Biggles Goes to Italy

Members writing in the style and using the characters of W.E.J. (Fan Fiction)

Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby RAAF Spitfire Girl » 22 Aug 2016, 23:11

Oooops!! Almost forgot to say how relieved I am to see that Algy's fine (but probably not fine and dandy), FB.

But I'm also with those who are wondering if things aren't going just a little too swimmingly...
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Fairblue » 25 Aug 2016, 16:21

CHAPTER FIVE (Cont'd)

Dr Dupont sat at his desk and looked at his patient's folder with the name of Jean Dupont, the French equivalent of John Doe, emblazoned across the front. It was his own name too, something which gave his colleagues in the Pathology department a huge kick when they received, as they did all too often, an unnamed body for their attention. But at least his unnamed patient was alive and unnamed no longer. Picking up a pen he crossed out Jean Dupont and wrote Algernon Lacey in its place.

He hadn't been on duty when Lacey had been brought in, more dead than alive, but he had heard the speculation surrounding him. The local police had been informed, but had merely shrugged, said it looked like yet another falling out of the criminal fraternity; they saw enough of those and didn't see that this was any different. They would make the usual enquiries, of course. No doubt if the man recovered, they would find out his name anyway.

Dr Dupont was looking forward very much to informing the local police, whose attitude he had found to be quite cavalier, that not only had his mysterious patient turned out to be the victim of the shocking events of a few days previously in Italy, but he was also an english policeman. He reflected they would now have to sit up and take notice. But for now, he had some phone calls to make, first to Marcel Brissac of the Sûreté, and then the British Consulate. The local police could wait until last.

He picked up the phone and requested a call to the Sûreté in Paris. Whilst he was waiting for the call to be put through, he looked through the notes in front of him. Surprisingly, the bullets which had been removed from Lacey’s body had not hit any vital organs, but had caused severe blood loss. It was this and the concussion Lacey had sustained, seemingly from a blow to the head which had sent him into shock and then coma, which had caused real concern. What had happened on that boat? No one seemed to know, but no doubt Lacey would be able to say what happened when he was well enough to talk.

The shrill ringing of the telephone recalled him to the present and he lifted the receiver with hopeful anticipation. A voice at the other end spoke. Dr Dupont listened with increasing disappointment. Monsieur Brissac had just gone out to follow a line of enquiry and it wasn't known when he would be back. Would the doctor like a message left for him? Doctor Dupont said yes he would and was just about to give details when a nurse hurried in.

“Doctor, there has been a car accident. Two, three vehicles. You must come at once.”

Doctor Dupont nodded and barked into the receiver. “I have to go. I will call again.” And slamming down the phone, hurried after the nurse.
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Lycaea » 25 Aug 2016, 21:22

For someone who professes to like Biggles, you sure enjoy keeping him miserable! :twisted:
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby kylie_koyote » 26 Aug 2016, 00:10

Oh goodness gracious. Poor old Algy. Poor Biggles!
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Kismet » 26 Aug 2016, 01:00

My poor Biggles. Not to put his mind at rest, FB. That's cruel and unkind.
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Fairblue » 26 Aug 2016, 09:20

Now, let's think this through. Biggles is on a boat at the moment. Even if Marcel had found out he could hardly have informed Biggles until that gentleman returned to shore. There is still time for Marcel to find out by other means and be waiting for Biggles on the quay....... 8-)
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Fairblue » 23 Sep 2016, 17:40

A small update.....

****

CHAPTER SIX

Meanwhile, Marcel was seated at his desk in the Sûreté in Paris, having eliminated all but one of the seven Noralpha. “M***e," he exclaimed to himself, as he stared in dismay at the details of the remaining one. His reaction was somewhat understandable, for the plane belonged to one Monsieur Pelletier. Monsieur Pelletier was known to be the right-hand man of none other than Monsieur Thayer, who, in addition to being a very prominent businessman had friends in high places, including the French Senate. He was also reputed to be the head of the Mafia in Corsica, otherwise known as the Unione Corse. Marcel knew that Monsieur Thayer had his own private luxury aircraft for his personal use and any dirty work which required the use of one would be carried out by Pelletier using his own plane.

