Mystery of Tally-Ho Cottage (7 page)

He decided that the Eastern clothes he had were a bit too gay for January weather. He didn’t want a crowd of kids following him around! He suddenly thought of some Eastern students he had seen in London.

‘They wore turbans, and rather tightish, but ordinary black trousers, and an overcoat,’ he remembered. ‘Didn’t want to shiver in our cold climate, I suppose! Perhaps it would be best if I just wore a turban, and ordinary clothes. My face is so very sunburnt that just wearing a turban makes me look Eastern!’

He found a pair of rather dirty, very tight black trousers, which he couldn’t do up at the waist. He had a brain-wave and tied a sash round his middle instead. Then he put on an old overcoat.

‘A foreign student from somewhere out east!’ he said to himself. ‘Yes - that’s what I am! Come on, Fatty - off to Tally-Ho!’

He left Buster behind, much to the little Scottie’s dismay, and set off, passing rapidly by the kitchen window, hoping that the maids would not see him. But his mother saw him, and gazed after him in surprise.

‘Who’s that?’ she wondered. ‘A friend of Frederick’s, I suppose. What a peculiar-looking fellow in that gay turban!’

Fatty went off down to the river, and made his way along the river-path. He only met an old lady with a dog, and she gazed at him uneasily. Was he going to snatch her handbag? But he passed quickly, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

Fatty came to the river-gate leading into the grounds of Tally-Ho. It was only a small wicket-gate, quite unlike the two imposing drive-gates at the front of the big house, through which so many cars had driven in and out that summer.

Nobody was about at all. Fatty went a little way along and climbed over the fence into the grounds. He made his way cautiously to the big house, standing, desolate and empty, with no smoke coming from its many chimneys.

He peeped into a window. Inside was a big room, with dust-sheets over the chairs. A large, polished table stood in the middle. On it was a great bowl full of dead flowers.

Fatty’s gaze slid round the room. Chairs. Little tables. A stool - and lying on the floor beside the stool was a curious little object, grey, solid, and rubbery.

Fatty wondered what it was. And why was it on the floor? He stared at it curiously. Then he suddenly knew what it was. Of course! It was a little rubber bone, the kind given to dogs to play with and chew!

‘Must be Poppet’s,’ said Fatty. ‘One of her playthings that she left behind on the floor.’

He left the window and went along a path under a rose pergola - and suddenly, just at the end of it, he came face to face with Mr. Larkin, who was trudging round the corner with some firewood.

Mr. Larkin jumped violently and dropped all his wood. Fatty stepped forward at once and picked it up. Then he addressed the scared Mr. Larkin in a very foreign-sounding voice indeed!

‘Excuse, please! I come here to see my old friends, the Lorenzos - ah, such old friends they are! And I find the house shut tight - nowhere is there anybody. Please, good sir, you can tell me of my friends?’

‘They’ve gorn,’ said Mr. Larkin. ‘Ain’t you seen the papers? Bad lot, they are.’

‘Gorn?’ echoed Fatty, in a very puzzled voice. ‘I do not understand.’

‘Well - they’ve gorn - just gorn,’ said Mr. Larkin impatiently. Fatty stared at him. He looked just the same miserable fellow as before - plumpish under his untidy old overcoat, a scarf round his chin and throat, and a cap pulled down over his eyes. He peered at Fatty suspiciously through his thick glasses.

‘We don’t allow no strangers here,’ said Mr. Larkin, backing away from Fatty’s stare. Fatty was taking him all in, suddenly filled with a longing to disguise himself like this old fellow. If he disguised himself as Bob Larkin he could go all round the house and peep into every window without anyone being surprised. He might even get into the house if he could find the keys. Possibly Larkin had some. Yes - he would do it one night - it would be fun.

‘You’ll have to give me your name,’ said Mr. Larkin, suddenly remembering that the police had asked him to take the name of anyone coming to the house. ‘Foreigner, aren’t you?’ He took out a dirty little notebook and sucked a pencil.

‘You can write down my name as Mr. Hoho-Ha,’ said Fatty politely, and spelt it out carefully for Mr. Larkin. ‘And my address is Bong Castle, India.’

Mr. Larkin laboriously wrote it all down, placing his notebook on a window-ledge to write legibly. When he looked up again, Mr. Hoho-Ha had gone.

Larkin grunted and picked up his firewood. All this silly police business annoyed him. Why couldn’t he be left in peace to do his job? But he didn’t seem to have much of a job now! All those boilers raked out - nothing to light or keep going. No nice warm boiler-house to sit in and read his paper. Nothing to do but look after a silly little poodle!

