By Capt. W.E. Johns
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Extra resources for Biggles Flies Again
Straight ahead was a belt of undergrowth; there was nothing surprising in that, but it was the colour that astonished him. It was of an inconceivably brilliant emerald-green, a poisonous green, so vivid that it seemed possible to reach out and touch it. It may have been that the colourless monotony around intensified it, but for the moment it held him spellbound. "Well, here it is, whatever it is," grunted the Professor, starting forward, and his shrill shout of delight brought Biggles forward at a run, only to pull up dead and gasp in wonderment.
That's Mount Illimani—the Great Mother, it means, and it's venerated by every Indian in Bolivia. Well, his place is somewhere behind there, but don't forget those mountains roll back for about three hundred miles until they fall down in the Amazon valley. " asked Biggles, in puzzled surprise. "Can't be done," said Wilkinson, shaking his head. "The British army could lose itself in those mountains and it would take another army months to find them. You can't cross those hills without a train of llamas or mules, and Estaban would know you were on your way before you left the town.
The professor produced a big briar pipe, filled it, and got it going to his satisfaction before he began. "I am an orchid-hunter, or perhaps it would be better to say a collector, since I work for my own pleasure and not for profit; most of my finds go to Kew," he began. "The story opens some years ago when a native rumour got around in Para of a mysterious blue orchid that had been seen somewhere in the interior. The natives are learning to understand the value of these things. I believe the story actually started at Manaos, which is, as you know, some thousand miles up the Amazon, and it lost nothing in the telling by the time it had reached the mouth of the river.
Biggles Flies Again by Capt. W.E. Johns