He sat back in his chair and, lighting a cigarette, rapidly reviewed in his mind the most recent events which had come to his attention. It was a waste of time making his suspicions official at this juncture. All he had was the word of an English policeman who had his information from a trainee pilot who drew what he thought was the aircraft he had seen shooting up the boat. Thayer had excellent lawyers who would make short work of such flimsy evidence. Inspector Joudrier might listen, but his hands would be tied by his superiors, who would undoubtedly put a stop to the investigation. He would be forbidden from going anywhere near the man or his property and the case would be buried, never to be touched aqgain. No, Marcel concluded, it would be better if he were to make unofficial enquires first and see what he could turn up. He would visit Pelletier and Thayer’s properties in Corsica first,

Having decided on his course of action, Marcel made two phone calls; one to the Base Aérienne at Nice to arrange for his aircraft to be refuelled on the way and the second to Solenzara aerodrome in Corsica to request a car for his use whilst he was on the island.

As he walked down the corridor, he heard the phone in his office ring. He hesitated a second, then decided whatever it was could wait and carried on. He wanted to get to Corsica as soon as he could and he still had to put his guns onto his Morane. He was taking no chances.

To be cont’d
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Kismet » 23 Sep 2016, 18:07

I'm glad to have the update, but everyone is still suffering. Will they ever be able to bring things home to Monsieur Pelletier if he is so influential? This is very stressful, Fairblue.
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Tracer » 24 Sep 2016, 09:41

I do like Marcel as depicted here. A veritable Chap.
pilots who had done a long tour and had that thousand-yard stare W. E. Johns
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby kylie_koyote » 24 Sep 2016, 12:04

Marcel, you need a secretary to answer your phone while your out!
"For goodness sake stop that Yankee drawl, or you'll have us all doing it before you've finished."
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Fairblue » 25 Sep 2016, 13:33

CHAPTER SIX (Cont'd)

He landed at Solzenara a little after one pm and parked away from the hangars in a little used corner of the Aerodrome. He had enough fuel to get him back to Nice so there was no reason for anyone to go near his plane. He knew only too well the Unione Corse had ears everywhere, even on a military base and that news of the presence of a police officer from Paris would get round soon enough. He didn't want it generally known he was carrying armament, which would inevitably lead to speculation and gossip.

After ensuring the car he requested was available he walked over to the Mess for lunch where he was greeted by some acquaintances who invited him to join them and for him to tell them about his role in the French Air Police.

“I am the French Air Police. Just me. It is crazy! What do they expect one man to do? But I try.” Marcel heaved a huge theatrical sigh and grinned. “But the British now. They do it right. I have much help from the British Air Police at Scotland Yard. But…” Here Marcel's tone changed and his listeners leaned towards him, sensing his change of mood. “The shooting of the yacht in Italy? You know of this…il est tragique.” Amongst murmurs of sympathy Marcel spoke of the death of the English policeman whom he had come to look on as his friend.

“The body…it may never be found,” one man spoke lugubriously. “It could be anywhere.”

“No,” argued another. “It will turn up eventually. It does not have the concrete boots to send it to the bottom.”

“And sometimes they turn up alive.” A third stated. He turned to Marcel. “There is a Jean Dupont in the hospital of Sainte-Lucie in Porto Vecchio. He had been in the water and has been shot many times. Another Mafia shooting, according to the police.”

“Gaspard is a fool,” the second man retorted. “A lazy fool. He does not like to get off his fat backside.”

The many shortcomings of the local Chief of Police were discussed with relish for a few moments. It came as no surprise to Marcel that his colleagues thought it well within the bounds of probability that Gaspard was taking bribes to turn a blind eye to certain activities which happened within his jurisdiction. Marcel made a mental note to bear that in mind and avoid the man.

