Mystery of the Vanished Prince (11 page)

“Now which caravan is it?” he asked. Fatty had noted the name, of course.

“It was called ‘River-View,’ ” he said. “Quite a small one.”

The youth ran his finger down a list. “Ah - here we are - Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge. That’s not far from here - ’bout two miles.”

“Thanks,” said Fatty, and wrote it down.

“You going to see Mr. Reg?” asked the youth, anxiously, as Fatty turned to go.

“No,” said Fatty, much to the youth’s relief. He went out to where the others were waiting.

“Got it!” he said, and showed them the name and address. “Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge. About two miles from here. Come on - let’s get going.”

Feeling rather excited, the Five rode off to Maidenbridge. Had Mrs. Storm got the Prince? Would she tell them anything at all?

They came into Maidenbridge, and asked for Harris Road. It turned out to be a narrow, rather dirty little street, set with houses in a terrace.

They arrived at No. 24. It was even dirtier than the rest in the street. Ragged curtains hung at the windows, and the front door badly wanted a lick of paint.

“I’ll tackle this too,” said Fatty. “You ride to the end of the street and wait for me. It looks funny for so many of us to be standing at the front door.”

Obediently the others rode off. Fatty stood his bicycle at the kerb and knocked. An untidy woman, her hair down her back, opened it. She said nothing, but just looked at Fatty, waiting.

“Oh - er, excuse me,” said Fatty, raising his cap politely. “Are you Mrs. Storm?”

“No. I’m not,” said the woman. “You’ve come to the wrong house. She don’t live here.”

This was a bit of a shock.

“Has she left then?” asked Fatty.

“She never did live here, far as I know,” said the woman. “I’ve bin here seventeen years, with my husband and my old Ma - I don’t know no Mrs. Storm. Not even in this street, I don’t.”

“How strange,” said Fatty. He looked at the paper with the name and address on. “Look - it says Mrs. Storm, 24 Harris Road, Maidenbridge.”

“Well, that’s this house all right - but there’s no Mrs. Storm,” said the woman. “There’s no other Harris Road but this, either. Why don’t you go to the post office? They’ll tell you where she lives.”

“Oh thanks, I will,” said Fatty, “Sorry to have troubled you for nothing.” He raised his cap again and departed on his bike, puzzled. He joined the others, told them of his failure, and then they all cycled to the post office.

“I want to find some one’s address here, please,” said Fatty, who was certainly in command that morning. “I’ve been given the wrong address, I’m afraid. Could you tell me where a Mrs. Storm lives?”

The clerk got out a directory and pushed it across to Fatty. “There you are,” he said. “You’ll find all the Storms there, hail, thunder and snow!”

“Ha, ha, joke,” said Fatty, politely. He took the directory and looked for STORM. Ah - here were three Storms in Maidenbridge.

“Lady Louisa Storm,” he read out to the others. “Old Manor Gate. No - that can’t be her. She wouldn’t rent a caravan. Here’s another - Miss Emily Storm.”

“She wouldn’t have twin-babies, she’s a Miss,” said Bets. “We want a Mrs.”

“Mrs. Rene Storm,” read out Fatty. “Caldwell House. Well, that seems to bc the only one that’s likely.”

They left the post office. Fatty turned to Daisy. “Now you can do this bit, Daisy,” he said. “You must find out if Mrs. Rene Storm has twin-children.”

“Oh, I can’t,” said Daisy, in a fright. “I simply can’t walk up and say, ‘Have you got twin-babies?’ She would think I was mad.”

“So you would be if you did it like that,” said Fatty. “Now - you’re a Find-Outer, and you haven’t had much practice lately. You think out a good way of finding out what we want to know, and go and do it. We’ll sit in some ice-cream shop and wait for you.”

Poor Daisy! She racked her brains frantically as they all rode along to find Caldwell House. It was a little house, set in a pretty garden. Round the corner was a dairy, and here Fatty and the others sat down to have ice-creams and wait for Daisy.

“A nice big double ice-cream for you, Daisy, when you come back with your news,” said Fatty. “In fact, a treble one if this Mrs. Storm is the right one. Remember - we only want to know if she has twin-babies.”

Daisy rode off, She rode round a block of houses two or three times, trying to think how she could find out what Fatty wanted to know. And then an idea came to her. How simple after all!

She rode to Caldwell House, and put her bicycle by the fence. She walked up to the front door and rang the bell. A little wizened maid opened the door. She looked about ninety, Daisy thought!

“Please excuse me if I’ve come to the wrong house,” said Daisy, with her nicest smile. “But I’m looking for a Mrs. Storm who has twin-babies. Is this the right house?”

