'Algy,' he announced quietly, 'you're smoking too much.' Captain the Honourable Algernon Lacey deliberately blew a neat smoke-ring into the air before he replied. 'You think so?' he murmured, pushing his finger through the ring. 'I'm sure of it.' 'What are you going to do about it?' `The question is, rather, what are you?' `Nothing - that is, unless you can think of something else for me to do besides twiddle my thumbs in front of the fire.' `Go to the pictures.' 'And see war-flying as it exists in the fertile imaginations of film producers? No, thank you.' Biggles turned to 'Ginger' Hebblethwaite, their protégé. 'You know, Ginger,' he said sadly, 'the trouble with some people is they don't know when to stop.' 'I'm getting a bit bored myself,' admitted Ginger, frankly. Biggles frowned. 'My goodness! Another one, eh? If you two feel like that, why don't you take yourselves off and start something?' `What could we start?' Biggles shrugged his shoulders. 'Don't ask me. How should I know?