Lunch was nearly over when Marcel suddenly thought of something. He slapped his forehead. “Mon dieu! I am the imbecile.”

“We have often thought so,” grinned one of his companions, watching as Marcel dragged a large scale map of Corsica from his jacket pocket.

“Where would someone keep a private plane?” Marcel requested, clearing a space at the table to lay the map down. “Somewhere around Porto Vecchio? There are not many places on the island where one can land.” With a bit of luck, he thought, as his colleagues crowded round, he wouldn't need to visit the houses of Pelletier or Thayer. If he could only get to Pelletier’s plane he would soon be able to tell whether there was evidence of guns having been mounted recently. If there was, he would return to Paris and consult, off the record, with Inspector Joudrier as to the best steps to take next. Although he knew, thinking if he did but know it, the same as Ginger had a few hours earlier, that there wasn't a lot they could do. The crime was committed in Italian waters. All Joudrier could do, he thought, was to pass on all the information they held, which wasn't much, to the Italian authorities, who might, or might not, request extradition. By then, of course, the plane, which was the only evidence they had, would have met with an accident somewhere and be totally destroyed, As for it flying British Registration marks, they might never find out the reason why those were ever put on. Marcel's best guess was that it was merely intended as a blind, to throw people off the scent, should anything be discovered.

Twenty minutes later, Marcel, in his borrowed car, drove through the aerodrome gates and turned south onto the only road which serviced the eastern coast of the island from Bastia in the north to Ajaccio in the south. His destination was a small airfield fifty kilometres away, ten kilometres south of Porto Vecchio. His map was marked with two other crosses too, indicating other possibilities, but Marcel had decided to visit the nearest one to Pelletier's property first, which was a villa just outside Porto Vecchio in the hills overlooking the coast.

The first twenty kilometres or so hugged the coastline, with the sparkling blue Mediterranean on his left and on his right the high mountain ranges which ran down the centre of the island roughly north-west to south-west. The road twisted and turned frequently, following the line of the coast until it turned inwards towards the south-west away from the coast, this time following the foot of the mountain range.

Here he made better time, the road being straighter, although it meandered towards the south a little further on, leaving the mountain range behind and going through relatively flat country until it reached Porto Vecchio.

Marcel drove on through the suburbs concentratng on his driving and the task ahead when he noticed a sign indicating that the turnoff to the Hôpital de Sainte-Lucie was one kilometer ahead.

An unknown man with gunshot wounds was lying in that hospital. One who had been in the water. A conversation he had once had with Biggles sprang to his mind. One about coincidences that were not always to be trusted. On an impulse, he suddenly swerved across, cutting up a small farm truck loaded with sheep, and took the exit, a car horn and the bleating of many sheep in his ears.
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Kismet » 25 Sep 2016, 14:53

Hurray! Marcel's going to find Algy. I hope. You're not going to be inspired by the Soppy fic which left Algy stumbling up the road in a hospital gown without his memory, are you? Are you?
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Lycaea » 26 Sep 2016, 05:25

Kismet wrote:Hurray! Marcel's going to find Algy. I hope. You're not going to be inspired by the Soppy fic which left Algy stumbling up the road in a hospital gown without his memory, are you? Are you?

That one I must have missed! Knowing Soppy, I feel obliged to ask whether he's still stumbling around on the road :o ?

Anyway, Fairblue, glad you're back from your vacation and where you belong - by the keyboard 8-)
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Fairblue » 26 Sep 2016, 08:12

Lycaea wrote:
Kismet wrote:Hurray! Marcel's going to find Algy. I hope. You're not going to be inspired by the Soppy fic which left Algy stumbling up the road in a hospital gown without his memory, are you? Are you?

That one I must have missed! Knowing Soppy, I feel obliged to ask whether he's still stumbling around on the road :o ?



