Chapter 11

Biggles Sorts It Out

When Biggles and Marcel landed beside the Bonanza, they were hoping that Ginger might have found some way of leaving a clue to the hostages' whereabouts.

"If I know Ginger," averred Biggles, "he'll do his best to let us know where they've gone. Have a look in the plane and see if there's anything there."

Marcel scrambled inside the light aircraft, but there was nothing there. No clues and, more reassuringly, no signs of any of the occupants having been injured.

He jumped down and reported his findings to Biggles who had been scouring the ground around the plane for any signs. He found a few footprints but the light sandy soil was being blown about by the incipient Mistral and any traces were fast being obliterated.

Suddenly a small flash of colour caught his eye. He went across and picked it up. It was a brightly coloured false fingernail. He smiled and held it out to show Marcel.

"I knew he would find a way," he commented. "Let's look for some false fingernails. We'll have to be quick or they'll soon be blown away in this wind."

It was slow work. The trail was only slight although Ginger had obviously done his best to drag his feet and leave as much trace as he could without arousing suspicion and the items they were searching for were very small. At irregular intervals, Biggles found one of the pieces of colourful plastic planted in the ground. He surmised that the party must have had to stop for some reason, giving Ginger the opportunity to leave a clue.

They must have travelled getting on for a mile, when Biggles noticed a gleam of light in the distance. He touched Marcel on the arm and pointed.

"What's that?" he asked, unfamiliar with the area.

Marcel thought it might be a hut which was provided for the use of the gardiens, the horsemen who tended the black bulls.

"The trail seems to lead that way," observed Biggles. "Let's go and check it out."

Stealthily they made their way across to the hut and stopped beneath the lighted window. Biggles peered inside and was just in time to see the struggle and the shot that felled Ginger. Marcel went pale as he heard a scream follow the report of the gun.

"Mon Dieu!" he exclaimed. "What is 'appening?"

Biggles did not answer. Without stopping to think, he drew his own pistol and flung the door open. As the pilot freed himself from Mary-Lou and stepped forward to bend over Ginger's inert body, Biggles shot him. The way he dropped left no room for doubt. Biggles had shot to kill not disable.

Marcel looked at him surprised. He knew Biggles hated violence and killing, but there had been an expression on his face as he shot Ginger's assailant that Marcel had never seen before.

Mary-Lou was still screaming like a factory whistle. Marcel slapped her across the face as Biggles went across to where Ginger lay, blood seeping below his left breast, and knelt beside the young man, his face nearly as white as his protégé's. Mary-Lou shut her mouth and the noise stopped. The silence that followed was almost tangible.

"Comment va-t-il?" asked Marcel anxiously as Biggles felt for Ginger's pulse.

"Still alive, thank goodness," was Biggles' relieved answer. "Get the first aid kit out of the machine. Hurry!" he urged as Marcel set off.

"What are you doing here?" asked the professor in astonishment as he recognised Biggles. Then, anxiously, "How's your wife? Is she going to be alright?"

"What?" asked Biggles, still stunned by the shock of seeing Ginger shot. "Yes," he answered, pulling himself together, "I think so."

There was the sound of a helicopter landing as Marcel put the machine down next to the hut, realising that it would be the quickest way of bringing help, especially if Ginger needed to be taken to hospital.

Biggles heard it and told the Americans to go and wait in the machine.

"There's nothing you can do here," he told them. "I'll take care of everything." He started to undo Ginger's clothing to examine the wound.

Marcel passed the American couple in the doorway as they headed for the helicopter and he brought Biggles the first aid kit. He suddenly heard Biggles laugh and thought he had cracked under the strain.

"What is it, mon ami?" he asked his colleague. "Shock?"

"No," answered Biggles with a smile. "Relief. Look!"

Marcel bent over and saw that Biggles had removed the bra Ginger had been wearing. The heavy under-wiring needed to keep its shape had taken most of the impact and deflected the bullet. By the time it had reached his skin, much of the force had been dissipated. Ginger had a long, shallow wound along his ribs and heavy bruising just under his breast, but the injury was nothing like as bad as it had appeared and was not life-threatening.

"He'll be a bit sore for a while," commented Biggles, "but it could have been a lot worse. When I saw him shot like that, I thought he was dead. He's got a lump on his head. He must have hit it when he fell," he added, "which is why he's unconscious."

He dressed the wound and replaced Ginger's clothing, remarking that as they had come that far, they might as well keep up the pretence a little longer.

Ginger took a while to come round. When he did he still looked very confused. Biggles told him to take it easy, suspecting he was concussed.

"What happened?" he croaked. Biggles gave him a drink of water and filled him in with everything that had happened since the Bonanza had taken off from Rouen.

Ginger closed his eyes again only to find Biggles shaking him roughly awake. "Concentrate," Biggles told him. "You've hit your head. You're probably concussed and almost certainly suffering from shock. If you go to sleep now, you've had it. You've got to stay awake."

Marcel came over with a cup of strong, black coffee. "I put a lot of sugar in it," he told them. "That is good for shock."

Ginger struggled to drink the hot, sickly beverage, but felt better afterwards. With Biggles' and Marcel's help he was able to walk back to the helicopter.

The flight back to Paris was uneventful, except that Mary-Lou kept patting Ginger on the hand and telling him how brave he had been and he fought a constant battle to hide how sick he felt.

Biggles contacted Algy to bring the Auster over so that Ginger could go straight home and resume his normal existence. When they touched down at Orly, Algy was waiting for them.

"Take hi - your sister home, Algy," Biggles told him as he handed Ginger over to Algy's care. "Did you bring a change of clothes as I suggested?" he asked.

When Algy confirmed he had, Biggles continued, "a quick change of clothes, then, and a check-up at the hospital, I think," he advised.

Algy nodded, understanding, and helped Ginger into the machine. Biggles watched them take off on the short trip to England, knowing that when they arrived Ginger would be much more comfortable in his normal attire and he could safely leave it to Algy to see that he got any medical care he needed.