Mystery of the Hidden House (10 page)

“Oh - couldn’t we just see round the garden,” begged Fatty, and the others, taking his cue, joined in. “Yes, do let’s, please!”

“I’m not going to stand here arguing all afternoon with a pack of silly kids,” said the man. “You clear off at once. Do you know what I keep for people that come here and pry? A great big whip - and maybe I set my dogs on them.”

“Aren’t you afraid of living here all alone?” said Bets, in an innocent voice.

“In one minute more I’ll open these gates and come out and chase you with my whip,” threatened the man - and he looked so terribly fierce that Fatty half-thought he might be as good as his word.

“Sorry to have bothered you,” he said, in his politest voice. “Could you tell us the way back to Peterswood? We came over the fields, and we might lose our way going back. We haven’t any idea where we are. What’s this place called?”

“You just go and follow the lane, and you’ll come to Peterswood all right,” said the man. “And good riddance to you! Waking me up and bringing me out here for nothing. Be off with you!”

He turned to go back to his lodge. The children set off down the narrow track.

“What a very very sweet-natured fellow,” said Larry, and they all laughed.

“Pity we couldn’t get in,” said Pip, in a low voice to Fatty. Fatty nudged him to keep quiet. Pip saw somebody riding up the track. It was a postman on his bicycle.

“Good afternoon,” said Fatty, at once. “Could you tell us the time, please?”

The postman got off his bicycle, undid his coat and looked at a watch in his pocket.

“Stopped!” he said. “Don’t know what the matter is with this old watch of mine. Just won’t go now!”

“It’s a nice old watch, isn’t it,” said Fatty. “Are you going up to those iron gates? We’ve just been there too, but the man at the lodge won’t let us in.”

“He’s the caretaker,” said the postman, putting back his watch and buttoning up his coat. “Proper bad-tempered fellow too. ’Course he wouldn’t let you in! He’s there to stop children and tramps and trippers from spoiling the place. It belongs to an old fellow who won’t live there himself, and asks such an enormous price for the place that nobody will buy it.”

“Really?” said Fatty, with interest. “Is he ever here?”

“Not that I know of,” said the postman. “The only letters I ever take are for Peters the gatekeeper - the man you saw. He has too many for me! It’s a job cycling out all this way each day to take letters to one man! Well - sorry not to be able to tell you the time. Bye-bye!”

He cycled off again, whistling. Fatty looked very pleased. “Trust a postman for being able to tell you all you want to know!” he said, in a low voice. “A queer story, isn’t it? A great big place, apparently unlet and empty, surrounded by an enormous wall, with one surly man to guard the place - and he has a lot of letters! That last bit strikes me as queer.”

The children went down the lane, talking quietly. They all felt sure they had hit on their next mystery. But so far they couldn’t make head or tail of it!

A Little Portry

Ern was not told anything about the walk to the wood. He wanted to know, however, what were the steps that Fatty was going to take in the mystery of Christmas Hill.

“Well,” said Fatty, looking mysterious, “word has come to me that a big robbery will be done in the next few days, and that the robbers on Christmas Hill will hide the loot in the old mill.”

Ern’s eyes almost dropped out of his head. “Coo!” he said, and couldn’t say any more.

“The thing is - who’s going to look for the loot after the robbery?” said Fatty, seriously. “I can’t let any of the others, because they’re forbidden to do things like looking for loot - and at the moment I’ve other things in hand - tracking down the kidnappers, for instance.”

“Coo,” said Ern again, in awe. An idea shone brilliantly in his mind. “Fatty! Why don’t you let me find the loot? I could go and search the old mill for you. Lovaduck! I’d be awfully proud to find the swag.”

“Well - I might let you,” said Fatty. He turned to the others. “What about it, Find-Outers? Shall we let him in on this and give him a chance of finding the loot? After all, he did a lot of hard work finding those clues.”

“Yes. Let him,” said the others, generously, and Ern beamed and glowed. Whatever next! This was life, this was - creeping out at dead of night - hunting for clues up on the hill next day - and now searching for hidden loot. What exciting lives the Find-Outers led! Ern felt honoured to belong to their company. He felt he could write a “pome” about it all. A line came into his head.

“The dire dark deeds upon the hill.” What a wonderful beginning to a “pome.” Ern took out his portry notebook and wrote down the line before he could forget it.

