Mystery of Holly Lane (2 page)

They caught up the man, and he stopped, peering at them through thick glasses. He had a small black moustache. His coat-collar was turned up, and not much could be seen of his face.

“Ah! Some children! You will help me, yes?” said the man. “I look for my sistair’s house.”

“Vous cherchez la maison de votre soeur?” said Pip, in his best French. The man beamed at him.

“Oui, oui! It is called Grintriss.”

“Grintriss! Oh, yes, we know where that is,” said Larry, most untruthfully, playing up to Fatty for all he was worth. “This way, please. Everybody knows Grintriss. A very nice house. Big one, too.”

“Beeg? No, my sistair’s house is leetle,” said the man. “Vairy, vairy leetle. Grintriss it is called.”

“Oh, yes. Grintriss. Vairy leetle,” said Pip. “Er — do you feel the cold, Monsieur? You are well wrapped up.”

“I have had the bad cold,” said the man, and he sniffed, and gave a hollow cough. “I come to my sistair for a leetle holyday.”

“Holiday, you mean?” said Daisy, and the four of them began to laugh. “That’s a nasty little cough you’ve got. Very nasty.”

The man coughed again, and Bets began to giggle. Didn’t Fatty know they were pulling his leg? How often had she heard Fatty cough like that when he was disguised as some poor old man?

They all went up the road together, the man hunched up in his bulky coat. He pulled his scarf over his chin as they met the wind at a corner.

“We are soon at Grintriss?” he asked, anxiously. “This wind is too — too —”

“Too windy?” said Pip, obligingly. “That’s the worst of winds. They’re always so windy.”

The man gave him a sudden stare and said no more. Larry guided him round the next corner and over the road to Fatty’s own house. Mrs. Trotteville was nowhere to be seen. Larry winked at Pip.

“We’ll take him up to the front door and leave him there,” he said, falling behind to whisper. “We’ll just see what old Fatty says then!”

They marched him in firmly at the gate and right up to the front door. “Here you are,” said Pip. “Grintriss! I expect your sistair will answer the door herself. I’ll pull the bell for you.”

He pulled the bell and banged on the knocker too. Then the four of them retreated to the front gate to see what Fatty would do. Would he swing round, take off his glasses and grin at them? Would he say “One up to you! You win!”

The door opened, and the house parlour-maid stood there. An argument seemed to arise, though the children couldn’t hear all of it. The maid raised her voice.

“I said, ‘there’s no one here of that name. And what’s more I’ve never heard of a house called Grintriss, either.’ “

Bets suddenly heard quick footsteps coming up the road, and then a familiar bark. She ran through the gate, sure that it was Buster’s bark.

She gave a shrill scream. “Buster! FATTY! It’s Fatty! Oh, Fatty, then that wasn’t you after all! FATTY!”

She rushed down the road and flung herself into Fatty’s arms. There he was, as plump as ever, his eyes laughing, his mouth in a wide grin.

“Fatty! That wasn’t you, then? Oh, dear!”

“What’s all this about?” asked Fatty, swinging Bets into the air and down again. “Gosh, Bets, you’re getting heavy. I soon shan’t be able to do that. Why weren’t you at the station to meet me? Only Buster was there.”

Now all the others were round him too, astonished. Fatty? How had they missed him?

“You are a lot of donkeys,” said Fatty, in his cheerful voice. “I bet you met the train that comes in four minutes before mine. Buster was much more sensible! He knew enough to wait for the right one — and there he was, prancing round the platform, barking like mad when he saw me. I looked for you, but you were nowhere to be seen.”

“Oh, Fatty — we must have met the wrong tram — and we’ve made an awful mistake,” said Daisy, troubled. “We thought you might be in disguise, just to play a joke on us — and when we couldn’t see you anywhere, we followed a man we thought was you — and oh, Fatty, he asked us the way to some house or other — and we took him to yours!”

“Well!” said Fatty, and roared with laughter. “You are a lot of mutts. Where’s this poor fellow? We’d better put him right.”

The man was even now walking out of the gate, muttering and looking furious — as indeed he had every right to be. He stopped and looked at the name on the gate.

“Ha! You do not bring me to Grintriss. This is not Grintriss. You are wicket! You treat a sick man so!” He began to cough again.

The children were alarmed, and felt very sorry. However could they explain their mistake? He would never, never understand! He stalked up to them, blowing his nose with a trumpeting sound.

