Mystery of the Hidden House (12 page)

He hurried towards Fatty. Fatty spotted him, and rode into a side-street, waving merrily. He couldn’t help hoping that Mr. Goon would think he was Ern. Mr. Goon, of course, hadn’t any doubt of it at all. He was feeling very angry.

“Ern!” he called. “ERN!”

Fatty took no notice, but rode on slowly. Mr. Goon hurried after him, his face going purple. That boy! Waving to him like that, cheeky as a monkeys

“ERN! YOU COME HERE!”

“Ern” rode round the corner and Mr. Goon lost sight of him. He almost burst with rage. He retraced his steps and went back down the road, thinking of all the things he would do to Ern when he next saw him. To his astonishment Ern actually appeared before him again, at the end of the street, and waved to him.

Mr. Goon nearly had a fit. Fatty, of course, was dying with laughter at the sight of Mr. Goon’s face, and could hardly keep on his bicycle. He pedalled out of sight, tears running down his cheeks, almost helpless with laughter.

Once more he cycled round the block of houses and swam into Mr. Goon’s sight and out again. Mr. Goon had now reached the pitch of shaking his fist and muttering, much to the amazement of all the passers-by. Fatty decided that he really would fall off his bicycle with laughing if he saw Mr. Goon again, and regretfully pedalled home to tell the Find-Outers all that had happened.

But Buster, having spotted Mr. Goon, thought it would be much more fun to trot at his heels than to go with Fatty. So he went behind him, sniffing at his trousers till the policeman felt him and turned in aggravation.

“Now you clear-orf!” said Mr. Goon, exasperated. “First it’s Ern cheeking me, and now it’s you! Clear-orf I say, or I’ll kick you into the middle of next week.”

Buster didn’t clear-orf. He capered round Mr. Goon, making playful little darts at his legs as if he wanted him to have a game. Mr. Goon was so worked up that he backed straight into a street-sweeper’s barrow and almost knocked it over.

The sweeper sent Buster away by frightening him with his broom. Buster trotted down the street pleased with himself. He certainly was a dog worthy of a master like Fatty!

Mr. Goon finished his errand, gradually getting less purple, and then walked home. Now to deal with Ern!

Ern had done a remarkably good morning’s work. He had cleaned out the shed thoroughly, and now he was just finishing cleaning Mr. Goon’s bicycle. He was trying to think of some portry as he worked.

The next-door neighbour, Mrs. Murray, thought that Mr. Goon had a very hard-working boy for a nephew. Every time she hung out her washing, there he was, working away. She called over the fence.

“You’re a good boy, you are! You haven’t stopped working one minute since you began!”

Ern beamed. Mrs. Murray went indoors. Mr. Goon arrived, and walked down the little garden to where Ern was working by the shed, polishing the bicycle handles.

“Ho!” said Mr. Goon, in an awful voice, “so you thought you could sauce me, did you? What do you mean by it, riding round the village on my bike, cheeking me like that?”

Ern couldn’t make out what his uncle was talking about at all. He stared at him, puzzled.

“What do you mean, Uncle?” he said. “I’ve been here all the time. Look, the shed is clean and tidy - and I’ve almost finished your bike.”

Mr. Goon looked. He was most surprised to see the shed so neat and tidy, and certainly his bicycle looked very spick and span.

“Ern, it’s no good you denying it,” he said, his face going red, on its way to turning purple. “I saw you - and you waved at me. I called you and you didn’t come. What’s more, you were riding my bike, and I don’t allow that.”

“Uncle, I tell you I’ve been here all the morning,” said Ern, in an aggrieved voice. “What’s the matter with you? Haven’t I done all you said? I tell you I didn’t ride your bike. You’ve made a silly mistake.”

Mr. Goon was now purple. He raised his voice. “I won’t have you cheek me, Ern, see? You were out on my bike, and you cheeked me! I tell you…”

Mrs. Murray popped her head over the fence. She had heard everything, and she meant to put in a word for that hard-working boy, Ern.

“Mr. Goon,” she said, and the policeman jumped. “Mr. Goon! That boy hasn’t left this garden. A harder-working boy I never did see in all my life. You ought to be proud of a boy like that instead of accusing him of things he never did. I say to you, Mr. Goon, that that boy hasn’t budged from his place. I’ve been in and out with my washing, and I know. You leave that nephew of yours alone, or there’s things I’ll tell round to every one. Ah, you may be an officer of the law, Mr. Goon, but you don’t deceive me! I remember when…”

Mr. Goon knew that there was absolutely no way of stopping Mrs. Murray once she had begun. He was afraid of what she might say in front of Ern. So he put on a very dignified face, said “Good morning to you, Mam,” and marched indoors. Retreat was always the best policy when Mrs. Murray was on the warpath!