“Dear me, no,” said the little maid. “My Mrs. Storm is eighty-three, and she’s a great-grandmother. She has never had twins, nor have her children, nor yet her grandchildren. No twins in the family at all. I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” said Daisy, not quite knowing what else to say. “Er - well, thank you very much. I’m afraid it’s not the Mrs. Storm I’m looking for.”

She escaped thankfully and rode quickly to the ice-cream shop. The others were pleased to see her come in beaming.

“Is it the right woman?” said Fatty.

“No. I’m afraid not,” said Daisy. “I’m only beaming because I managed it all right. This Mrs. Storm is eighty-three and a great-grandmother - and there aren’t any twins in her family at all.”

“Gosh,” said Fatty, dolefully. “Now we’re at a dead-end, then. That wretched caravan-woman gave a false name and address. We might have guessed that! We can go hunting the country up and down all we like, but we’ll never find a Mrs. Storm with twins!”

“Where’s my ice-cream?” said Daisy.

“Oh, sorry, Daisy!” said Fatty. “What am I thinking of! Waitress - a double ice-cream, please - and another single one all round.”

As they ate their ice-creams they discussed what to do next. “Could we possibly look about for twin-babies?” asked Bets.

“It’s possible,” said Fatty, “but I feel it would take rather a time, digging out all the twin-babies there are in this district!”

“How would you set about it, Bets?” asked Pip, eyeing her teasingly. “Put up a notice - Wanted, twin-babies. Apply Bets Hilton.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Bets. “Anyway, have you got a better idea? What can we do next? We haven’t a single clue now.”

“Only my button,” said Pip, and pulled out his blue and gold button. He put it down on the table. They all looked at it. It really was a beautiful button.

“Beautiful, but completely useless as a clue,” said Fatty. “Still, keep it if it pleases you, Pip. If you happen to see a pair of blue and gold pyjamas on a washing-line with one button missing, you’ll be lucky!”

“Well - that’s an idea,” said Pip. “I shall look at all the lines of washing I see. You just never know!” He put the button back into his pocket.

“What about baby-shows?” said Daisy, suddenly. “We might see twin-babies there, and find out where they live.”

“Baby-shows!” said Pip, in disgust. “Well, if any one’s going to snoop round baby-shows it won’t be me. You and Bets can do that.”

Bets gave a little exclamation, and pointed dramatically to a notice on the wall of the shop. They all looked, and jumped in surprise.

“BABY-SHOW” said the notice. “At Tiplington Fair, September 4th. Special prizes for TWINS.”

Off to Tiplington Fair

“Funny coincidence,” said Fatty, with a laugh. “Now, let’s see - where’s Tiplington? Other side of Peterswood, isn’t it?”

“You don’t really think there’s anything in Bets’ idea, do you?” said Pip, in surprise.

“Well - there’s just a chance, I suppose,” said Fatty. “Bets has had good ideas before. Will you and Daisy go over, Bets?”

“Yes,” said Bets promptly and Daisy nodded. “Why can’t you boys come too? After all, it’s a Fair. It should be quite fun. We could take Ern too - he might recognize the twins if they did happen to be there!”

“Right. We will take Ern,” said Fatty. “But not Sid or Perce.”

“I don’t mind Perce so much, but I can’t bear Sid,” said Bets. “He’s so chewy.”

“I can think of a lot more things I don’t like about Sid,” said Larry.

“So can we all. Let’s change the subject,” said Fatty, feeling in his pocket for money. “Now - how many ice-creams did we have?”

“Oh, Fatty - don’t pay for all of them,” said Daisy. “Larry and I have got plenty of pocket-money to-day.”

“My treat,” said Fatty. “I’m your chief, don’t forget, and I expect to pay some of the - er - expenses we run up.”

“Thank you, Fatty,” said Bets. “You’re a very very nice chief.”

“September 4th is tomorrow,” said Daisy. “I hope it’s fine. Who’ll tell Ern?”

“Pip,” said Fatty, promptly. “He hasn’t done much in the way of jobs to-day - you and Bets and I seem to have done most. Pip’s turn to do something.”

“All right,” said Pip. “But if Sid comes ‘arring’ at me I shall throw him into the river.”

“Do,” said Fatty. “It will probably make him swallow all his toffee at one go and get rid of it!”

They decided to meet the next day at Larry’s, and all go over to Tiplington together, on their bicycles. Ern was to join them at Larry’s too, and Larry would borrow an old bicycle for him.

“Two o’clock,” said Fatty. “And tell Ern to wash his face and brush his hair and clean his nails, and put on a clean shirt if he’s got one. My orders.”

