[pshrynk]

Biggles looked up from the street and groaned. "What hit me?" he asked.

"Four Cubans, eight boots, one lead pipe, at least six fists, and one forehead," said Harv. He reached down and helped Biggles to his feet.

"Well, that was certainly a cock up!" said Biggles as he tried to dust himself off. "I must apologize, sir, my name is Ma- er Geoffrey Biggles. I'm - er - a business man from - er - Miami!"

"Harv Walbanger. Unemployed pilot." Harv shook the proferred hand. "What sort of business?"

"Er - rum importing!"

"During Prohibition?" Harv couldn't help himself.

"Er - to Europe! I import to Europe!"

"Ah. Lots of rum goes to Europe, does it?"

"Er - I suppose so."

"Sooo... not in the spy business, then?"

Biggles coughed violently.