“You stick up for yourself, lad,” said Mrs. Murray. “Don’t you let him go for you like that!”

A voice bellowed from the kitchen. “ERN!”

Ern dropped his duster and ran. However mistaken his uncle might be, he was still an uncle with a cane in the cupboard, and Ern thought he had better keep on the good side of both.

Mr. Goon said no more about Ern riding his bike. An uncomfortable thought had come into his mind. He was wondering if that boy who looked like Ern could possibly have been Fatty up to his tricks. Ern must certainly have been in the garden all the time if Mrs. Murray said so. Her tongue was sharp and long but it told the truth.

“Have you seen those kids today yet?” asked Mr. Goon. “Got any more news for me?”

“You know I haven’t been out, Uncle. I’ve just told you so,” said Ern. “I’d like to go and see them this afternoon though.”

Ern was longing to discuss the robbery with the Find-Outers. He had got the paper again as soon as his uncle had gone out, and read every single detail. The jewels those thieves had taken! Coo! There ought to be a fine bit of loot up at the old mill tonight! Ern was thrilled at the thought.

“How that boy Fatty knows these things just beats me,” thought Ern. “He’s a wonder, he is! I wish I could be like him. I’d do anything in the world for Fatty!”

A good many people felt like that about Fatty. However annoying, boastful or high-handed he was people always admired him and wanted to do things for him, especially other boys. He was head and shoulders above them in brains, boldness and courage, and they knew it.

Ern rushed round to the Find-Outers immediately after his dinner. They were at Fatty’s down in the cosy shed. He had been telling them all his adventures of the morning. They had admired the things he had found out at Holland’s garage and had roared with laughter at the way he had played a trick on Goon, pretending to be Ern.

“I expect Ern will be along soon,” said Fatty, opening a daily paper. “Anyone see the account of this big robbery? Ern will be sure to think it’s the one we meant!”

Larry and Daisy had seen it, but not Pip or Bets. They all pored over it, and Ern chose a very good moment to come into the shed.

“Hallo!” he said, beaming round. “I say - you’re looking at the story of the robbery! You’re a marvel, Fatty, to know it was going to be done so soon. I can’t think why you don’t tell the police beforehand, when you know these things.”

“They wouldn’t believe me,” said Fatty, truthfully. “Well, Ern - there should be plenty of fine loot up in the old mill soon!”

“I’m going tonight,” said Ern, solemnly. “It’s awfully good of you to let me, Fatty.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Fatty, “Spleshure.”

“Pardon?” said Ern.

“SPLESHURE!” said Fatty, loudly.

The others laughed. “What’s he say?” said Ern, puzzled.

“He means, ‘It’s a pleasure,’ ” explained Bets, giggling.

“Swatesaid!” chorused the Find-Outers together.

“Funny way of talking you have sometimes,” said Ern to Fatty, seriously. “I say, my uncle wasn’t half queer with me this morning. Said he saw me riding his bike and cheeking him when all the time I was cleaning out his shed.”

“Must be mad,” said Fatty. “Well, Ern - the best of luck to you tonight. I hope the swag won’t be too heavy for you to carry.”

“Coo!” said Ern, in alarm. “I never thought of that!”

Unpleasant Night for Ern

Ern passed the rest of the day in a state of excitement. His uncle couldn’t think what was the matter with him.

“Thinking out some more of your wonderful portry, I suppose,” he said, scornfully.

“No, I’m not,” said Ern, and he wasn’t. He was thinking of what he was going to do that night. There would be a small moon. That would help him to find the way properly this time without making a mistake. Would the loot be too heavy? Well, if it was he’d go twice to fetch it!

Ern went to bed early again. Mr. Goon felt that Something was Up. Ern knew something that he hadn’t passed on to his uncle. Drat the boy!

He listened at Ern’s door when he went up to bed himself. If Ern was asleep he’d creep in and get that notebook again. But Ern wasn’t asleep. He was tossing and turning, because Mr. Goon could quite well hear the bed creak.

Mr. Goon undressed and got into bed, meaning to lie awake till Ern was asleep. But somehow he didn’t. Hiis eyes closed and soon Ern heard the familiar snores echoing through the little house.

