Mystery Of The Burnt Cottage (12 page)

Mr. Goon stared at the shoe in amazement He flashed

his torch at Fatty again. “Where did you get this?”

he asked. “Whose is it?”

Fatty looked obstinate. “Some one found it and gave it to me,” he said at last.

“I shall keep it for the time being,” said Mr. Goon. “Now you just come-alonga-me for a minute.”

But Fatty didn’t mean to do that. With a sudden quick twist he was out of Clear-Orf s grasp and tearing up the lane as fast as he could go. He went right to the top, and then round and into the lane in which Larry’s house stood. He slipped into Larry’s drive when he came to it and made his way to the bottom of the garden, his heart beating loudly. He shinned up to the top of the wall and dropped down. He made his way cautiously to the back the house.

Then he hooted like an owl. “Oooo-oo! Oooo-ooo-ooo-OOOOO!”

A Fright for Larry and Fatty.

In another moment poor Fatty almost jumped out of his skin again! Some one clutched his arm hard. He had been expecting an answering whistle or hoot from somewhere about, but he had not guessed that Larry was behind the bush that he hihiself was standing by.

“Oooh!” said Fatty, startled.

“Sh!” came Larry’s voice in a whisper. “Have you got the shoe?”

“No,” said Fatty, and explained quickly what had happened to it. Larry listened in dismay.

“You are an idiot!” he said. “Giving one of our best clues away to old Clear-Orf like that! He’ll know we are after the same ideas as he is now!”

“The shoe wasn’t a clue,” argued Fatty. “It was a mistake. We thought it was a clue, but it wasn’t. Anyway, Clear-Orf s got it, and I really couldn’t help it He nearly got me too. I only just managed to twist away,”

“What shall we do?” asked Larry. “Shall we go in and hunt now? There’s no light in the study. Old Mr. Smellie must have gone to bed.”

“Yes, come on,” said Fatty. “Where’s the garden door?”

They soon found it, and to their great delight it was still unlocked. As there was a light from the kitchen, the two boys thought that Miss Miggle was still up. They decided to be very cautious indeed.

They slipped in at the door. Larry led the way to the study where he and Daisy had talked to Mr. Smellie that day. “You’d better stay on guard in the hall,” he said. “Then if Miss Miggle or Mr. Smellie do happen to come along you can warn me at once. I shall open one of the windows of the study if I can do it without making a lot of noise - then I can slip out of it if any one thinks of walking into the room.”

Larry went into the study. He had a torch with him, and he shone it round the untidy room. There were papers everywhere! Papers and books on the desk, papers and books on the floor and on the chairs. There were books in the bookcases that lined the wall, and books on the mantelpiece. It was quite plain that Mr. Smellie was a very learned man!

Larry began to hunt for the shoes he hoped to find. He pulled out a few books from each shelf in the bookcase and ran his hand behind. But there was nothing there. He looked under the piles of paper everywhere but he found no shoes.

Fatty was outside in the hall, keeping guard. He saw the hall-cupboard where Daisy had found the shoe, and he thought it would be a good idea to peep into it. Daisy might possibly have overlooked some shoes that might be the right one. He slipped into the cupboard.

He was so very busy turning up the shoes and boots in the cupboard that he didn’t hear some one slipping a latchkey into the front door. He didn’t hear some one coming into the hall and quietly closing the front door. So he had no time at all to warn poor Larry to escape! He only heard

Mr. Smellie when the old man walked into the study and switched on the light!

It was too late to do anything then, of course! Larry was caught with his head inside a cupboard, not knowing that any one was in the room until the light was suddenly switched on!

He took His head out of the cupboard in horror. He and Mr. Smellie stared at one another, Larry in fright, and Mr. Srnellie in anger and amazement.

“Robber!” said Mr. Smeffie angrily. “Thief! Wicked boy! I’ll lock you up and telephone to the police!”

He pounced on Larry and took hold of him with a surprisingly strong hand. He shook the boy hard, and Larry gasped. “Please, sir,” he began, “please, sir.”

But Mr. Smellie was not going to listen to anything. His precious papers were all the world to him, and the sight of somebody rummaging through them filled him with such fury that he was unable to listen to a word. Shaking Larry hard, and muttering all sorts of terrible threats, he pushed the boy before him into the hall. Poor Fatty, overcome with shame at having failed to warn Larry, shivered in the hall cupboard outside, not daring to show hihiself.

