Mystery of Holly Lane (7 page)

“We will,” said Fatty, comfortingly. “Just tell us when you last saw the money. Do you remember?”

“Course I remember,” said the old fellow, pulling his night-cap straight. “But I didn’t see it. I’m nearly blind. I felt it. It was there all right.”

“When was that?” asked Fatty, patiently.

“Last night,” said the old man. “About midnight, I reckon. I was in bed, and I couldn’t sleep, and I sat up and worried about my money. You see, I’m all alone here since my daughter’s gone away. Well, I got out of bed and I came in here. And I felt for my money. It was there all right.”

“I see,” said Fatty. “So somebody must have taken it between then and now. Has anyone been to see you this morning?”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he said. “But I’m muddled now. I misremember who came — except my granddaughter, of course — she comes every day and cleans round. She’s a good girl. And the grocer came. But I misremember. You get the police. They’ll find my money for me!”

A big tear fell from one eye and rolled down his cheek. Bets felt very sorry for him. Poor old man — all alone, and worried about his money. Where could it be? Had it really been stolen — or had he just forgotten where he had put it? If only he would tell them!

“We’ll have to tell Goon,” said Fatty to the others. “It’s a pity. We might have been able to clear this up ourselves if we’d had a chance.”

The five children suddenly heard footsteps coming up the path. Who was it? There was a loud knock at the door, then the handle turned, and a man walked in. He stared in surprise at the children. Buster barked loudly.

“Hallo!” said the man. He was young and smartly dressed. “Who are you? Are you visiting my great-uncle! Hallo, Uncle! How are you?”

“Oh, Wilfrid — is it you?” said the old man, putting out a hand as if to find out where Wilfrid was. “Wilfrid, my money’s gone!”

“What! Gone? What do you mean?” asked Wilfrid. “Didn’t I tell you somebody would rob you if you didn’t let me put it into the bank for you?”

“It’s gone, it’s gone,” said his uncle, rocking himself to and fro.

“Where did you keep it?” asked Wilfrid, looking all round. “I bet it’s not gone, Uncle! You’ve forgotten where you hid it! Maybe up the chimney — or under a floorboard?”

“I’m not telling anyone,” said the old man. “I want the police! I’m tired. I want my money and I want the police!”

“We’ll go and telephone for the police, if you like,” Fatty offered. “I see there are telephone wires leading next door. I expect they’d let me use the phone.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” said Wilfrid, suddenly.

“Nothing. We just heard the old man calling,” said Fatty, thinking it better not to say that Larry had gone to find the leather he had left behind in the bushes, and had heard the old man shouting as he passed the bungalow. “Anyway, we’ll go and telephone now. The police will be up in a few minutes, I’m sure.”

“Good-bye,” said Bets to the old man, but he didn’t hear her. He was moaning softly to himself. “My money! Now what shall I do? All gone, all gone!”

The five of them went out with Buster. They went down the path and walked beside the fence till they came to Green-Trees. They went up the path to the blue front door. Fatty rang the bell.

A pleasant-faced woman answered it. She looked very French, and Fatty decided that she must be the sister whose house the bundled-up man had tried so hard to find.

“Excuse me,” said Fatty, politely. “Do you think I might use your telephone? The old man in the bungalow next door has been robbed, and we want to tell the police.”

The woman looked startled. “A robbery? Next door? Oh, the poor old man! Yes, come in and use my telephone! It is in this room here.”

She spoke English extremely well, but had a slight accent which was rather pleasant. She was very like her brother, dark and plump.

She took them into a room off the hall. A couch stood by the window, and a man lay on it coughing. He turned as they came in.

“Henri, these children want to use the telephone,” said the woman. “You do not mind?”

“Enter, I pray you,” said the man, and then stared. “Ah!” he said, “zeese children I have seen before — n’est-ce-pas?”

“Yes,” said Fatty. “We guided you to Green-Trees, you remember?”

“Yes — Grintriss,” said the man with a smile. He looked quite different now, without his bulky overcoat, scarf and pulled-down hat — younger and pleasanter. He coughed. “You will pardon me if I lie here? I am not so well.”

“Of course,” said Fatty. “I hope you don’t mind our coming here like this — but the old fellow next door has been robbed of his money — or so he says — and we want to tell the police.”

Fatty took up the receiver of the telephone. “Police Station,” he said.

A loud, sharp voice answered. “P.C. Goon here. Who’s calling?”