“See that?” he said triumphantly to the others. “The dark dire deeds upon the hill. That’s the beginning of a new pome. That’s real portry, that is.”

“The dark dire deeds upon the hill

Strike my heart with a deadly chill,”

began Fatty.

“The robbers rob and the looters loot,

We’d better be careful they don’t all shoot,

They’re deadly men, they’re fearful foes,

What end they’ll come to, nobody knows!

Oooh, the dark dire deeds upon the hill

Strike my heart with a deadly chill!”

This poem was greeted with shrieks of delighted laughter by all the Find-Outers, even Buster joining in the applause. Fatty had reeled it off without stopping.

Only Ern didn’t laugh. He listened solemnly, with open mouth, to Fatty’s recitation, admiration literally pouring out of him.

“Fatty! You’re a reel genius. Why, you took my first line and you made up the whole pome without stopping. I’d never have thought of all that, if I’d sat down the whole day long.”

“Ah - that’s the secret,” said Fatty, wickedly. “You don’t sit down - you must stand up and it comes. Like this:

“Oh have you heard of Ernie’s clues.

Ernie’s clues, Ernie’s clues,

A broken lace, our Ernie found,

A smoked cigar-end on the ground,

A match, a packet, and a hanky,

Honest truth, no hanky-panky!

A rag, a tin, a pencil-end,

How very clever is our friend!”

Fatty couldn’t go on because the others were laughing so much. Ern was even more impressed. But he felt down in the dumps too. He could never, never write pomes like that. How did Fatty do it? Ern determined to stand up in his bedroom that night when he was alone and see if portry rolled out of him as it did out of Fatty.

“You’re marvellous,” he said to Fatty. “You ought to be a poet, you reely ought.”

“Can’t,” said Fatty. “I’m going to be a detective.”

“Couldn’t you be both?” said Ern.

“Possibly, but not probably,” said Fatty. “Not worth it! Any one can spout that sort of drivel.”

Ern was astonished. Could Fatty really think that was drivel? What a boy!

“Well, to come back to what we were talking about,” said Fatty, “we’ve decided, have we, to let our Ern look for the loot?”

“Yes,” chorused every one.

“Right,” said Fatty.

“When do I look for it?” said Ern, almost quivering with excitement. “Tonight?”

“Well, it’s not usual to look for loot before the robbery has been committed,” said Fatty, his face very serious. “But if you think there’s a chance of finding it before it’s put there, you go on and do it, Ern.”

Bets gave a giggle. Ern worked all this out and blushed. “Yes. I see what you mean. I won’t be looking till after the robbery. But when will the robbery be?”

“The papers will tell you,” said Fatty. “You look in your uncle’s papers each morning, and as soon as you see that the robbery has been done, you’ll know it’s time to hunt in the old mill. And if you want to tell your uncle about it, we’ve no objection.”

“I don’t want to,” said Ern. “Well, I must be going. Lovaduck! You’re a one for spouting portry, aren’t you? I can’t get over it. So long!”

He went, and the others began to laugh. Poor old Ern. His was a wonderful leg to pull! Larry suddenly saw his “portry notebook” left on the table.

“Hallo! He’s left this. Fatty, write something in it! Something about Goon. Go on!

“I’ll write a ‘pome’ about Goon himself, in Ern’s handwriting,” said Fatty, beginning to enjoy himself. He could imitate anyone’s writing. Bets thought admiringly that really there wasn’t anything that Fatty couldn’t do - and do better than any one else too! She stood close beside him and watched him.

He found a page in the book, and borrowed a pencil from Pip. “Ern will be simply amazed to find a poem about his uncle written in his own book in his own handwriting,” said Fatty. “He’ll certainly think he must have written it himself - and he won’t know when! Golly, I wish I could be there when he finds it!”

He began to write. As usual the words flowed out straight away. No puzzling his brains for Fatty, no searching for a rhyme! It just came out like water from a tap.

“TO MY DEAR UNCLE

Oh how I love thee, Uncle dear,

Although thine eyes like frogs’ appear,

Thy body is so fat and round,

Thy heavy footsteps shake the ground.

Thy temper is so sweet and mild

’Twould frighten e’en the smallest child,

And when thou speakest, people say,

‘Now did we hear a donkey bray?’

Dear Uncle, how…”

“Fatty! Ern’s coming back!” said Bets, suddenly. Her sharp ears had heard footsteps. “Shut the book, quick.”

