Chapter 1

An Old Friend Gets In Touch

Algy looked up from the letter he was reading as Ginger sauntered in and seated himself at the breakfast table. The atmosphere was relaxed as they were both on leave and had the flat to themselves; Biggles and Bertie had departed for the office some time earlier.

"Have you got anything planned while you're off?" Algy asked the young man as Ginger poured himself a cup of coffee.

Ginger shrugged. "Nothing particular," he replied as he reached for the toast rack. "Cub did say he would be in town sometime and we would get together for a chinwag, maybe go to the flicks, but we haven't arranged anything definite."

"Do you remember Henry Harcourt?" asked Algy.

Ginger looked up in the middle of spreading marmalade on his toast. "Yes, of course," he answered, "but I haven't heard from him for ages. I thought he'd gone off somewhere in the back of beyond to work on his PhD. What made you ask that?"

Algy waved the letter. "This is from him. It seems that some distant relation has died and left him a chateau in France. As he's completed his studies, he wants to organise a celebratory house-warming and thought he'd have a squadron reunion at the same time. He said I was to let as many of the old gang know as possible, so if you're at a loose end …"

Ginger grinned. "Sounds promising," he averred as Algy passed him the letter to read. "It will do us good to get out of London for a while and catch up with old friends. Do you think Tug will come?"

"I don't know, it depends on how busy his taxi business is. I don't suppose Biggles will take time off and Bertie won't leave him to handle everything on his own," mused Algy, "but as we're on leave anyway, we might as well have a bit of fun. If the Auster is available, we could fly down. Got to keep our flying hours up," he added with a mischievous smile.

"Of course," returned Ginger seriously, keeping a straight face with difficulty. "It wouldn't do for us to get rusty!" Unable to contain his joy any longer, his face broke into a wide grin at the prospect of flying for pleasure and the unexpected trip to the continent.

"That's settled then," concluded Algy, leaning back in his chair. "I'll ask Tug, then contact Henry and let Biggles know we'll be out of the country for a week or so."

"Ask about the Auster at the same time!" urged Ginger, as he tackled his breakfast with gusto.

Algy grinned and nodded. He stood up and went off on his self appointed errands while Ginger made short work of the rest of his breakfast.

Mrs Symes was just clearing away when Algy came back. "That's settled," he announced in response to Ginger's questioning look. "Tug is too busy and, as I thought, Biggles won't leave the office. Bertie's staying on, too. Biggles says to remember him to Henry and hopes we'll have a good time." He laughed. "Bertie said to tell Henry he hopes he has got over his attachment to pigs."

"What about the Auster?" asked Ginger, grinning at the memory of Annie.

Algy smiled. "It's all ours. Smyth is making it ready even as I speak."

"Is Smyth coming?" Ginger wanted to know.

Algy shook his head. "He can't get the time off," he replied. "It's just the two of us."

"Well, there's no point in wasting any time," observed Ginger. "Have you sorted out the carnets?"

When Algy nodded, Ginger headed for the door. "I'm off to pack then. Normandy, here we come!"

Algy followed him out with a song in his heart. When he had spoken to Henry their former squadron comrade had been delighted to offer them accommodation in the chateau and he looked forward to a diverting week renewing old acquaintances and catching up on the gossip. "Shame Biggles had to work," he mused as he threw some clothes into a lightweight canvas bag. "Still, his loss is our gain."

Ginger was waiting for him in the hall. He, too, had a canvas holdall by his side.

"I see you're travelling light," remarked Ginger sarcastically as he noticed Algy had a tennis racket strapped to his bulging luggage.

"Well, you never know," grinned Algy. "I might get a chance for a game."

"What else have you packed?" Ginger wanted to know. "You look as though you're taking the kitchen sink! Are you sure we are going to get the Auster off the ground with all your excess baggage?"

Algy grinned good naturedly. "Don't worry," he replied soothingly. "I'm sure you've left me plenty of allowance," he grinned, nodding at Ginger's luggage. "I bet you haven't packed your mess kit."

Ginger pulled a face. "What on earth would I need that for?" he demanded. "I thought we were going on holiday. All I've got is my small kit and a couple of changes of clothes in case it's wet and a sweater in case it's cold. We're only going for a week, a fortnight at the most, and it's Normandy, not the côte d'Azur! I don't intend to be changing for dinner every night and spending my hard-earned cash at the casino!"

"It's plain to see you were never a boy scout," teased Algy as they descended the steps into Mount Street to hail a cab. "Be prepared!"

"I am," retorted Ginger as they climbed into a taxi to be taken to the airport. "Prepared for a relaxing holiday!"

Algy chuckled. He spared a thought for Biggles, slaving at his desk and wondered what, if anything, would turn up while they were away enjoying themselves.