“Bad, wicked boy!” he heard Mr. Smellie say as he pushed poor Larry up the stairs. Larry was protesting all the time, but Mr. Smeffie wouldn’t listen to a word. “I’ll fetch the police in. I’ll hand you over!”

Fatty trembled. It was bad enough to be caught, but it was even worse to think that poor Larry might be handed over to that horrid old Clear-Orf. He heard Mr. Smeffie take Larry to a room upstairs and lock him in. Miss Miggle, amazed at the sudden noise, came rushing into the hall to see what the matter was.

“Thieves and robbers!” cried Mr. Smeffie. “That’s what the matter is! I came home just now, walked into my study - and there I found thieves and robbers after my papers!”

Miss Miggle imagined that there must have been two or three men there, and she gaped in astonishment.

“Where are the robbers?” she asked.

“Locked in the box-room upstairs,” said Mr. Smellie. Miss Miggle stared at Mr. Smellie in even greater surprise. She couldn’t believe that he had taken two or three men upstairs by hihiself and locked them into the box-room.

She saw that Mr. Smellie was trembling with excitement and shock. “Now you just go and sit down quietly before you telephone the police,” she said soothingly. “You’re all of a shake! I’ll just bring you something to drink. The robbers are safe enough upstairs for a bit.”

Mr. Smellie sank down on a chair in the hall. His heart was thumping, and he was breathing hard. “Be all right in a minute,” he gasped. “Ha! 1 got the best of the robbers!”

Miss Miggle ran to the kitchen. Fatty listened breathlessly. Somehow he felt certain that old Mr. Smellie bad gone back into the study. He didn’t know that he was sitting on a chair just at the foot of the stairs.

“I’d better take this chance of rescuing poor Larry,” thought Fatty, in desperation. He opened the cupboard door and made a dart for the stairs. Mr. Smellie was most arnazed to see another boy appearing, this time out of the hall cupboard. He could hardly believe his eyes. Was his house alive with boys that night?

He made a grab at Fatty. Fatty was startled and let out a yell. He tried to run up the stairs, and dragged Mr. Smellis behind him for a few steps. The old man had got his strength back again by now, and, filled with anger at the sight of what he thought was yet another thief, he clung to

stty like a limpet. The boy went up a few more steps, with Mr, Smellie almost tearing the coat off his back.

Then Fatty stumbled and sat down heavily on a stair about half-way to the top of the flight. Mr. Smellie fell on top of Mm, almost squashing the boy flat.

“Ow-wow! ” yelled poor Fatty. “Get off! You’re hurting me!”

Miss Miggle dropped the glass she was holding and rushed into the hall. What in the wide world could be going on? Was the whole house full of robbers? She was just in time to see Fatty wriggle out from under Mr. Smellie

and roll down the stairs to the bottom, with many bumps and loud groans.

She saw at once that he was only a boy, and she spoke to him severely.

“What’s the meaning of this? How dare you come into some one else’s house? What’s your name and where do you live?”

Fatty decided to be very upset and hurt. Miss Miggle was a very kind soul, and perhaps she would let him off if she thought he was nothing but a bad little boy out on an escapade.

So Fatly lifted up his voice and howled. Larry heard him, and wondered whatever could be happening. He banged at the locked door, adding to the noise and commotion. Miss Miggle looked quite bewildered.

“He’s locked my friend into a room upstairs,” howled Fatty. “I was just going up to rescue him when Mr. Smellie caught me and pummelled me and threw me down the stairs. Oh, I’m covered with bruises! What my mother will say when she sees them I really don’t know. She’ll have Mr. SmeLlie up for injuring a child! She’ll call in the police!”

“Now you can’t possibly be bruised yet,” said Miss Miggle. “I’m sure such a kind old man as Mr. Smellie wouldn’t throw you down the stairs. Don’t be a naughty little story-teller!”

“I’m not, I’m not!” said Fatty, pretending to weep. “I’m covered with bruises. Look - here - and here - and there - and there! Oh, fetch a doctor, fetch a doctor!”

To Miss Miggle’s extreme astonishment and to Mr. Smellie’s horror, the boy in the hall was really and truly covered with the most terrifying purple, green and yellow bruises. They stared at Fatty as he showed them his curious markings. It did not occur to either of them that the boy had had them for one or two days already.

“Mr. Smellie!” said Miss Miggle, in a most reproachful tone. “Just look at the poor child! How could you knock a little boy about like that? What His parents will say I really do not dare to think.”

Mr. Smellie was simply horrified when he thought that he had been the cause of Fatty’s awful bruises. He swallowed hard once or twice, and stared at Fatty. “Better put something on the bruises,” he suggested at last.