Yes, that's in the Algy Chronicles. He's still stumbling along the road. He's also simultaneously being held in a Monaco prison, by the Chinese who want Bertie to shoot him and stuck in a wheelchair . :roll:

All things considered I don't think I treat him very badly at all. At least he emerges from the escapades. 8-)
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby kylie_koyote » 26 Sep 2016, 11:19

Go, Marcel, Go!
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Lycaea » 26 Sep 2016, 15:51

Fairblue wrote:Yes, that's in the Algy Chronicles. He's still stumbling along the road. He's also simultaneously being held in a Monaco prison, by the Chinese who want Bertie to shoot him and stuck in a wheelchair . :roll:


Ha, why am I not surprised :twisted:

Fairblue wrote:All things considered I don't think I treat him very badly at all. At least he emerges from the escapades. 8-)


You're a model to us all :D
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby SopwithCamel » 27 Sep 2016, 15:12

Lycaea wrote:
Fairblue wrote:Yes, that's in the Algy Chronicles. He's still stumbling along the road. He's also simultaneously being held in a Monaco prison, by the Chinese who want Bertie to shoot him and stuck in a wheelchair . :roll:


Ha, why am I not surprised :twisted:



:cryblue: :cryblue: :cryblue:

All things considered, he's quite lucky to be alive, isn't he? :twisted:

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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Fairblue » 30 Sep 2016, 13:23

CHAPTER SEVEN

Biggles and Bertie stood by the ship’s rail and watched the harbour of Olbia recede into the distance behind them. Gulls wheeled overhead, their raucous calls being all but drowned out by the throbbing sound of the engine, which every so often coughed and emitted black oily smoke. Neither man had spoken since they had left harbour, but eventually, after some time had passed in complete silence, Bertie coughed delicately.

“Er….what exactly are we doing, old boy?”

Biggles, who had been staring into the distance, turned to face Bertie. “We’re going out to where it happened,” he said shortly. “At least, as near enough as we can make it.”

“What do you hope to find?” Bertie asked, not wishing to point out that there would be nothing there now.

“Nothing,” Biggles answered succinctly, “but…I don't know. It's better than sitting back there, doing absolutely nothing.” He took out his cigarettes and, turning his back to the wind, attempted to light one. After several tries he succeeded, threw his match overboard and drew on his cigarette with short jerky movements. He made no attempt to speak again. Bertie didn't speak either. There seemed to be nothing to say.

It was some time later when they heard the sound of the engine being cut. The Skipper came out of the wheelhouse and said something incomprehensible to Biggles, who merely nodded and turned to Bertie.

“This is the spot,” Biggles said, looking down at the water. He took a chart from his pocket. “This is the chart Ballantyne marked for me. This is where the Windspiration went down.”

He looked around him. To the West, from where they had just come, was the smudge which was Sardinia. To the east, well below the horizon, lay Naples on mainland Italy.

Bertie was just wondering why Biggles had brought him on this jaunt when he spoke again. “You've done more sailing than I,” he started. “I want you to have a look at this chart. ”

Bertie looked at the chart, which Biggles had laid out on a cargo hatch cover.

“What am I looking for, old boy?”

“To be honest, I don't know,” Biggles confessed. “It's just…I don't know,” he said again. “Ballantyne reckons that Algy shouldn't have been in this area when it happened. I’m wondering if there was something wrong. Engine trouble, perhaps.”

“He was sailing,” Bertie pointed out. “If Algy was taking the jolly old Windspiration through it's paces he wouldn't have wanted to use the bally engines.”

“True,” conceded Biggles, “but something must have happened to stop Algy from reaching his target.”

“Absolutely, old warrior.” Bertie looked at the chart, tracing a line from Olbia to Algy's intended turning point. Then he traced a line from there to where the yacht was shot out of the water. After a minute or two, during which time he polished his eyeglass with his handkerchief, a thoughtful expression on his face, he spoke. “I rather fancy, old bean, that I might have hit on what may have happened. He was becalmed.” He looked at Biggles. “Drifted off his jolly old course," he added helpfully.