“Er — Frederick Trotteville,” said Fatty. “I just wanted to tell you that…”

There was a loud snort from the other end and a crash. Goon had put down his receiver in a temper! Fatty was astonished.

“Gosh! I got Goon, and as soon as I began to speak to him he crashed back the receiver!” said Fatty. “I suppose he’s still furious about Buster. Well, I’ll try again.”

He got the police station once more, and again Goon’s voice answered.

“Look here, Mr. Goon,” said Fatty. “Will you go to the bungalow called Hollies, in Holly Lane. There’s been a robbery there.”

“Any more of your nonsense and I’D report you to Headquarters,” snapped Goon. “I’m not going out on any wild-goose-chase, and have you come back here and shut my cat up in the shed again. Ho, yes, I…”

“MR. GOON! LISTEN!” shouted Fatty. “This isn’t a joke, it’s…”

Crash! Goon had put down his receiver again. Fatty put down his and stared in comical dismay at the others. “Goon’s mad! He thinks I’m spoofing him. What shall we do?”

“Ring up Superintendent Jenks,” suggested Daisy. “It’s the only thing to do, Fatty!”

“I will!” said Fatty. “It’ll serve Goon right!”

Goon takes Charge.

Fatty rang through to Police Headquarters in the next town, and asked for Superintendent Jenks.

“He’s out,” said a voice. “Who wants him?”

“Er — this is Frederick Trotteville,” said Fatty, wishing the Superintendent was in. “I just wanted to say that a robbery has been committed at a bungalow called Hollies, in Holly Lane, Peterswood, and the old man who’s been robbed asked me to tell the police.”

“You want to ring up Peterswood Police then,” said the voice.

“I have,” said Fatty. “I — er — I can’t seem to get hold of them. Perhaps you could ring through to tell them?”

“Right,” said the voice. “Robbery — Hollies — Holly Lane — Peterswood. And your name is —?”

“Frederick Trotteville,” said Fatty.

“Ah, yes — I know! Friend of the Super, aren’t you?” said the voice, in a more friendly tone. “Right, sir — leave it to me.”

And so once more the telephone rang at Goon’s house, and once more he answered it, snatching it up angrily, sure that it was Fatty again.

“Hallo, hallo! Who’s that?” he barked.

A surprised voice answered. “This is Headquarters. Is that P.C. Goon? A boy called Frederick Trotteville has just…”

“Pah!” said Goon, unable to help himself.

“What did you say?” said the voice, still more surprised.

“Nothing. Just coughed,” said Goon. “What about this here boy?”

“He reports a robbery at the bungalow called Hollies, Holly Lane, in your area,” said the voice.

Goon’s mouth fell open. So Fatty hadn’t been trying to spoof him! There really had been a robbery. What a pest of a boy! Playing tricks on him and Bert — and the cat — and getting away with Buster — and now finding a robbery! What a Toad of a boy!

“Are you there?” said the voice, impatiently. “Have you got what I said?”

“Er — yes — yes,” said Goon, scribbling down a few notes. “Thanks. All right. I’ll go right along.”

“You’d better!” said the voice, puzzled and annoyed. There was a click. Goon stared at the telephone and clicked back his receiver too. Now he’d get a rap on the knuckles for making Fatty ring Headquarters. Why hadn’t he listened to him when he telephoned?

He got out his bicycle and yelled to Mrs. Mickle. “Be back in half an hour, I expect. Have my dinner ready! This is an urgent job.”

The five children had not left Green-Trees by the time Goon cycled up. They were talking to the Frenchman, whose name turned out to be Henri Crazier. They told him all about the old fellow next door.

“I can see the front gate and front path of the bungalow from my couch,” said Henri. “I got my sister to put the couch here because it’s a pleasant view, and I can see people who come and go down the road.”

They all looked out of the window. “You must have seen us going in, then,” said Fatty. “Did you?”

“Oh, yes,” said Henri. “First I saw zis boy — what does he call himself — Larry? He went in and up the path — and then he came running back to you, and you all went up the path and in at the front-door.”

Larry went red. He hoped to goodness that Henri wasn’t going to ask him why he had first gone in at the gate. It wouldn’t be at all easy to explain how it was that he had left a window-leather in the bushes!

Fortunately his sister came bustling in just then. Her name was Mrs. Harris and her husband, who was away, was English. She carried a box of French chocolates, very rich and creamy.

“Oh — thanks,” said Daisy, and took one. They all helped themselves, and then there came a sudden exclamation from Henri.