“I’ll do that whilst you phone for the police,” said Miss Miggle, remembering the other robbers whom she still supposed were locked up in the box-room above.

But Mr. Smellie didn’t seem to want to phone for the police now. He looked a bit sheepish, and said, “Well, Miss Miggle, perhaps it would be better to ask the boys for an explanation of their curious behaviour in my house before I call in the police.”

“Will you let my friend out, please?” said Fatty. “We didn’t come here to rob you. It was only a joke, really. Let’s call it quits, shall we? If you don’t say anything to the police, we won’t tell our mothers - and I won’t show my bruises.”

Mr. Smellie cleared his throat. Miss Miggle looked at him. “So the robbers and thieves were only two small boys!” she said. “Dear, dear! Why didn’t you caE me! I could have settled the matter without all this noise and commotion and throwing down the stairs!”

“I didn’t throw him down the stairs,” said Mr. Smellie, going up to let Larry out of the box-room. Very soon Larry was down in the hall with Fatty, and Mr. Smellie took them both into his study. Miss Miggle came in with some stuff to put on Fatty’s bruises. Larry looked most astonished but didn’t say a word.

“Dear, dear, I never in my life saw such dreadful braises on any child!” said Miss Miggle, dabbing each, bruise with the stuff from her bottle.

“I’m a wonderful bruiser,” began Fatty. “I once had a bruise shaped exactly like a church-bell.”

“What were you two boys doing in my house tonight?” said Mr. Smellie sharply. He didn’t want to hear any history of bruises. Larry and Fatty were silent. They really didn’t know what to say.

“You’ll have to tell him that,” said Miss Miggle. “You 98

didn’t come in here for any good purpose, I’ll be bound. Now be good boys and own up.”

Still the boys were silent. Mr. Smellie suddenly lost his temper. “Unless you tell me what you came here for I will hand you over to the police!” he said.

“Well, I don’t know what they’ll say when they see all my bruises,” said Fatty.

“I’ve an idea those bruises were made before tonight!” said Mr. Smellie, getting sharper and sharper. “I know what yellow means in a braise, if Miss Miggle doesn’t!”

The boys said nothing. “Name and addresses?” barked Mr. Smellie, getting out a pen. “I’ll see your parents as well as the police.”

The idea of their fathers and mothers knowing that they had been caught wandering about some one else’s house at night was much more alarming than having in the police. Larry suddenly surrendered.

“We came to bring back a shoe we took this morning,” he said in a low voice. Both Miss Miggle and Mr. Smellie stared as if they thought Larry had gone mad.

“A shoe,” said Mr. Smellie at last. “Why a shoe? And why only one! What are you talking about?”

“We were looking for a shoe that fitted a footprint,” said Larry desperately.

This was even more puzzling to the two listeners. Mr. Smellie tapped his pen impatiently on his desk. “Explain properly,” he said. “I give you one minute. At the end of that time I telephone the police and also your parents, if you haven’t given me a full and proper explanation of your most extraordinary conduct.”

“It’s no use,” said Fatty to Larry. “We’ll have to tell him the real reason, even if it does warn him and put him on his guard.”

“What are you talking about?” said Miss Miggle, who was getting more and more astonished.

“Put me on my guard!” said Mr. Smellie. “What do you mean? Really, I began to think that you two boys are completely mad.”

“We’re not,” said Larry sulkily. “But we happen to

kaow something about you, Mr. Smellie. We know that you were in Mr. Hick’s house on the evening of the fire.”

The effect of these words was most astonishing. Mr. Smellie dropped his pen on the floor and sprang to his feet His glasses fell off His nose, and His beard shook and quivered. Miss Miggle looked immensely surprised.

“You “mere there, weren’t you?” said Larry. “Somebody saw you. They told us.”

“Who told you?” spluttered Mr. Smellie.

“Horace Peeks saw you.,” said Larry. “He was in the house hihiself that evening., getting some of His things before Mr. Hick came back - and he saw you. How will you explain that to the police ? “

“Oh, Mr. Smellie, sir., what were you doing down there that evening?” cried poor Miss Miggle, at once thinking that her employer might possibly have fired the cottage.

Mr. Smellie sat down and put His glasses on his nose again. “Miggle,” he said, “I see that you suspect me of firing Mr. Hick’s workroom. How you can think such a thing after serving me all these years, and knowing that I cannot even kill a fly, I don’t know!”