Mystery of Holly Lane (8 page)

“Ask away,” said Fatty, “but don’t be too verbose — I’ve got plenty to do.”

Goon wondered what “verbose” meant — something rude, he’d be bound! He determined to look it up in the dictionary when he got back. Verbose!

He began to ask Fatty a few routine questions.

“What time had Fatty and the others been there? Anyone about? Anything disarranged in the living-room? What had the old man said?”

Fatty answered shortly and truthfully, thankful that Goon had no suspicion that they had actually gone to the bungalow garden to fetch something. Goon imagined that they had been out for a walk, and had heard the old man’s yells as they passed.

“That’s all,” said Goon, at last. Fatty thought that he had asked the questions very well. He had left nothing out that might be useful.

Goon looked at Fatty. “Er — I suppose you’ve got your own ideas about this already?” he said.

“Oh, yes,” said Fatty. “I’ve no doubt it will be quite easy to find the robber. Didn’t the old man give you a list of the people who had been to visit him this morning?”

“Well, he seemed so muddled,” said Goon. “He might have been remembering yesterday’s visitors. He’s old and forgetful. I wouldn’t be surprised if that money isn’t still there somewhere. Er — hm — what do you think about it all?”

Fatty wasn’t going to give Goon any help at all. He remembered how Goon had given Bert half a crown to catch Buster. He got up suddenly, not wanting to look at the fat policeman any more.

“Good morning,” he said to Goon, and showed him out very firmly. Let Goon find out what he could — Fatty didn’t mean to help him!

Tea at Pip’s.

The Five met that day in Pip’s playroom at half-past three. Mrs. Hilton had said they might all go to tea, and had sent Pip and Bets out to buy cakes from the baker’s.

They had staggered in with baskets full, and had arranged all the goodies themselves on big dishes. They were set on the table, ready for tea.

“Why do you put them under our noses like this?” groaned Daisy. “Look at those macaroons — all goey and luscious. What a frightful temptation.”

“And look at that gingerbread cake — and that fruit cake,” said Larry. “We never seem to have such nice teas as you do, Pip.”

“Oh, it’s only when people come to tea that Mother goes a splash like this,” said Pip. “Buster, you’ve got your favourite tit-bit — dog-biscuits spread with potted meat. Sniff!”

Buster sniffed, shot out a pink tongue — and the biscuit disappeared with one crunch!

“Oh, Buster! Manners, manners!” said Fatty. “You don’t see your master doing things like that, do you?”

Everyone laughed. Pip got out some cards and shuffled them. Fatty told them of Goon’s visit to him that afternoon.

“How you could bear to be polite to him when you knew he had planned to have Buster shot, I don’t know!” said Pip.

“Well, I wasn’t awfully polite, actually,” admitted Fatty. “Also I was a bit afraid he’d ask why we were there. I wish to goodness you’d taken away that window-leather, Larry. I wouldn’t put it past old Goon to snoop round the garden and find it.”

“Blow!” said Larry. “Mother keeps on asking about it I really must get it soon. I would have bought a new one, but when Daisy and I looked in the ironmonger’s shop this afternoon, the big ones were about fifteen shillings. Fifteen shillings! I call that wicked.”

“I’ll get it from the bungalow garden for you,” said Fatty. “You mustn’t go bursting in at the garden gate in full daylight, and come out waving a window-leather! I’ll go tonight and get it, when it’s dark.”

“I shouldn’t have gone in daylight anyhow,” said Larry, a little offended. “I’m not quite an idiot. But I’d be glad if you got it for me, actually, because it’s difficult for me to slip out at night. It’s easy for you — you can always say you’re taking Buster for a walk.”

“I usually do take him for a run last thing at night,” said Fatty. “I’ll go tonight, and I’ll bring the leather here to you tomorrow.”

“Are we going to go and see that old man again?” asked Daisy. “Are we going to treat this as a mystery — a rather small one, I know — and try to find out who the robber is, or are we going to let Goon get on with it, and not bother about it at all ourselves?”

“Well, I don’t actually think there’s much mystery,” said Fatty. “Either the money is still there, hidden, and the old fellow has forgotten where, or someone’s taken it who knew it was hidden. If so, it can only be one of his relatives, I should think. Quite a straightforward case. Anyway I somehow don’t want to have anything more to do with Goon, after this Buster business. I just can’t bear the sight of him.”

