Algy Goes Alone: Chapter 4. No Rest for Algy

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. 

Algy gazed moodily at the ‘phone on his desk, willing it to ring.

It was well past supper time, but having no appetite and not particularly relishing the idea of going back to the Mount Street flat on his own, he had decided to stay in the office a little while longer.

It had been two days since he had last heard from Biggles. Biggles had called him from the Valentia to let him know about Johnson’s death, the latest plane theft, and the murder of the pilot who had been flying it.

“I think we’ll stay here for a few more days and see if Bertie comes back,” he had concluded. “No doubt the police will have some questions for us as well. Let me know if Bertie gets in touch, will you? And you might tell Raymond what we’re up to.” Algy agreed, and then Biggles had rung off.

Algy had been worried when no call had come from Biggles, sufficiently worried enough to ring up the Valentia and ask for Biggles, only to have that worry intensified when the manager informed him that Biggles and Ginger had left. Naturally, Algy had assumed that Biggles had decided to come home, but as time dragged on with no sign of Biggles, Ginger, or Bertie, he had found himself growing increasingly agitated.

Finally, he decided that if Biggles had not come back by the morning, he would fly out to Scotland to see if he could pick up some clues as to where his friends had gone.

With that settled in his mind, he began to put on his overcoat prior to going home. However, just as he was reaching for the door handle, someone knocked on the other side of the door.

&&&

“Eddie!” exclaimed Algy. “I wasn’t expecting you so late. Come in.”

“You just leaving?” asked the American, entering and making himself comfortable.

“As a matter of fact, yes. But never mind that. How can I help you?”

“I talked to my boss over in Washington and he’s clearing up the paperwork for Johnson,” said Eddie. “Your boy got him right through the head, which is no less than he deserved. Your guys get anything new on the plane?”

Algy nodded. “I’ve made some inquires. Apparently the pilot was delivering the plane to a millionaire who lived up in Scotland. It was meant to be delivered a day earlier, but the makers sent it late. I expect that’s why Konn and his men were there for so long. They were waiting for it.”

Eddie frowned. “Doesn’t sound like their kind of thing. They don’t usually go for specific planes.”

“The way I see it, they must have pinched that plane for a reason. Either a buyer especially asked for it, or they’re needing it for some other job that we don’t know about.”

The American shrugged. “Only time will tell, I guess. But listen. The reason I came here is because I just got a note from Clark.”

The blood in Algy’s veins seemed to freeze. “It’s not about—Biggles?”

“No,” said Eddie, to Algy’s relief. “It’s not bad news. It’s just…how good are you at stealing planes? Because Konn’s looking for a new pilot to join the team. Tonight.”

&&&

Half an hour later, Algy, much against his better judgment, found himself seated in a London pub called The Red Lion. He wished desperately that he could have talked the position over with Biggles, but as time was short, he had to be content with asking Eddie to tell Biggles what was in the wind if and when he should happen to run into him.

Gaskin had provided Algy with some false identification papers, and he now went under the unassuming name of Ernest Jones, a pilot who had once flown in the RAF, and had on several occasions been in trouble with the police.

Following Clark’s instructions, he had dressed himself in some old clothes of Bertie’s that had clearly seen better days, and his faint horror over the state of his clothing did nothing to ease his discomfort.

He glanced at his watch. Clark was ten minutes late. Surely nothing could have happened to him? Algy was just starting to wonder whether he should call the whole thing off when the pub door opened and Clark walked in.

Algy recognized him from the photographs Eddie had shown him. Clark looked around the room and his eyes quickly came to rest on Algy. It took him a minute or two to squeeze his way over to the seat next to Algy’s, but he managed it in the end. “Hello,” he greeted, waving the bartender over for a drink.

“Hullo,” returned Algy, wondering what he was getting himself into.

“Looking for a job as a pilot, huh?” Clark’s tone was casual, but something in his eyes warned Algy to be careful.

Under the pretense of tossing back his drink, Algy snatched a glance around the room and immediately understood the reason for Clark’s caution. Konn was just entering the pub, and was slowly making his way to the table next to them, where he would find it easy to hear every word they said.

The appearance of Konn came as something of a shock for Algy in several ways. He had assumed from Biggles’ prolonged absence that Konn was not in England, but it began to look like Biggles was either chasing a red herring, or was in trouble. This thought did not help his acting skills, but he strove to make his voice sound as natural as he could when he answered Clark in a surly tone, “Who’s asking?”

“A friend of mine recommended you to me,” drawled Clark. “Says you’ll go anywhere and do anything as long as there’s cash involved.”

Algy gave his companion an appraising look. He also took the opportunity to sneak a glance at Konn as well, to see if the American was listening. He was. “Maybe I am,” he acknowledged carefully. “What of it?”

“We’re looking for a man who can fly a plane,” said Clark, keeping his voice low, but still loud enough to be audible over the chatter around them. “You up for that?”

Algy allowed a glimmer of interest to show in his face, as befitting a man down on his luck who had just been offered a business proposition that might benefit him. “What’s the money like?” he asked.

Clark smiled, leaning his elbows against the bar. “It could be very good, depending….”

“Depending on what?”

“On how well you can keep your mouth shut and not ask stupid questions.”

“I can do that.”

“We need someone tonight. Can you come with us now?”

Algy hesitated. Actually, he would have liked the chance to go back to the office and get a few things he needed, and perhaps leave a note for Biggles and the others, should they come back to the office in his absence.

Seeing Algy’s hesitation, Clark began to rise from his seat. “Forget it, I’ll find someone else.”

Algy put out a hand to stop him. “Wait. I can come along now, but I might need to make a stop to get some kit. I don’t have anything with me.”

“Sounds good to me, pal.” Konn’s voice, at his elbow, made Algy jump. “You’re hired.”

“This is the boss,” said Clark, somewhat unnecessarily.

Konn put a hand to his pocket and Algy braced himself for a weapon of some sort to appear, but Konn pulled out the very last thing he was expecting—a handful of banknotes. Without even bothering to count them he thrust half the notes at the bartender. “Keep the change.” To Algy, he said, “Come on. Car’s outside. Let’s go.”

With a sinking heart, Algy followed the two Americans to the door. 

Go to Chapter 5. Bertie In France

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