Fatty shut the book and slid it over the table. He picked up Buster and began to play with him. The others crowded round, laughing.

Ern’s head came round the door. “Did I leave my portry notebook here? Oh yes, I did. Silly of me. Good-bye all.”

He took bis book and disappeared. “What a pity you couldn’t finish the poem, Fatty,” said Daisy. “It was such a good one - especially all the thees and thys. Just the kind of thing Ern would write.”

“And it was all in Ern’s own writing too,” said Bets. She gave Fatty a hug. “Fatty, you’re the cleverest person in the world. How do you manage to copy other people’s writing?”

“Just a gift!” said Fatty, airily. “I remember once last term we had to write an essay - and I wrote a very long one in my form-master’s own handwriting. My word - you should have seen his face when I gave it in!”

“And I suppose, as usual, you got top marks for it?” said Pip, who only believed half of the extraordinary stories that Fatty told. As a matter of fact most of them were perfectly true. The rest were almost true but rather exaggerated. Fatty certainly had a remarkable career at school, and had caused more laughter, more annoyance and more admiration than any other boy there.

“I say, Fatty - poor old Ern may have to wait weeks to look for his loot,” said Daisy.

“No, he won’t,” said Fatty. “Haven’t you noticed that there’s a robbery reported nearly every day in the paper? It’s about the commonest crime there is. There’ll be one tomorrow, or the next day, don’t you worry!”

Fatty got out his own notebook, in which he kept particulars of whatever mystery the Find-Outers were trying to solve. He glanced down his notes.

“This is a very difficult case,” he said to the others. “There doesn’t seem much we can do to find out anything. I’ve hardly got anywhere. I’ve found out that that building in the wood is called Harry’s Folly, but nobody seems to know why. And the name of the man who is supposed to own it is Henry White - a very nice, common, insignificant name. I can’t find out where he lives - all I’ve heard is that he lives abroad - which doesn’t help us much!”

“We know that one of the men who was near the place was called Holland,” suggested Bets.

“Yes,” said Fatty, giving Bets a pat on the shoulder. “That’s a good point. I was just coming to that. As the men were walking, it looks as if they lived in or near Peterswood - though according to Ern, they said good night to one another near him and went different ways. So it’s likely that one might have been the caretaker, and the other was Holland. In which case Holland was walking home.”

Every one sat and thought. “Where’s your telephone directory, Pip?” said Fatty. “Let’s see if there are any Hollands in it.”

Pip fetched it. They all crowded round Fatty as he looked up the H’s. “Here we are,” he said. “Holland. A. J. Holland. Henry Holland. W. Holland & Co., Garage proprietors, Marlow. Three Hollands.”

“Have to look them all up, I suppose,” said Larry. “Lists of Suspects! Three Hollands and one caretaker, called Peters!”

“Correct,” said Fatty. He looked thoughtfully at the directory. “We’d better begin a bit of detecting again,” he said.

“Well, we’re in on this,” said Larry at once. “We still don’t know if it’s a mystery, so there’s no harm in asking about the Hollands.”

“I believe my mother knows some people called Holland,” said Pip, suddenly “I’ll find out. Where do they all live, by the way?”

“Two in Peterswood, and the garage fellow at Marlow,” said Fatty. “Well, Pip, you be responsible for finding out about one lot of Hollands. Larry and Daisy find out about the other - and I’ll bike over to Marlow and smell out the Hollands there.”

They all felt very cheerful now that there was something definite to do. “I think I’ll go in disguise,” said Fatty, who always welcomed a chance to put on one of his disguises. “I’ll go as Ern! I bet I could make myself up to be exactly like him, now I know him so well.”

“Why - you were quite annoyed with us for thinking Ern was you when we met him at the station,” said Daisy.

“I know. Still, I think I can put on a disguise that would deceive even old Goon, if he wasn’t too near!” chuckled Fatty. “Well, Find-Outers, we’ll do a spot of work tomorrow. Come on, Buster. Stop chewing the rug and come and have your dinner!”

Some Good Detecting

Quite a lot of things happened the next day. For one thing there was the report of a big robbery in the daily papers. Ern could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the headlines! Fatty was right. There was the robbery. Coo!

Mr. Goon was astonished to see Ern poring over the paper, reading details on the front page, and the back page too, quite forgetting his breakfast.