Fatty was behind a bush, watching Larkin going down the path. He noted every action - the shuffling limp, the stoop, the way the cap was pulled half-side-ways over the man’s face. Yes - he could disguise himself well enough as Larkin to deceive even his old wife!

Fatty had a good look round while he was about it. He looked into shed and greenhouses, boiler-house and summerhouse, keeping a sharp lookout for anyone else. But he saw nobody.

He would, however, have seen somebody if he had been near the Larkins’ cottage! He would have seen Mr. Goon! Mr. Goon had ridden up to have another talk to the Larkins, and he was at that moment trying his hardest to get something out of Mrs. Larkin besides coughs, groans and sniffles.

Fatty would also have seen two other people if he had looked up into the tall fir-tree that grew beside the hedge which separated Tally-Ho grounds from the grounds of High Chimneys next door. He would have seen Glad and Liz!

They, faithful to their trust, had been on guard in the tree for two hours, while Ern was mending his bike. Ern’s brakes had gone wrong, owing to his crash with Mr. Goon, and he wanted to put them right.

‘Glad and Liz, you sit up there and keep your eyes open,’ he said. ‘And here’s two bull’s-eyes each to keep you going.’

Glad spotted the strange foreigner as soon as he climbed over the fence. She was so surprised that she swallowed the bull’s-eye she was sucking and choked so violently that she nearly fell out of the treehouse.

When at last she recovered, the foreigner had disappeared. She found that Liz had spotted him too, and the twins gazed at each other in excitement.

‘He must still be there!’ said Glad. ‘Come on, Liz - let’s climb down and tell Ern. He’ll go after him all right. Won’t he be pleased with us!’

ERN SHADOWS A SUSPECT!

Glad and Liz almost fell down the tree in their hurry. They went into the little shed where Ern was busy with his bicycle.

‘Ern! We’ve seen somebody,’ said Glad, in a penetrating whisper that could be heard all over the garden. Ern looked up, startled.

‘Where? Who?’ he asked, getting up at once.

Glad and Liz told him, and Ern straightway made for the hedge, and disappeared through it. He went cautiously round the Larkins’ cottage - and then stopped in horror. Mr. Goon was standing at the door talking to Mrs. Larkin! The twins had not seen him because he had arrived after they had climbed down the tree.

Mr. Goon caught sight of Ern at the same moment that Ern caught sight of him. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Ern again! Ern here in the Larkins’ garden!

Mr. Goon gave such a roar that Mrs. Larkin disappeared indoors immediately and shut the door with a slam. Ern was too petrified to move. Mr. Goon advanced on him majestically.

‘You here!’ said Mr. Goon. ‘Now you just come-alonga me, Ern. I’ve a few things to say to you, I have.’

Ern fled just in time. He ran blindly down the path and charged full-tilt into Mr. Larkin, who was shuffling along still carrying his firewood. He dropped it for the second time as Ern ran straight into him and almost knocked him over. He caught hold of the boy and held on - and was then almost sent flying by the burly form of Mr. Goon chasing after Ern.

‘Ere! What’s all this!’ said Mr. Larkin, startled and annoyed.

‘Hold that boy!’ commanded Mr. Goon breathlessly. ‘Hold him!’ Mr. Larkin tried to hold the wriggling Ern, but had to let him go - and Mr. Goon just pounced in time to stop poor Ern from escaping. He shook him so hard that Ern didn’t quite know what was happening.

‘What you doing here?’ demanded Mr. Goon angrily. ‘Is that fat boy here too, snooping round?’

‘No,’ said Ern, feeling certain that Fatty and the others were playing some nice, friendly game far away in Fatty’s shed.

‘Mr. Goon, sir,’ said Mr. Larkin, ‘there’s bin a furriner wandering round Tally-Ho grounds just now. Name of Hoho-Ha.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ said Mr. Goon unfairly. ‘Standing there saying nothing. Where is the fellow?’

He hung on to Ern so tightly that the boy groaned. ‘Uncle, let me go. I’m after him too. I’ll look for him, if you’ll let me go.’

‘What do you mean, you’re after him too?’ said Mr. Goon, looking all round as if he thought he would be able to see plenty of ‘furriners’.

‘You let that boy look for him, sir,’ suggested Mr. Larkin from under his old cap. ‘A kid can snoop round quietly and not be seen. You’re too big for that. You let this boy loose and tell him to find that furriner - yes, and follow him for you till you can catch up and nab him!’

Goon gave Ern a shake. ‘If I let you go will you do that?’ he said. Mind you, Ern, I’ve a good mind to put you across my knee here and now and give you the finest spanking you’ve ever had in your life!’

