Читать книгу The Rilloby Fair Mystery - Enid blyton - Страница 8

GREAT-UNCLE TELLS HIS STORY

After the meal Snubby escaped into the garden with Roger and Diana, Loony at their heels. They all went into the little summer-house, which faced south and was very warm in the April sun.

“Gosh! It’s as hot as summer,” said Roger. “I’ll really have to take off my coat. I say—Great-uncle is rather an old stick, isn’t he? We’ll have to mind our manners a bit now, or he’ll get going on the ‘good old days when children knew their manners, and were seen and not heard,’ and all the rest of it.”

“I’ve got something to tell you,” said Snubby, rather awkwardly. “About Great-uncle.”

“Go on then—out with it. What have you been doing? Using his hair-lotion for Loony or something?” asked Roger.

“Don’t try and be funny,” said Snubby. “It doesn’t suit you. Listen—I came in the train with him, and I got off at the North Station and he went on to South, where you met him. We had quite a lot of—er—conversation.”

The other two looked at him in surprise. “You did?” said Diana. “Well—why ever didn’t you say so then? Why keep it such a deep, dark secret?”

“Well, you see—it’s like this—he told me a silly story about running away from somewhere he’d been staying, because thieves had got through locked doors and stolen papers and things,” said Snubby. “Lord Somebody’s letters and Lady Somebody’s recipes—a lot of awful nonsense. And—well—I told him a story too. I thought to myself, well, two can play at this game, and I sort of let myself go.”

“Do you mean you went and stuffed him up with some frightful fairy tale?” said Roger. “Whatever did you tell him?”

Snubby related the story he had told to Great-uncle Robert, ending with his running away from a gang called Green Hands, who always wore green gloves. Diana and Roger listened in astonishment that ended in giggles.

“Gosh, Snubby—you really are the biggest fathead that ever lived!” said Roger at last. “What in the world did you go and stuff Great-uncle up with that for?”

“Well, how was I to know he was your Great-uncle?” demanded Snubby. “I didn’t know you’d even got one. And I certainly didn’t know he was coming to stay with you. I got a shock, I can tell you, when I saw him in the guest-room. I nearly passed out.”

“You’ll get another when he tells Dad the rigmarole you told him,” said Roger. “Dad doesn’t like fairy tales of that sort. He doesn’t understand that kind of joke.”

“I know,” said Snubby dismally. “I’ve warned Great-uncle not to say a word. He really believes it all, you see. I expect he’s terrified of the Green Hands Gang now—just as terrified as he is of the thieves that walked through the locked doors at the house where he was staying.”

“Well, he must be a mutt if he believes a word you say,” said Diana. “Oh dear, Snubby—you always bring trouble with you. Now don’t you go frightening the old man with sinister notes, or drawings of green hands or anything.”

“Oooh—that’s an idea,” said Snubby, sitting up. “Oooh, I say—wouldn’t he have a fit!”

“Yes, he would—and the first thing he’d do would be to tell Dad, and you’d get a whacking,” said Roger.

“That’s no go then,” said Snubby, who had quite clear memories of one of Uncle Richard’s whackings. “I don’t want to go too far with Uncle Richard.”

“You’d better not,” said Roger. “He’s not in a very good mood so far these hols—because Great-uncle has come to stay, I think—and what with that, and us, and you and Loony, life seems pretty grim to him at the moment.”

“Poor Dad,” said Diana. “We’d better keep out of his way.”

“It’s an idea,” said Snubby, making up his mind not to obtrude himself on his Uncle Richard any more than could be helped. “I say—I wonder if Great-uncle will tell his thief-story to Uncle and Aunt.”

He did, that very night. They were all sitting in the lounge together, the children playing a game, Mrs. Lynton sewing, her husband reading, and Loony having one of his lengthy rolls all over the floor.

Great-uncle filled his pipe and then spoke to Mrs. Lynton. “It’s really very kind of you, Susan, to have me here at such short notice,” he said. “But to tell you the truth I was at my wits’ end. I simply had to leave the Manor House.”

“Did you, Uncle Robert? Why? Weren’t you comfortable?” asked Mrs. Lynton.

“Oh yes, quite. Very warm, comfortable house, the Manor House at Chelie,” said Uncle Robert. “But there were such extraordinary goings-on, you know.”

Mrs. Lynton looked rather startled. The children nudged one another and laid down their cards. “Now it’s coming,” whispered Snubby.

Mr. Lynton put down the evening paper. “What extraordinary goings-on?” he asked. “Surely not much can happen in a house like that, that’s more a museum than anything else.”

“It’s a place of great treasures,” said Great-uncle reprovingly. “It belongs to Sir John Huberry, as you know, a man who collects rarities of many kinds—in particular old papers, letters and documents.”

“Er—hasn’t he got some of Lord Macaulay’s letters?” said Snubby innocently, remembering what Great-uncle had mentioned in the train.

There was a surprised silence, during which Loony could be heard scratching himself vigorously.