“Wicket! Wicket!” he repeated. “Very bad. Wicket!”

He began to shout at them in French, waving his arms about. They listened in dismay. Suppose Mrs. Trotteville came out? It would be even worse to explain their silly mistake to her than to this man.

A bell rang loudly and a bicycle stopped suddenly at the kerb. A very familiar voice hailed them.

“Now, then! What’s all this?”

“Mr. Goon!” groaned Larry. “Old Clear-Orf. He would turn up, of course.”

Buster danced round Mr. Goon in delight, barking furiously. Mr. Goon kept a watchful eye on him, thankful that he had on his thickest trousers.

“Nasty little yapping dog,” he said. “Call him off or I’ll give him a kick.”

Fatty called Buster, and the Scottie came most reluctantly. Oh, for a bite at that big, loud-voiced policeman! Goon spoke to the bewildered Frenchman.

“What’s all this? Have these children been annoying you? I’ll report them, if so.”

The man went off into a long and angry speech, but as it was all in French Mr. Goon didn’t understand a word. He debated whether he should ask Fatty to translate for him — but how was he to trust that fat boy’s translation? Fatty looked at Goon with a gleam in his eye.

“Don’t you want to know what he’s saying, Mr. Goon?” he said politely. “I can just catch a few words now and again. Er — he doesn’t seem to like the look of you, I’m afraid. It sounds as if he’s calling you names.”

Mr. Goon felt out of his depth. These pests of children again — and this foreigner who appeared to be quite mad — and that nasty little dog longing to get at his ankles! Mr. Goon felt that the best and most dignified thing to do was to bicycle away immediately.

So, with a snort that sounded like “Gah” he pushed off from the kerb and sailed away down the road, followed by a fusillade of barks from the disappointed Buster.

“Thank goodness!” said Daisy, fervently, and all the five agreed.

It’s Nice to be Together Again.

The Frenchman stared after the policeman in surprise. In France policemen did not behave like that. They were interested and excited when a complaint was made to them, they listened, they took notes — but this policeman had said “Gah” and gone cycling away. Extraordinary!

He began to cough. Fatty felt sorry for him, and began to talk to him in perfect French. Trust old Fatty to know the right thing to do! The others stood round, listening in admiration. Really, Fatty might be French!

“How does he learn French like that?” wondered Daisy. “Nobody at our school could even begin to talk like that Really, Fatty is a most surprising person.”

The man began to calm down. He took a little notebook out of his pocket and opened it “I will show you the name,” he said. “Grintriss. Why should nobody know this Grintriss house?”

He showed Fatty something written down on a page of a notebook. The others peeped over his arm to look.

“Oh! GREEN-TREES!” said Daisy. “Why ever didn’t you say so? You kept saying Grintriss.”

“Yes. Grintriss,” repeated the man, puzzled. “All the time I say ‘Grintriss, pliss, where is zis house?’ “

“It’s Green-Trees,” said Daisy, pronouncing it slowly and carefully.

“Grintriss,” said the man, again. “And now — where is zis house? I ask of you for the last time.”

He looked as if he were going to burst into tears. Fatty took his arm. “Come on. I’ll show you. No tricks this time, we’ll take you there.”

And off they all went together, Fatty suddenly jabbering in French again. Down the road, round the corner, up the hill and into a quiet little lane. In the middle of it was a small and pretty house, smoke curling from its chimneys.

“Green-Trees,” said Fatty, pointing to the name on the white gate.

“Ah — Grintriss,” said the man, in delight and raised his hat to the two girls. “Mesdemoiselles, adieu! I go to find my sistair!”

He disappeared up the little front path. Bets gave a sigh and slipped her arm through Fatty’s. “What a shame to welcome you home with a silly muddle like this. Fatty. We meant to be on the platform ready to give you a wonderful welcome — and only Buster was there — and we’d gone off after somebody who wasn’t in the least like you.”

“Yes — but that’s the worst of Fatty when he puts on a disguise,” grumbled Pip. “He never does look in the least like himself. Come on, Fatty — let’s take you back home now. Your mother will be wondering what’s become of you.”

Mrs. Trotteville was quite relieved to see Fatty and the others trooping into the hall. She came out to greet them.

“Frederick! Did you miss your train? How late you are! Welcome home again.”

“Hallo, Mother! What a nice smell from the kitchen! Smells like steak and onions. Buster, what do you think?”