Biggles blinked. “Becalmed? But in that case, wouldn't he have used his engine?”

Bertie shrugged. “He might have done, but it's more than likely that he’ll have waited a little time to see if the wind picked up again, so he could carry on sailing.”

Biggles didn't look convinced and Bertie carried on. “He would have been jolly annoyed, old boy. It can be bally frustrating when the wind drops, leaving you bobbing up and down on the ocean blue. Take it from me, I've been there.You don't want to give in too quickly, so you hang around, hoping it's only a short lull. Algy would have wanted to continue sailing if he could, and he'd only use his engine as a last resort.”

“But it's only a guess?”

Bertie shrugged again. “It's all I've got, but looking at the chart, he ended up where the prevailing currents would take him from his original course. Unless something happened to draw him to this spot, and he headed here on purpose.” Bertie started polishing his eyeglass again. “But then, dear boy, your guess will be as good as mine.”

“We could look at the meteorological reports and shipping forecasts for that day, I suppose,” Biggles mused. “I think we're done here,” he added shortly. “I’ll ask Di Luca when we get back.” He lit another cigarette and walked over to the wheelhouse.

Almost immediately the little vessel turned and headed back towards Olbia. Biggles rejoined Bertie but didn't speak again until the old vessel chugged into the harbour some time later, but stood by the rail, deep in thought. Bertie left him alone.

As they entered the harbour mouth they both spotted the figure sitting on some lobster pots at the same time.

“Ginger must be pretty browned off,” Bertie remarked to Biggles who had now joined him. Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth the figure on the lobster pots, which was indeed Ginger, stood up and waved. Biggles lifted a hand in brief acknowledgement, but stared as Ginger carried on waving and started to leap up and down. He seemed to be beckoning them to hurry, although he must have known it was a futile gesture. He ran to the point on the quay where stone steps led down into the water, thought better of it and then ran back towards the spot where the boat had been moored previously. Here he stayed, but continued with his waving and leaping up and down. Occasionally he would cease these antics to cup his hands around his mouth to shout something, only to start his frantic waving again.

“He’s obviously got something to tell us,” Biggles remarked to Bertie. “But what it can be that's making him caper about like a demented baboon I can't think.”

Ginger was obviously in a fever of impatience for the boat to dock, for, although he ceased his leaping as soon as the fenders on the bow of the boat gently nudged the quay, he continued to walk up and down rapidly and even once yelled something which Biggles was unable to hear above the engine.

Finally, as the owner’s son leapt off the boat and tied the painter to a nearby bollard, Ginger thrust his hands deep into his pockets and jiggled up and down on his toes as he watched Biggles pay off the boat skipper.

****

Ginger was grinning widely as Biggles and Bertie stepped off and walked towards him. “First a baboon and now a Cheshire cat,” said Biggles to Bertie as he reached Ginger. “What have you got to be so happy about?” he greeted him tersely.

“Everything,” Ginger beamed and waved his hand around impatiently. “I’ve spoken to Marcel.” Here he paused, to make sure he had Biggles’ full attention. “He’s found Algy. He's alive.”

Tbc
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Kismet » 30 Sep 2016, 13:33

Hurray! :yohoho4: :dancingbananas: :cheers2:
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby kylie_koyote » 30 Sep 2016, 16:05

“He’s obviously got something to tell us,” Biggles remarked to Bertie. “But what it can be that's making him caper about like a demented baboon I can't think.”


I love this.

And I'm quite glad that Biggles can now set his mind at ease. Thanks, FB.
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Lycaea » 30 Sep 2016, 17:06

Fairblue wrote:
“First a baboon and now a Cheshire cat,” said Biggles to Bertie as he reached Ginger.