“Right. Then we don’t count this as a mystery,” said Daisy. “We’ll just go on hoping. What I was going to say was that the person who would really know who visited the old man this morning would be that Frenchman — Mr. Henri. He lies on that couch and watches everyone who passes — and he has a jolly good view of the bungalow’s front door.”

“Yes. You’re right,” said Fatty. “He would be the first one we’d ask for a bit of information. But I think we’ll leave this to Goon. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit afraid of somebody asking about a window-cleaner! Somebody may have spotted Larry — and we’d look rather foolish if it came out about his cleaning the windows.”

“I always thought it was rather a silly thing to ask me to do,” said Larry. “I said so at the time.”

“Well, maybe it was a bit mad,” said Fatty. “We’ll forget it. Come on — whose deal is it? We’ll just have time for a game before tea.”

They had a hilarious game, and an even more hilarious tea. During the game, Buster discovered that by sitting on a chair, he could reach his plate of potted-meat biscuits, and he devoured every one of them without being noticed. He then quietly jumped down and went and lay by Bets.

“Isn’t he good and quiet today?” said Bets, patting him. “He’s usually too silly for words when we play cards and don’t take any notice of him. Last time he smacked all my cards out of my hand, I remember. Didn’t you, Buster?”

“Wuff,” said Buster, in a quiet voice. He was beginning to feel very guilty.

Larry tickled him. Buster didn’t jump up and caper round as he usually did. He just let Larry tickle him. Larry looked at him closely.

“Why don’t you wag your tail?” he said. “I say — don’t you think Buster’s gone rather quiet? Buster, old fellow, what’s up?”

Buster’s tail remained quite still, without a wag. Bets looked at him in alarm. “He can’t be feeling well! Buster! Good dog! Stand up, Buster, and wag your tail!”

Buster stood up, looking the picture of misery, head down and tail down. What a fuss the children made of him! He was patted and petted, stroked and fondled.

“Ought we to take him to the vet?” said Bets. “Fatty, do you think anything’s wrong?”

“We’ll try him with one of his favourite potted-meat biscuits,” said Fatty, getting up. He saw the empty plate at once.

“BUSTER! You greedy pig! How dare you show such bad manners when I take you out to tea! I’m ashamed of you. Go to the corner!”

“Oh, what’s he done?” cried Bets, as poor Buster walked to the nearest corner, and sat there, face to the wall.

“Eaten every single one of his biscuits whilst we weren’t looking,” said Fatty. “I never heard a single crunch, did you? Bad dog, Buster! No, Bets, you’re not to go to him. Look at the plate next to his biscuits, too. It looks as if Buster has been taking a few licks at that macaroon!”

“Well, I’d rather he was naughty than ill,” said Bets, making up her mind to slip Buster a bit of macaroon at tea-time. “Oh, Buster! What a thing to do!”

Buster made a moaning sound, and hung his head still more. “Take no notice of him,” said Fatty, “another word from us and he’ll burst into tears.”

“It wouldn’t matter. He’d lick them all up,” said Bets. “That’s the best of being a dog — if you upset a dish you can always lick up the mess.”

“Now don’t even mention Buster’s name,” said Fatty, firmly. “He’s in disgrace. Come on — it’s my turn to play.”

Buster had to remain in the corner while the five children had their own tea. Bets spilt some runny strawberry jam on the clean tablecloth.

“Get something to wipe it,” said Pip. “You really are a messer, Bets.”

“I’m a dog. I’m going to lick it up,” said Bets, and she did, which made them all laugh. Tea became more and more hilarious until Pip laughed so much that he fell off his chair and pulled a plate of cake-slices on top of him.

The door opened and Mrs. Hilton looked in. “What was that crash?” she said. “Is anybody hurt? Oh, Pip! What are you doing on the floor with cakes all over you? Please get up. Remember you are the host.”

“Be hostly, Pip,” said Bets, and Pip began to laugh again. Buster came out of his corner hopefully when he saw the pieces of cake on the floor.

“No, Buster, the floor is perfectly clean and we can eat the slices ourselves, thank you,” said Pip. “Has Mother gone? Oh, dear, I really must be hostly. Shall we let Buster stay out of his corner? I’m sure he must be very sorry now.”

So, much to Buster’s joy, he was allowed to join the others again, and was so pleased to be in favour that he went round licking everyone in all the bare places he could find.

“Really, we need a towel!” said Daisy. “That’s the third time you’ve licked my knees, Buster — they’re dripping with lick!”

