Читать книгу The Mystery That Never Was - Enid blyton - Страница 3

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Nicky Fraser came down the stairs at top speed, his dog Punch at his heels barking in excitement. The little terrier flung himself against the dining-room door and it flew open, crashing against the wall.

The family were at breakfast. Nicky’s father gave a roar of anger. “NICKY! What’s the matter with you this morning? Take that dog out of the room!”

Mrs. Fraser put down the coffee-jug and fended off Punch who was leaping up joyfully at her. Grandma smiled at Nicky, and tapped his father on the hand.

“Just like you used to be when you were his age!” she said.

“Hallo, family!” said Nicky, beaming round as he went to the sideboard to help himself to scrambled eggs. “I can see you’ve forgotten what day this is!”

“I told you to take that dog out of the room,” said his father.

“Day? Well, what particular day is it?” said Grandma. “Not a birthday—that I do know!”

“No, Granny! It’s the first day of the hols! Ha—four glorious long weeks to do just what I like in!” He began to sing loudly. “Hey derry, hey derry ho, hey ...”

“Stop that row,” said his father. “And take that ...”

“Dog out of the room!” finished Nicky. He put his plate down on the table and turned to give his father a sudden hug. “Oh, Dad—it’s the first day of the hols. Come on, Dad—I bet you used to sing for joy, too!”

“Sit down,” said his father. “I’ll sing for joy—I hope—when I see your report. Punch, get off my feet.”

Punch removed himself and went to sit on Grandma’s feet. He gave her leg a loving lick. He loved her very much. She never shouted at him!

“I suppose you and Kenneth have plenty of plans for these holidays?” said the old lady. “It’s lucky he lives next door.”

“Jolly lucky!” said Nicky, buttering his toast. “Actually we haven’t any definite plans. We thought we’d teach Punch a few more tricks—like fetching shoes or slippers for people. Granny, wouldn’t you be pleased if Punch fetched you your slippers to put on, when you came in from a walk?”

“Good heavens!” said his father. “Don’t tell me we’re going to find slippers strewn about all over the place!”

“What’s that dog eating?” said Mrs. Fraser, as a loud crunching noise came from under the table. “Oh Nicky—you’ve given him a piece of toast again.”

“I bet it was Grandma who gave it to him,” said Nicky. “Punch, stop eating so rudely. Dad—are you going to give me my usual ten shillings if my report’s good? And a pound if it’s super?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said his father. “Now be quiet. I want to read the paper, and your mother hasn’t even read her letters yet.”

Mrs. Fraser was reading a short letter. Nicky’s sharp eyes recognised the handwriting.

“I bet that’s from Uncle Bob!” he said. “Isn’t it, Mother? Has he had any exciting jobs lately?”

“Yes—it is from my brother Bob,” said his mother, putting down the letter. “He’s coming to stay with us for a while, and ...”

“CHEERS!” cried Nicky, putting his cup down with a thump. “Did you hear that, Punch?”

Punch barked joyfully, and came out from under the table, his tail thumping against Mr. Fraser’s leg. He was promptly pushed back again.

“Mother! I say, Mother, he isn’t coming down here on a job, is he?” asked Nicky, his eyes shining. “I bet he is! Mother, will he do some sleuthing here? I’ll help him, if so. So will Ken. What’s the job? Is it something we ... ?”

“Nicky! Don’t get so excited!” said his mother. “No. Uncle Bob is coming down here because he’s been ill and wants a rest.”

“Oh, blow! I thought he might be hunting a murderer or a swindler or a—a kidnapper or something,” said Nicky, disappointed. “You know, Mother, I’m the only boy at school whose uncle is a detective!”

“A private investigator,” his mother corrected him. “His work is ...”

“Oooh, I know all about his work,” said Nicky, taking another piece of toast. “They’ve got plenty of investigators on television. Last week one had a frightfully difficult case to solve. It ended up in an aeroplane chase, and ...”

“You watch television too much,” said his father, gathering up his letters. “And now listen to me—if your Uncle Bob is coming here for a rest, he will NOT want hordes of gaping schoolboys coming here to listen to his adventures! Bob is not supposed to talk about them, anyway—they are private. Nobody is to be told that he’s the uncle you’ve been boasting about.”

“Oh Dad—can’t I even tell Ken?” said Nicky, in dismay.

“Well, I suppose you can’t possibly keep anything from Kenneth,” said his father, going out of the room. “But ONLY Kenneth, mind!”

“I shall tell him immediately after breakfast!” said Nicky, passing another bit of toast under the table. “Did you hear the news, Punch? Whoops—we’ll have some fun with Uncle Bob. Mother, have you ever seen him in any of his disguises? Can I telephone him and ask him to come in disguise to-morrow, to see if Ken and I can spot him?”

“Oh don’t be so ridiculous, Nicky,” said his mother. “And listen—there’s to be no going over to Ken’s until you have tidied up your room. All your school books seem to be spread over the floor!”

“Right, Mother!” said Nicky. “Gosh, to think it’s only the first day of the hols! Come on, Punch! You’re going to be busy the next few weeks, learning a whole lot of new tricks! That’s the time to learn, you know—when you’re young! And you’re hardly a year old yet. Scram!”

Punch scrammed. He shot out into the hall, sending the mat flying, and up the stairs, barking. He thought it must be a Saturday as Nicky was not going to school. He raced into Nicky’s room and raced round and round the bed at top speed, barking madly. Oh what joy to have Nicky all day long!

Nicky picked up all his scattered books, and decided to stack them in the fireplace, out of the way.

“All my bookshelves are full,” he told Punch. “So the fireplace is the obvious place. They’ll go half-way up the chimney, I expect. Then I’ll slip downstairs and phone Uncle Bob. Shut up barking now, Punch—you’ll have Mother shouting up to us.”

He slipped downstairs to the study after his bout of tidying. No one seemed to be about. He went in, shut the door and sat down by the telephone. He rang his uncle’s number and waited impatiently, Punch sitting as close to him as possible.

His uncle’s secretary answered. “Oh, is that you, Mr. Hewitt?” said Nicky. “Well, listen. Uncle Bob’s coming to stay with us to-morrow. Tell him I’ll meet him with my friend Kenneth—and we’d like him to come in disguise just to see if we can spot him. You won’t forget, will you?”

“I’ll tell him,” said the voice at the other end of the phone. “That’s if I see him before he leaves but it may be that I ...”

Nicky heard footsteps approaching along the hall, said good-bye hurriedly, and put down the receiver. He couldn’t help feeling that his father would consider it a waste of the telephone to ask Uncle Bob such a thing. Luckily the footsteps passed the study door, and Nicky crept out unseen.

“Come on, Punch! We’ll go and find Ken and tell him Uncle Bob’s coming!” he said to the excited dog. “Race you out into the garden—GO!”