[pshrynk]

Harv awoke with a start. He did the usual inventory, arms and legs moveable, head still attached firmly, even though he didn't wish it to be so, right now, room he was in familar and quite probably his. So far so good. So why was he awake?

The pounding at the door to his room answered that question quickly. He got up and promptly tripped over his flight bag that was on the floor, its contents strewn about the room. "How did that happen? I'm sure that I packed it before going out last night." Vague mamories of coming home and tripping over it last night swam up in his consciousness like relatives come for Sunday dinner unannounced.

He stumbled to the door. "Yeah?" he yelled through it.

"Policia! Open the door!"

Ah, crap. Not again. Harv opened the door a crack and peered out. The man standing there was holding a badge up to the door. He opened it all the way and stepped back.

"Senor Wallbanger? I have been sent to bring you to the Jefe de Policia. You will come with me, please. What happened here?"

"Why am I coming with you to the police station? I'm a sloppy house keeper," Harv lied.

"I did not say I was to take you to the station, I am to take you to the Jefe de Policia."

"He's not at a station?"

"No. He is in a sugar cane field."

Harv pondered momentarily on the strange customs one meets when one travels outside one's native land. Biggles must be infectious, he thought, I'm even beginning to think his lingo.

"All right. We shall go to the cane field where you are keeping your Jefe de Policia. I hope he's got coffee. We already know he'll have sugar."

The officer gave him a blank stare.

"Right. Let's go, then."

As they shut the door and walked down the corridor, neither man noticed two grey woolen socks rolling out the door before it closed.