:D
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby SopwithCamel » 30 Sep 2016, 17:54

He’s found Algy. He's alive


:love:
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Indian Civil Service » 30 Sep 2016, 18:53

:woohoo: :boing: :bounce: :boing: :hellochap:
great updates...more please!
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Kismet » 30 Sep 2016, 21:23

SopwithCamel wrote:
He’s found Algy. He's alive


:love:



Why am I hearing Ming the Merciless saying 'Algy's alive?'
'Major Bigglesworth' said Von Stalhein coldly, 'there are times when I seriously wonder if you were created by the devil just to annoy me.'
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Wanderer » 01 Oct 2016, 01:59

kylie_koyote wrote:...I'm quite glad that Biggles can now set his mind at ease. Thanks, FB.


.. and so say all of us! I am really enjoying the suspense of this one and really want to know why.
(Raymond) "'It's the early bird that catches the worm, you know,'
'... Not always. Sometimes he catches a slug—in the back of the neck,' contradicted Biggles.
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby RAAF Spitfire Girl » 02 Oct 2016, 02:49

Wanderer wrote:
kylie_koyote wrote:...I'm quite glad that Biggles can now set his mind at ease. Thanks, FB.


.. and so say all of us! I am really enjoying the suspense of this one and really want to know why.

Abso-bally-lutely :bounce: :banana: :bounce: :banana: :bounce:

Finally got my head around being able to catch up - and what joy to read all these updates - especially the last one!!! Joy, indeed :claphappy: :yay:
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Fairblue » 09 Oct 2016, 11:52

CHAPTER SEVEN (Cont'd)

“What did you say?” Biggles’ voice cracked and he took a step backwards.

“I said that Algy is alive.”

“But how - what…..” Biggles groped for words as he stared at Ginger. “Where is he?”

“In a hospital in Corsica,” Ginger grinned. “He’s seriously injured, but he’s alive and according to the doctors, will make a complete recovery.”

Biggles shoulders sagged with overwhelming relief and his face suddenly lost the taut haunted look he’d been wearing. “Thank god!” He uttered, his voice husky with suppressed emotion. “What on earth is he doing in Corsica? But never mind that. Let's get to him.”

“Hold your horses,” Ginger cautioned. “There's more to tell. Algy’ll be out of it for some more hours yet. He’s drugged up to the eyeballs in morphine.”

Biggles looked round quickly. “We’ll have a quick coffee here, while you tell me what you know,” he said walking over to some tables and chairs outside a café which overlooked the harbour.

After they had given their orders Biggles looked at Ginger. “Okay, shoot. How did Algy end up in a hospital in Corsica?”

Ginger shugged. “That I can't tell you. All I know is this. Marcel had a lead on the plane which led him to Corsica. From what I can gather it belongs to someone who is connected with the Corsican Mafia and who has friends in very high places. Marcel didn't say who but he did say he had to tread carefully because of who he was dealing with. Nothing sticks to this guy because he either bribes or blackmails or murders his way out of trouble. You know how it is.”

“Only too well,” Biggles took a sip of his coffee. “Go on.”

“In a roundabout way, Marcel heard from some colleagues on Corsica that there was a John Doe lying in a local hospital in…Porto Vecchio, I think he said, who had been pulled from the sea with gunshot wounds. He didn't connect it to Algy at first, because there was no reason to even think Algy was alive let alone on Corsica. But then as he was passing the hospital on his way to where this plane was kept, he decided to pop in and eye this mysterious patient.

He asked to speak to the doctor who was treating the guy.” Ginger took a long drink of his coffee. “You could have knocked Marcel down with a feather when the doctor asked Marcel if he meant the English policeman. Apparently the doctor knew who Algy was. Algy had regained consciousness earlier this morning and given the doctor his name.” Here Ginger grinned widely. “They had had a bit of a time trying to get him to stay in bed and the doctor had to promise Algy that he would phone Marcel and let him know where Algy was. Only by then Marcel had left his office and was on his way over.”

