Читать книгу The Mystery of the Spiteful Letters - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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Buster came tearing up to the children, barking madly, his tail wagging nineteen to the dozen. He flung himself on them and tried to lick and bark at the same time.

“Good old Buster!” said Pip. “I bet you’ll miss Fatty!”

“It was a great surprise to hear that Fatty has gone to China,” said Daisy to Mrs. Trotteville. Fatty’s mother looked surprised.

“In an aeroplane too!” said Larry. “You’ll miss him, won’t you, Mrs. Trotteville?”

“What exactly do you mean?” asked Mrs. Trotteville, looking as if she thought the children had gone mad all of a sudden.

“Gracious—Fatty can’t have told her!” said Bets, in a loud whisper.

“Told me what?” said Mrs. Trotteville, getting impatient. “That’s the mystery? What’s Fatty been up to?”

“But—but—don’t you know?” stammered Larry. “He’s gone to Tippylooloo, and ...”

“Tippylooloo! What’s all this nonsense?” said Mrs. Trotteville. She raised her voice. “Frederick! Come here a minute!”

Out of the front door, stepping lazily, came Fatty. Yes, it really was Fatty, as large as life, grinning all over his plump face. Bets gave a loud shriek and ran to him.

The children turned breathlessly to the house—and out of the front door, stepping lazily, came Fatty! Yes, it really was Fatty, as large as life, grinning all over his plump face. Bets gave a loud shriek and ran to him. She hugged him.

“Oh, I thought you’d gone to Tippylooloo! Didn’t you go? Oh, Fatty, I’m so glad you’re here!”

The others stared. They were puzzled. “Did you send us that telegram?” said Daisy suddenly. “Was it a joke on your part, Fatty?”

“What telegram?” asked Fatty innocently. “I was just about to come down and see you all.”

“This telegram!” said Pip, and pushed it into Fatty’s hand. He read it and looked astonished.

“Somebody’s been playing a joke on you,” he said. “Silly sort of joke. And anyway, fancy you all believing I was off to Tippylooloo! Gosh!”

“You and your jokes!” said Mrs. Trotteville. “As if I should let Frederick go to China, or wherever that ridiculous Tippylooloo place is. Now, if you want to go and talk to Frederick, either go indoors or go for a walk.”

They went indoors. They still felt very puzzled. Buster danced round, barking in delight. He was overjoyed because the whole company of Find-Outers was together again.

“Who delivered this telegram?” asked Fatty.

“The telegraph-boy,” said Pip. “A red-haired chap with freckles and a cheeky kind of voice. He let his bike-handle catch old Clear-Orf on the shin! You should have seen him dance round!”

“Hm,” said Fatty. “There’s something queer about that telegraph-boy, I think! Delivering a telegram I didn’t send! Let’s go out and look for him and ask him a few questions!”

They went out, and walked down the lane together, Buster at their heels. “You go that way, Larry and Daisy, and you go the opposite way, Pip and Bets,” said Fatty. “I’ll take this third way. We’ll scour the village properly for that boy, and meet at the corner by the church in half an hour’s time.”

“I want to go with you, Fatty,” said Bets.

“No, you go with Pip,” said Fatty, unexpectedly hard-hearted. He usually let Bets have her own way in everything. Bets said nothing but walked off with Pip, feeling rather hurt.

Larry and Daisy saw no telegraph-boy at all, and were waiting by the church corner in twenty-five minutes’ time. Then Pip and Bets came up. They hadn’t seen him either. They looked up and down for Fatty and Buster.

Round the corner came a bicycle, and on it was—the red-headed telegraph-boy, whistling loudly. Larry gave a yell.

“Oy! Come over here a minute!”

The telegraph-boy wobbled over, and balanced himself by the kerb. His red hair fell in a big lock over his forehead, and his uniform cap was well on one side.

“What’s up, mate?” he said.

“It’s about that telegram,” said Larry. “It’s all nonsense! Our friend Frederick Trotteville hasn’t gone to China—he’s here!”

“Where?” said the boy, looking all round.

“I mean he’s in the village somewhere,” said Larry. “He’ll be along in a minute.”