“See — the police have arrived!”

Sure enough, Mr. Goon was wheeling his bicycle up the front path next door. The door opened as he came and the young man, Wilfrid, appeared. He said something to Goon and they both disappeared into the bungalow.

“Well, now, perhaps the old man will be happy,” said Fatty. “My word — what super chocolate! We don’t get chocolates like that here, Mrs. Harris.”

“We’d better go,” said Pip, looking at his watch. “Do you know it’s almost one o’clock? Good gracious! Mother said we must be back by five to. Buck up, Bets.”

The five said good-bye to Henri and his sister. “You will come again?” said the sister. “Henri is so bored. He has been very ill and now he comes to me to — how do you call it? — to convalesce. Come and see him again.”

“Thank you. We will,” said Fatty, hoping fervently that Mr. Goon would not also take it into his head to go and see Henri and his sister, and ask them if they had noticed visitors at the bungalow that morning! It might be very awkward to explain Larry’s visit there an hour or so before. Blow that window-leather! And yet, if Larry hadn’t gone to find it, he wouldn’t have heard the old man shouting.

“Gosh — I never got Mother’s window-leather after all!” said Larry. “What an idiot I am. I’ll slip in and get it now.”

“No, you won’t,” said Fatty, firmly. “You’ll leave it there. We don’t want Goon to come rushing out and asking you what you’re doing. You can get it when Goon’s not there.”

They all went home. Fatty was thinking hard. Why wouldn’t the old man say where he had hidden his money? It was silly of him, because he might have made a mistake when he hunted for it — it might quite well still be in the bungalow in some place he had forgotten.

“Larry said that the old fellow was crawling about, feeling under the furniture, the day he went to clean the windows,” thought Fatty. “Why feel so much of the furniture? Did he sometimes put the money in one place and sometimes in another? Or perhaps he divided it up — it might be in notes — and put in several places. That’s quite likely. Well, it’s not a real mystery — only an ordinary robbery. Goon will soon find the robber. He’s only got to get a list of the people who visited the bungalow this morning, and weed them out”

That afternoon Goon arrived at Fatty’s house. He asked for Fatty — and Jane showed him into the study.

“That fat policeman wants you, Master Frederick,” said Jane, when she found Fatty. “I hope Buster hasn’t got into trouble again!”

“Wuff,” said Buster, and danced round Jane. Fatty debated whether to take the little Scottie into the study with him or not. He thought he would. It might keep Goon in his place!

So in marched Fatty, with Buster at his heels. Goon was standing at the window, frowning. He was feeling angry about a lot of things. He was angrier still when he felt Buster sniffing at his heels.

“Come here, Buster,” said Fatty. “Oh, won’t you sit down, Mr. Goon? Anything I can do for you?”

Goon swung round, eyeing Buster balefully. That dog! Had that tiresome Bert locked him up the shed the night before, or hadn’t he? He couldn’t get a word out of Bert now.

Goon sat down heavily and took out his bulky notebook. “I’ve come about the robbery,” he said.

“Well, Tm not guilty,” said Fatty, smoothly. “I do assure you I…”

“I know you’re not guilty,” said Goon, looking as if he wished Fatty were. “What I want to know is — how did you come to be around there just when the old man was yelling blue murder?”

“He wasn’t,” corrected Fatty. “He was yelling for the police.”

“Pah!” said Goon. “You know what I mean. Seems a funny thing to me the way you kids are always about when anything happens. Snooping round. Prying. Interfering with the Law.”

“If that’s all you’ve come to tell me you might as well say good-bye,” said Fatty, getting up. “I mean, I can easily bike over to the Superintendent this afternoon and tell him everything. I don’t want to interfere with the Law. I want to help it. We couldn’t help being there just at that moment. Well, good morning, Mr. Goon.”

Goon looked extremely startled. “Now, you sit down,” he said, trying to speak pleasantly. “I’m only just saying what a remarkable thing it is that you always seem to be around when these things happen. Nothing wrong in saying that, is there?”

“You mentioned something about snooping. And prying,” said Fatty.

“Ah, well, I’m a bit upset-like,” said Mr. Goon, taking out an enormous handkerchief and wiping his forehead with it. “Let’s forget it. I don’t want to interview you, but the law’s the law. It’s the last thing I want to do today — see you again. But I’ve got to ask you a few questions seeing as you and the others were the first on the spot, so to speak.”