”Did Marcel see him?”

Ginger nodded. “He wanted to be sure. He couldn't talk to Algy, because he was out for the count. The doctor said they'd shot him full of morphine for the pain and to help keep him quiet and get some sleep.”

”Did Marcel say what was wrong with him?”

“Concussion, and gunshot wounds to his shoulder, torso and left thigh. He’d lost a lot of blood and has a broken arm and various cuts, some of which required stitching. But he will recover. It's just a matter of time.”

Biggles let out a huge sigh of relief. He lit a cigarette and remained silent for a few moments. “This changes everything,” he said, at last. “Although the attack on Algy is still very much the Italian police’s job, there is still the matter of someone flying false British Registration markings. Raymond will want answers to that. But I don't think we can go any further until we’ve had a word with Algy and Marcel. What’s that?” He asked curiously as Ginger placed a small object on the table he had just taken from his pocket.

“Looks like a bullet, old boy,” Bertie remarked as he eyed the object through his eyeglass.

“Never!” Biggles exclaimed sarcastically as he picked it up. He inspected it closely. “I couldn't be sure but it looks like the type the Germans, and us, used in some of their aircraft during the war.” He passed the bullet to Bertie and turned to Ginger. “Where did you get it?”

“Di Luca. The Pathologist finished the autopsy this morning on the body of the guy that was fished out of the drink. That's where it came from. One of about a dozen, di Luca says. But the curious thing was, the Pathologist reckons the guy was dead when those babies hit him.”

“I don't see what this has to do with us,” Biggles frowned. “The man was a member of the Italian Mafia. Bodies like this one are always popping up. It's quite commonplace here. So much so that I imagine the police barely bother to investigate any more.”

“The thing is,” Ginger persisted, “the Pathologist found another type of bullet in the man’s head. A single bullet, fired from a pistol. Classic execution shot. So, if the man was already dead, why bother to drill him with a machine gun?”

Biggles shrugged. “It's curious, I must admit, but it's none of our business. Right now I'm only concerned with Algy.”

“After speaking to Marcel and di Luca ,” Ginger carried on, ignoring Biggles’ last words, “I felt I was at a bit of a loose end until you got back. So to kill time I asked di Luca if I could inspect the wreckage of the Windspiration. Knowing Algy was alive, it didn't seem to be morbid any more. I found this, lodged in a piece of the hull.” Ginger withdrew another object from his other pocket and placed it on the table with the air of a conjuror who has just produced a white rabbit from a top hat. It was another bullet.

Biggles glanced at Ginger before picking it up. His expression changed from one of slightly bored impatience to incredulity. He took the first bullet from Bertie and held them both in his hands. Then he took each one and inspected it closely.

“I’m no ballistics expert and I wouldn't like to swear in a court of law,” he began, “but these bullets look like they’ve been fired from the same gun.”

“That's what I thought,” Ginger answered, unable to keep a small note of triumph out of his voice. “Which means, that man was on the Windspiration when it was shot up.”

To be Cont’d
The Decision to Survive - A good pilot is both born and made. The best would look upon his work as a combination of adventure and a serious mission. – Major General Sir Frederick Sykes
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Indian Civil Service » 09 Oct 2016, 13:54

Oooooo, this is getting better and better! On total tenterhooks now!!!!
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Wanderer » 09 Oct 2016, 14:05

Indian Civil Service wrote:Oooooo, this is getting better and better! On total tenterhooks now!!!!

Wot he said!
(Raymond) "'It's the early bird that catches the worm, you know,'
'... Not always. Sometimes he catches a slug—in the back of the neck,' contradicted Biggles.
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Re: Biggles Goes to Italy

Postby Indian Civil Service » 09 Oct 2016, 14:20

S/he.
Last edited by Indian Civil Service on 09 Oct 2016, 14:24, edited 1 time in total.
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