“Shut up, Loony,” said Snubby, and poked him with his toe. Loony stopped.

“Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard you make an intelligent remark,” said Mr. Lynton in surprise. “I shouldn’t have thought you had ever heard of Lord Macaulay’s name.”

“Er—Snubby is quite right,” said Great-uncle hastily.

“There were some of Macaulay’s letters, they were among the stolen articles. Richard, it was the most extraordinary theft. Doors were locked. Windows were fastened tightly. There was no skylight or other way into the room where these papers were kept. And yet one night thieves got in, took the whole lot, and vanished the way they came—through locked doors or fastened windows! What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s rather foolish to make a statement like that,” said Mr. Lynton. “Thieves can’t get through locked doors unless they have a key.”

“Well, they hadn’t a key,” said Great-uncle. “The keys are kept on Sir John’s key-ring in his pocket. There are no duplicates in existence. What is more—the doors showed no fingerprints of any sort.”

“The thieves wore gloves,” said Mrs. Lynton.

“Green gloves,” said Snubby before he could stop himself.

Great-uncle looked extremely startled. Mrs. Lynton stared at Snubby, puzzled. First it was Green Hands, now it was Green Gloves. What did he mean?

Mr. Lynton took no notice of Snubby’s remark. He just put it down to Snubby’s usual silliness.

“Well, Uncle Robert,” he said, picking up his paper again, “all I can say is, if that’s what you ran away from—the idea of thieves going through locked doors—it wasn’t very sensible of you. You should have stayed to try and find out who stole the papers. Why, if your hosts didn’t know you well, they might think it was you, as you ran away.”

“I hardly think so,” said Great-uncle, on his high horse at once. “No, my dear Richard, that is quite unthinkable. Quite.”

“I expect it was gypsies or tramps,” said Mrs. Lynton soothingly.

Great-uncle gave a most unexpected snort. He looked scornfully at Mrs. Lynton. “My dear Susan! Do you think a gipsy or a tramp would know what papers were valuable and what were not? This thief knew exactly what to take.”

“Well, I’ve no doubt the mystery will be solved sooner or later,” said Mr. Lynton, opening his paper again. “I imagine if the thief is as clever as you say, he’ll try his hand somewhere else.”

“He’s already tried it three times,” said Great-uncle. “Sir John told me. He thinks it must be the same thieves because each time they apparently passed through locked doors quite easily.”

“Well, I’ll believe somebody can go through locked doors when I see them,” said Mr. Lynton dryly.

“Great-uncle—do you think the thief will steal papers again somewhere?” asked Diana. “I’d like to read about it, if he does. Would it be in the papers?”

“Oh yes,” said Great-uncle. “It’s always in the paper. I think I’ve got a report of the last theft in my bag. You can go and get it, if you like.”

Roger sped upstairs with Loony at his heels. Loony always went upstairs with everybody if he could, and then tried to get in their way going down again, either by getting between their legs, or hurling himself on top of them as they went down. There was a thunderous noise after a minute or two, and then a crash and a yelp.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Lynton. “Are you hurt, Roger?”

Roger came limping in, followed by a saddened Loony. “I’ve smacked him,” he explained to Snubby. “He did his cannon-ball act at me and sent me flying down the stairs. He’s loonier than ever. I’ve got the paper. Where’s the burglary reported, Great-uncle?”

Great-uncle found the report. It wasn’t much more than a few lines. The children read them eagerly.

Then Diana noticed an advertisement nearby and pointed to it.

“Look,” she said. “There’s a notice about a fair held in the same town. I wonder if Barney and Miranda were there.”

“Is this the Barney you told me about—the boy with the monkey that had the adventure with you last summer holidays?” asked his mother. Roger nodded.

“Yes. He’s awfully nice, Mother. He leads a peculiar sort of life, you know—going from fair to circus and circus to fair, earning his living with Miranda, his monkey. She’s a darling.”

Mrs. Lynton looked doubtful. “Well, I don’t like monkeys,” she said. “But from all you have told me, Barney seems a nice boy, though a queer, roving kind of character.”

“I wonder if he’s at the fair advertised here,” said Diana, looking at the notice again. “Look, Roger—it gives all the performers—the main ones, anyway—Vosta and his two chimpanzees, Hurly and Burly—what lovely names; Tonnerre and his elephants. Shooting gallery in charge of the famous cracksman, Billy Tell... ”

“Short for William Tell, I suppose,” grinned Snubby. “Go on.”

“Hoopla stalls, roundabouts, swing-boats—no, it doesn’t say anything about a boy with a monkey,” said Diana, disappointed. “Though perhaps they wouldn’t mention him, really—he wouldn’t be one of the chief performers.”

“Anyone got his address?” asked Snubby. Nobody had. Barney was a very bad letter-writer, and the children had not heard from him since Christmas.

“Come on let’s finish our game,” said Roger, losing interest in the paper. “No, you can’t get on my knee, Loony. Go and play with Sardine—a nice little game of Spit-and-Hiss, or Growl-and-Snap. You’ll like that!”