Ginger, slumped on the opposite side of the back seat, watched the streets slide by and wondered who else would come to the reunion. Angus perhaps? Perhaps not, he concluded. Angus had settled down in Scotland after his disastrous attempt at farming in Paradise Valley and found himself a wife, a dour Scots lassie. Ginger had met the redoubtable new Mrs Mackail at the wedding and somehow doubted Angus would be granted leave of absence to go gallivanting across to France. Would Tex make it from America, mused Ginger. Last he had heard Tex was doing well with an oil company so perhaps he would be able to fly over. He smiled, recalling Tex had always had a soft spot for him as the baby of the squadron.

"A penny for them." Algy's voice broke into his reverie.

"I was just wondering who will be able to make it to the reunion," replied Ginger.

"Hmm," responded Algy. "I was thinking much the same." The taxi swung onto the hard standing by the Air Police hangar and pulled up. "We'll soon find out," concluded Algy as he paid the driver.

Ginger stowed the bags in the Auster and did the pre-flight checks while Algy filed the flight plan.

The short hop across to Le Touquet was uneventful. The sky was cloudless and traffic negligible. They took it in turns to pilot the aeroplane for the sheer joy of flying. Algy was at the controls when they made their final approach into the small French airfield.

The wheels kissed the runway smoothly and they trundled across to the terminal building. Ginger nudged his companion as they drew close. "Look who's over there!" he exclaimed, pointing to a dapper Frenchman in uniform standing near the entrance. "It's Marcel. What a coincidence!"

"Not really," returned Algy. "When I told him we were coming, he suggested he meet us when we landed here."

Ginger looked at him in surprise. "What for? Is he coming with us?"

Algy shook his head. "No, he said he'd like a quick chat as we passed through and I thought he might be useful if there were any problems with the formalities," he confessed.

"Fair enough," acknowledged Ginger as they alighted. Marcel hurried across and they exchanged greetings. With his help, clearing customs was a mere formality.

"'Ave you time for a drink?" asked Marcel when their bags had been marked.

"There's no rush," Algy told him. "There's plenty of daylight left. Henry said there's plenty of room for us to land in the park of the chateau and that's only about 40 miles from here. I've got it marked on my map." He pointed it out to Marcel.

They repaired to the café and ordered coffee. Marcel stirred sugar into his with a thoughtful air. "This chateau of your friend, Henri," he began, then broke off.

"What about it?" asked Ginger. "Do you know it?"

Marcel pursed his lips. "I read about it in the papers some month ago," he replied.

Ginger raised his eyebrows. "Is it famous for something?" he asked.

"Famous? No, at least not in a good sense. There was a fire – one of the parts of the building was almost destroyed. A man was found dead there."

Algy and Ginger exchanged glances. "Is it habitable?" asked Algy. "I mean, is there enough of the building not burned down for people to live there?"

"Oh yes," Marcel assured him. "The main, 'ow you say, wing?" Algy nodded and Marcel continued, "he is still good."

"That's a relief!" muttered Ginger under his breath. Louder he asked, "What about the dead man? Did he die in the fire? When Henry said a 'house warming', I didn't realise he meant it literally!"

Marcel shrugged his shoulders expressively as only a Frenchman can. "The body was so badly burned, the post mortem could not say for sure. He was carbonisé," added Marcel.

Ginger swallowed hard. "I thought we were coming on holiday," he muttered. "Now you tell me our accommodation has been burned down and there was a stiff on the premises! We've come to France to get away from that sort of thing!"

"When Algy tell me you are going to Meunière the bells they start to ring," said Marcel. "I look up the files. I think it best you know."

"Who was the dead man?" asked Algy. "Was it possible to identify him? Dental records for instance?"

Marcel nodded. "He was Le Comte de Harcourt, the owner of the chateau. He was the cousin at some distance of your friend who inherit."

Ginger grimaced. "A bit gruesome to come into property like that," he opined. "I'm surprised Henry wanted anything to do with the place."

"The chateau, he is very 'andsome," remarked Marcel. "When the damaged wing is repair', he will be magnificent again."

"Why did you think we ought to know?" queried Algy. "Do you think the Count's death was suspicious?"

Marcel stroked his pencil-thin moustache reflectively. "I keep, what you say, an open mind," he observed. "There is no official investigation, but you are going there ..." He paused.

"We might find out something," suggested Ginger.

Marcel smiled. "Beegles, he always say you are smart," he observed approvingly.

"Okay, Marcel," said Algy. "We'll act as your eyes and ears. If there's anything going on or we find out anything about the Count's death, we'll let you know."

They finished their coffee and went their separate ways.