Ern didn’t want to go to sleep. He wanted to keep awake safely and leave for Christmas Hill about one o’clock when the moon would be up and giving a little light.

But it was hard to keep awake. Ern’s eyes kept closing. He sat up straight. This wouldn’t do. He’d be asleep in half a tick.

A thought came into his head. He remembered how Fatty had said that portry would come pouring out of you if you stood up to say it. It would be a good chance to try it now - Uncle was asleep - there was no one to interrupt him. And it would stop him going off to sleep.

Ern got out of bed. It was cold and he shivered. He pulled on his overcoat and put a scarf round his neck. He got out his portry notebook, and his book of Clues and Suspects. He was proud of them both.

He read down his list of clues again. Then he took a pencil and wrote a few lines on the next page.

“Robbery committed January 3rd. Loot will be hidden in the old mill on Christmas Hill. Ern Goon detailed to find it on night of Jan. 4th.”

That looked good. Ern drew a line under it and thought with pleasure of what he might be able to write the next morning. “Loot collected. Worth about ten thousand pounds.” How he hoped he would be able to write that down too!

Now for the portry. He read through his various “pomes” and decided that they were not nearly as good as the ones Fatty had made up out of his head on the spur of the moment. He didn’t see the one that Fatty had written in the book about Mr. Goon. He didn’t even know it was there.

Ern shut the portry notebook and put it on top of the other book. Then he stood up to begin saying portry straight out of his head like Fatty.

But somehow it wouldn’t come. Ern stood there, waiting and shivering. Then suddenly a line came into his head. Ah - it was beginning!

Ern recited the line. “The pore old man lay on the grass…”

He stopped. Nothing else came. Now, if only he were Fatty, he’d go on with another line and another and another - a whole pome, in fact, which he could remember and write proudly down.

He recited the line again, a little more loudly. “The pore old man lay on the grass… on the grass… on the…”

No, it wasn’t any good. He couldn’t think of another line to follow. But that was just it - Fatty didn’t have to think. Portry just came out of him without stopping when he wanted it to! Perhaps Fatty was a genius and Ern wasn’t. Ern thought sadly about this for a moment.

Then he began again, reciting loudly, “A pore old man lay on the grass, A pore old man lay on the grass, A pore old man…”

Mr. Goon, in the next room, woke up with a jump. What was that peculiar noise? He sat up in bed. A voice came to him from the bedroom next to his. Mr. Goon listened in amazement.

“A pore old man lay on the grass, A pore…”

“It’s Ern!” said Mr. Goon, really astonished. “What’s he doing, talking in the middle of the night about pore old men lying on grass? He must be out of his mind!”

Mr. Goon put on a dressing-gown much too small for him and went majestically into Ern’s room. The boy stood there in the dark, still reciting his one line desperately. “The pore old man…”

“Now what’s all this?” said Mr. Goon in a loud voice and Ern nearly jumped out of his skin. “Waking me up with your pore old men! What do you think you’re doing, Ern? I won’t have this kind of behaviour, I tell you straight.”

“Oh, it’s you, Uncle,” said Ern, weakly. Mr. Goon switched on the light. He saw Ern there in coat and scarf and he was even more astonished.

“You going somewhere?” he inquired.

“No. I was cold so I put some things on,” said poor Ern, getting into bed. “I was only making up portry, Uncle. It comes better when you stand up.”

Mr .Goon caught sight of the two notebooks on a chair. “I’ll teach you to wake me up in the middle of the night with portry!” he snorted, and picked up the two books to take back with him.

“Uncle! Oh Uncle, please don’t touch those!” begged Ern, leaping out of bed and trying to take them from his uncle. But Mr. Goon held them all the more tightly.

“What’s the matter? What are you so upset about? I’m not going to throw them into the fire,” said Mr. Goon.

“Uncle!” wailed Ern. “They’re private. Nobody is to read those but me.”

“Ho!” said Mr. Goon. “That’s what you think!” and he switched off the light and shut the door. Ern got into bed, shivering with fright. Now his uncle would read about the Loot - and the wonderful secret would be out! Ern shed a few tears on to the sheet.

Mr. Goon read through the portry notebook first. When he came to the poem about himself he could hardly believe his eyes. How could Ern write such a rude poem? Right-down rude, it was. Talking about his uncle’s eyes in that way, and his voice - and that bit about the donkey’s bray! Mr. Goon felt himself swelling up with righteous rage.