‘No, Uncle!’ said Ern, almost in tears. ‘You let me fiind that fellow for you, and I’ll shadow him wherever he goes. I promise you, Uncle!’

‘He wears a turban,’ said Mr. Larkin. ‘Sort of towel round his head,’ he added, as Goon looked mystified. ‘Can’t mistake him. He can’t be far off, so let this kid go now or you’ll lose the furriner.’

Goon let go Ern’s arm and the boy darted off thankfully. Oh, what bad luck to run into Goon again - just as he was hoping to get some news for Fatty too! Now he had got to find and shadow someone for his uncle - someone who might have been of great use to old Fatty!

Ern remembered the lessons in shadowing that he had had from Fatty, and went silently from bush to bush, watching and listening - and soon he heard the crack of a twig on a path. Ah - the ‘furriner’ must be there!

Ern peeped round the bush. It was getting rather dark now but he could see a man - and he was wearing a turban!

‘Nasty-looking chap,’ thought Ern. ‘Proper foreigner. Up to no good. Might have a knife on him somewhere so I’d better be careful!’

Ern felt very thrilled. ‘Almost as if I was in a film!’ he thought, remembering the dramatic moments in some of the cowboy films he had seen lately. ‘Coo! What will Fatty and the others say when they hear about this!’

The man in the turban moved down the path to the little wicket-gate. Ern followed cautiously some way behind. Goon caught sight of both of them and followed cautiously too. Ern was after the man, so if he kept the boy in sight Ern would lead him to wherever the man was going!

Fatty had absolutely no idea that he was being shadowed by Ern, with Goon some distance behind. He sauntered along, thinking of Larkin, and what fun it would be to disguise himself as the old fellow, and meet him some morning down the street! What would Larkin say if he came face to face with himself?

Ern followed carefully, holding his breath. Fatty went along the river-path and turned up into Peterswood village. Ern stalked him, keeping in the shadows.

Goon followed, wishing he hadn’t left his bicycle behind at the Larkins. Now he would have to walk all the way back to get it that night!

Fatty suddenly felt that he was being followed, and looked round. Was he or wasn’t he? Was that a figure hiding beside that bush? Well, never mind, he was nearly home!

Fatty suddenly took to his heels and ran for home, thinking that it wouldn’t do to be stopped by Goon, if it was Goon. He had no idea it was Ern. He came to his gate and slipped through it, ran to the garden door and into the house. Up the stairs he went, two at a time, and into his bedroom. Buster welcomed him with a volley of delighted barks.

It didn’t matter what disguise Fatty put on, Buster was never deceived. Fatty always smelt like Fatty, no matter what he looked like - a ‘furriner’, an old man, a gypsy woman, a butcher’s boy. One sniff and Buster knew him!

‘Coo,’ said Ern, stepping out of the shadows as Fatty went in at his gate. ‘Look at that! He ran off all of a sudden, and I’m blessed if he didn’t go in at Fatty’s gate. Perhaps he’s a friend of Fatty’s. Gosh - here’s Uncle!’

‘Where’d that man go?’ demanded Mr. Goon, holding Ern’s shoulder in a vice-like grip.

‘Into Fatty’s gate,’ said Ern. ‘I say, Uncle - perhaps he’s a friend of Fatty’s. You’d better not go after him.’

‘Ho! I’d just like to know who Master Frederick Trotteville is sending to snoop round Tally-Ho grounds,’ said Goon. And in at the gate he went, leaving Ern miserably outside. Had he got Fatty into trouble?

Mr. Goon knocked loudly at the door and the maid answered promptly.

‘Is Master Frederick in?’ asked Goon, in his most pompous voice. Before the maid could answer Mrs. Trotteville came into the hall.

‘What do you want, Mr. Goon?’ she inquired. ‘Was it you who knocked so loudly?’

‘Er - well, yes, I suppose it was,’ said Goon, forgetting to be pompous. He was rather afraid of Mrs. Trotteville. ‘I came about a foreigner.’

‘A foreigner?’ said Mrs. Trotteville. ‘But there is no foreigner here. What makes you think there is?’

‘Well, he came in at your gate,’ said Goon. ‘Man in a turban.’

‘Oh - dear me, I remember seeing a man in a turban going past the windows this afternoon,’ said Mrs. Trotteville. ‘I’ll call Frederick. He may have seen him too.’

‘Frederick!’ she called up the stairs. ‘Are you in?’

‘Yes, Mother,’ said Fatty, appearing suddenly at the top of the stairs, dressed in his ordinary clothes, and looking very clean and tidy. ‘I was just reading. Do you want me?’

‘Mr. Goon has come about some foreigner he thinks is here,’ said Mrs. Trotteville. ‘He says he came in at our gate a little while ago.’