“Wuff!” said Buster, ready to agree with every word that Fatty said. He dashed round Fatty’s legs, galloped behind the couch, appeared again, and then threaded his way at top speed between all the chairs.

“Jet-propelled obstacle race,” said Fatty. “Hey, Buster, look where you’re going, you’ll knock me over.”

“He always behaves like that when you first come home,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “I only hope he gets over the excitement soon. I simply daren’t walk a step when he goes mad like this.”

“He’s a darling,” said Bets. “I know how he feels when Fatty comes home. I feel rather the same myself.”

Fatty gave her a sudden hug. “Well, don’t you start racing round the furniture on all-fours,” he said. “Tell me — any mysterious mysteries or insoluble problems cropped up this last week? What a shame you all got home before I did!”

“Nothing’s turned up yet,” said Pip. “But I bet something will now you’re here. Adventures go to the adventurous, you know.”

“I do hope nothing does turn up,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “Or I shall have that silly Mr. Goon round here again. Now, the one I like is your friend, Superintendent Jenks!”

They all stared at her. “Superintendent! You don’t mean that Chief-Inspector Jenks is a superintendent now!” said Larry. “My word — he’s going up and up, isn’t he?”

“We knew him first when he was an Inspector,” said Bets, remembering. “And then he became a Chief-Inspector. Now he’s a Superintendent. I’m glad. He’s getting very very high-up, isn’t he? I hope he’ll still like to know us.”

“I expect he will,” said Mrs. Trotteville smiling. “Oh, dear — I do wish Cook would keep the kitchen door shut when she is doing onions — what a smell came in here then.”

“Keep the door shut when it’s steak and onions?” said Fatty, in horror. “Shut, did you say? Shut out a heavenly smell like that? Mother, don’t you realise that I have, as usual, been half-starved all the term?”

“Well, it’s a pity you weren’t,” said his mother, looking at his tight overcoat. “Those buttons look as if they are just about to burst off. Your trunk has come, Frederick. Do you want to unpack it, and get ready for lunch straight away? We’re having it early as I thought you would be hungry.”

“Mother, I do love you when you think things like that,” said Fatty, in a sudden burst of affection. “I’m starving!”

“Cupboard love!” said his mother, amused at Fatty’s sudden hug.

“Can all the others stay to lunch as well?” asked Fatty, hopefully.

“Yes, if you’d like to share your bit of steak and onions round,” said his mother. But not even Fatty could rise to that, and so he said good-bye to the other four very reluctantly,

“They can all come to tea this afternoon, if you like,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “I’ll get in plenty of cakes. Frederick, do control Buster. He’s gone mad again. It really makes me giddy to watch him.”

“Buster! Behave yourself!” said Fatty, and the mad little Scottie turned himself miraculously into a quiet and peaceful little lamb, lying down on Fatty’s feet and licking his shoes.

“Come back at three,” said Fatty, and took the others to the front gate. “We’ll have a good old talk and you can tell me all the news. So-long!” He went back to the house, sniffing for steak and onions again.

“I suppose, Frederick, you don’t know anything about a bulky-looking foreigner who came to the front door this morning, and told Jane that this house was Grintriss, and wanted to force his way in and see some sister of his — do you?” said Mrs. Trotteville, when Fatty came back. “He kept talking about some ‘wicket children’ when Jane told him this wasn’t the house. You hadn’t anything to do with him, I suppose? You haven’t been up to your tricks again already, I hope.’

“Of course not,” said Fatty, looking quite hurt. “Poor fellow — I found him at the front gate, and we all took him to the place he wanted to go to. Green-Trees, down Holly Lane. Oh, Mother, there’s that heavenly smell again. Do you mind if I go and smell it even nearer? I haven’t seen Cook or Jane yet.”

“Very well. But DON’T try lifting fried onions out of the pan,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “Oh, Frederick — it’s very nice to have you back — but I do wish I always knew what you were up to! Please don’t get mixed up in anything alarming these holidays. Pip’s mother was saying to me only yesterday that everything has been so peaceful this last week.”

There was no answer. Fatty was already in the kitchen sampling half-fried strips of onion, while Cook and Jane giggled at him, and promised to provide him with new gingerbread, hot scones and home-made raspberry jam when the others came to tea that afternoon. They loved Fatty.

“A caution, that’s what he is,” Cook told her friends. “Honestly, you just never know what’s going to happen when Master Frederick is about”

Fatty enjoyed his lunch thoroughly, and told his mother all about his last term. He appeared, as always, to have done extremely well.