Ern took these orders in good part. Nothing that Fatty said could ever annoy him. “He’s the cat’s whiskers,” he told Pip. “A genius, he is. Right, I’ll be there, all spruced up, like. What are we going over to the Fair for? Anything cooking?”

“Might be,” said Pip. “Don’t be late, Ern.”

“I won’t,” said Ern. “Slong!”

It took Pip a moment or two to realize what “Slong“ meant. Of course - “So long!” Where did Ern learn to mix up his words like that? “Slong!” What a word!

Ern set off joyfully to go to Larry’s the next day. He had difficulty in stopping Sid and Perce from coming too. “Well, you can’t,” he said. “Look at your hair - and your faces - and your nails - and your shirts! Disgraceful! You can’t go out in company like that.”

“Well, it’s the first time you’ve brushed your hair or cleaned your nails,” grumbled Perce.

Ern walked down to the river and took the little ferryboat across. He then walked to Larry’s. On the way, to his horror, he met his uncle. Mr. Goon advanced on him, even redder in the face than usual, with the heat.

“Ha! Young Ern again!” he began. “And where may you be off to I’d like to know! You got any more fairy tales for me about princes in prams with twin-babies?”

“No, Uncle. No,” said Ern. “I’m afraid I can’t wait. I mustn’t be late.”

“Where you going?” asked Mr. Goon, and a heavy hand descended on Ern’s shoulder.

“To Larry’s,” said Ern. Mr. Goon looked him over carefully. “You’re all dressed up - hair brushed and all,” he said. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing, I tell you, Uncle,” said poor Ern. “We’re all going over to Tiplington Fair, that’s all.”

“What - that potty little Fair?” said Mr. Goon in astonishment. “What are you going there for? Has that fat boy got something up his sleeve?”

“He might have,” said Ern, wriggling free with a sudden movement. “He’s brainy, he is. He believes the things I tell him, see? Not like you! We’re investigating hard, we are! And for all you know, we’re On to Something!”

He ran down the road, leaving Mr. Goon breathing hard. Now, did Ern mean what he said? Was there something going on at Tiplington that he, Mr. Goon, ought to know about? Why was that fat toad of a boy taking all his lot over there?

Mr. Goon went home, brooding over the matter. He suddenly made up his mind. He would go to Tiplington too! He ought to keep an eye on that boy’s doings, anyway. You never knew when he would smell out something.

Mr. Goon wheeled out his bicycle and mounted it with a sigh. He didn’t like bicycling in hot weather. He was sure it wasn’t good for him. But duty called, and off he went.

He started before the others, who had waited for Ern, and had had an ice-cream each in the sweetshop in the village before they set off. Buster was in Fatty’s bicycle basket as usual, his tongue hanging out contentedly. He was at his very happiest when he was with all the Find-Outers together.

Ern was happy too. He had forgotten about his uncle. He was proud to be with the Find-Outers, and proud that they wanted him. He beamed all over his plain, plump face.

“Slovely,” he kept saying. “Street.”

“What do you mean - Street?” asked Daisy, trying to work it out.

“He means, It’s a treat,” said Bets laughing.

“SwatIsaid,” said Ern, puzzled.

“Swatesaid,” chorussed every one in delight.

They rode off down the lanes to Tiplington. After about a mile they caught sight of a familiar figure in dark blue, labouring at the pedals of his bicycle.

“It’s Goon!” said Pip, in surprise. “Surely he’s not going to Tiplington too! Don’t say he’s visiting the Baby Show as well! Ern! Did you tell him we were going to the Fair?”

Ern went red. “Well, yes, I did,” he said. “Didn’t I ought to have? I didn’t think it mattered?”

“You certainly ought not to have,” said Fatty, annoyed. “Now we shall have him shadowing us all the time. Still, he probably won’t want to do the important thing - look at the twins in the Baby-show! You’ll have to take Ern into the Baby-show with you, Bets and Daisy - in case you want him to identify any twins.”

“Coo,” said Ern. “Let me off the Baby-show! I’m not Sid. I’d run a mile from a Baby-show! ”

“Well, you won’t run a mile from this one,” said Daisy, grimly. “If there are any likely twins, I shall fetch you in Ern. So don’t dare to disappear.”

“Sawful,” said poor Ern. “Really, sawful this.”

“Sagonizing,” said Fatty. “Sunendurable.”

“You talking foreign again?” asked Ern, with interest.

“Not more than you are,” said Fatty. “Now - altogether - pass Mr. Goon and ring your bells hard. Bark, Buster, Bark. And every one yell, ‘Good afternoon, how are you!’ ”