The evening went too quickly. Fatty exclaimed when he looked at the playroom clock. “Whew! Almost seven o’clock. You have your supper at seven, don’t you, Pip?”

“Gosh, yes. And we’ve got to go and wash and get tidy,” said Pip, scrambling up. “Sorry to rush you off; but you know what our household’s like — everything on the dot. The gong will go in a minute. See yourselves out, will you!”

Fatty, Larry, Daisy and Buster went downstairs quietly and out of the garden door. It was getting dark. “It’s a pity we haven’t a mystery on hand,” said Larry, lighting his bicycle lamp. “I feel like one, somehow. It’s nice when we’ve got our teeth into a good, juicy mystery!”

“Well, one may turn up at any time,” said Fatty. “Your lamp all right, Daisy? Good-bye, then. We’ll see each other sometime tomorrow.”

They all cycled off, parting at the corner. Fatty yawned. He had slept very little the night before because he had been so worried about Buster. He felt very sleepy now.

“I’ll go to bed early,” he thought. “I’ll take a book and read. I’ll soon be asleep.”

So, much to his parent’s surprise — for Fatty was usually rather a late bird — he went up to bed about a quarter to nine, with Buster at his heels.

He had a bath, and was soon settled into bed. He opened his book and read a page or two — and then, before he had even turned out his light, he was fast asleep! Half-past nine struck. Ten o’clock. Half-past ten. Eleven. Everyone in the house was now in bed, and Fatty’s light was the only one left on.

Buster lay quiet for some time. Then he stirred. Why hadn’t Fatty taken him out for a run? He leapt on the bed and woke Fatty up with a jump.

“Gosh, it’s you, you little wretch!” said Fatty, sitting up suddenly. “I thought you were a burglar or something. What’s the time — almost half-past eleven! Now don’t say you want a walk at this hour, because you won’t get one. I’m going to turn out the light, see?”

It was just as he switched off his lamp that Fatty remembered something. “Blow, blow, blow! I never went to get that horrible window-leather. BLOW!”

He thought about it. Well, he must go and get it. He had promised Larry — and, anyway, it was important. He swung his feet out of bed and dressed hurriedly. “We’ll be back soon,” he said to Buster. “We’ll only be a few minutes!”

But he wasn’t back soon. Fatty had a most peculiar midnight adventure!

Strange Happenings.

Fatty went cautiously down the stairs with Buster. Buster always knew when he had to be quiet. He almost held his breath as he padded downstairs at Fatty’s heels!

“Out of the garden door, Buster,” whispered Fatty, and Buster led the way down the side-passage. Fatty unlocked and unbolted the door quietly, and closed it again. He locked it behind him.

Then he and Buster made their way to the back-gate and slipped out into the road.

Buster liked this. It was exciting to be all alone with Fatty late at night. Smells seemed much stronger than in the day-time. Shadows were more exciting. Buster jumped up and gave Fatty’s hand a small lick.

“We’re going to that bungalow called Hollies,” Fatty told him: “Got to collect something for Larry. If I can’t find it, you’ll have to sniff about for it, Buster.”

“Wuff,” said Buster, happily, and ran on ahead. Up this way — down that — round a corner — and by a lamppost. The street-lights went off at twelve. Soon it would be midnight, and then there would not be even a lamp to break the darkness.

It was a very cloudy night, and the clouds were low and thick. Fatty felt a spot of rain. He put his hand in his pocket to make sure he had his torch. Between the lampposts the way was very dark. Yes, his torch was there — good.

“I’ll need it when I creep into the bungalow garden,” thought Fatty. “I’ll never find Larry’s leather without a light.”

He came to the turning into Holly Lane. The street lamps suddenly went out — twelve o’clock! Fatty got out his torch. He simply couldn’t see a step in front of him without it on this dark night.

He came to the front gate of the little bungalow. It was all in darkness. Fatty stood and listened. Not a sound could be heard. He could go and search in safety.

He opened the front gate, shut it softly, and went up the path with Buster. He turned off to the side of the bungalow and went into the little thicket of bushes there. He switched on his torch and began to hunt around.

He couldn’t see the window-leather anywhere. Blow Larry! He came up against a fence — the fence that separated the bungalow garden from the one belonging to Mr. Henri’s sister. He stood and considered the matter.

“Could the wind possibly have blown the leather over the fence?” he wondered. “No. Leathers are such heavy things when wet, as Larry’s was. On the other hand, the wind might have dried it, and it would then become dry and light. The wind might take it then — there has been quite a breeze.”