better ring up Gaskin as well; he might be able to help keep our names out of this. Apart from anything else, I don’t want the crooks knowing who we are through reading the papers. After that, we may have to stay here for a day or two in case Bertie comes back.”

Ginger got to his feet, dismayed to find that his hands were shaking. “We’ll get out of this, then,” he said, making his way to where Biggles had left the car.

Go to Chapter 4. No Rest For Algy

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