“Coo!” said the boy. “I wouldn’t half like to see him! He’s a wonder, he is! I wonder the police don’t take him on, and get him to help them with their problems.”

“Well, we all helped to solve the mysteries you know,” said Pip, beginning to feel that it was time he and the others got a bit of praise too.

“No, did you really?” said the boy. “I thought it was Mr. Trotteville that was the brains of the party. Coo, I’d like to meet him! Do you think he’d give me his autograph?”

The children stared at him, thinking that Fatty must indeed be famous if telegraph-boys wanted his autograph.

“That was a dud telegram you brought,” said Larry. “A fake, a joke. Did you fake it?”

“Me fake it! Coo, I’d lose my job!” said the telegraph-boy. “Look here, when’s this famous friend of yours coming? I want to meet him, but I can’t wait here all day. I’ve got to get back to the P.O.”

“Well, the post-office can wait a minute or two, I should think,” said Pip, who felt that none of them had got very much information out of the telegraph-boy, and was hoping that perhaps Fatty might.

A small dog rounded the corner, and Bets gave a yell. “Buster! Come on, Buster! Where’s Fatty? Tell him to hurry.”

Every one thought that Fatty would come round the corner too, but he didn’t. Buster trotted on towards them alone. He didn’t growl at the telegraph-boy. He gave him a lick and then sat down beside him on the kerb, turning adoring eyes up to him.

Bets was most astonished. She had never seen Buster adoring any one but Fatty in that way. She stared at the little black dog, surprised. What should make him like the telegraph-boy so much?

Then she gave a loud squeal and pounced on the telegraph-boy so suddenly that he jumped.

“Fatty!” she said. “Oh, Fatty! What idiots we are! FATTY!”

Pip’s mouth fell open. Daisy stared as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. Larry exploded and banged the telegraph-boy on the back.

“You wretch! You absolute wretch! You took us all in properly—and you took old Clear-Orf in too. Fatty, you’re a marvel. How do you do it?”

Fatty grinned at them all. He removed his red eyebrows with a pull. He rubbed off his freckles with a wetted hanky. He shifted his red wig a little so that the others could see his sleek black hair beneath.

“Fatty! It’s the most wonderful disguise!” said Pip enviously. “But how do you manage to twist up your mouth to make it different and screw up your eyes to make them smaller and all that kind of thing?”

“Oh, that’s just good acting,” said Fatty, swelling a little with pride. “I’ve told you before, haven’t I, that I always take the chief part in our school plays, and this last term I ...”

But the children didn’t want to hear about Fatty’s wonderful doings at school. They had heard about those too often. Larry interrupted him.

“Golly! Now I know why the telegraph-boy praised you up so! Idiot! Calling yourself Mr. Trotteville and waiting for your own autograph! Honestly, Fatty, you’re the limit!”

They all went to Pip’s house and were soon settled in the playroom, examining Fatty’s cap and wig and everything.

“It’s a new disguise I got,” explained Fatty. “I wanted to try it out, of course. Fine wig, isn’t it? It cost an awful lot of money. I daren’t tell Mother. I could hardly wait to play that joke on you. I’m getting awfully good at disguises and acting.”

“You are, Fatty,” said Bets generously. “I would never have known it was you if I hadn’t noticed Buster sitting down looking up at you with that sort of adoring look he keeps for you, Fatty.”

“So that’s how you guessed, you clever girl!” said Fatty. “I call that pretty good, Bets. Honestly, I sometimes think you notice even more than the others!”

Bets glowed, but Pip did not look too pleased. He always thought of Bets as his baby sister, and thought she ought to be kept under, and not made conceited about herself.

“She’ll get swelled head,” he growled. “Any of us could have spotted Buster’s goofy look at you.”

“Ah, but you didn’t,” said Fatty. “I say—isn’t it great that old Clear-Orf thinks I’ve gone to Tippylooloo! That was a bit of luck, his happening to be with you when I cycled up this morning. Didn’t he jump when I let my bike fall on his shin!”

They all stared at Fatty in admiration. The things he did! The things he thought of! Bets giggled.

“Won’t he be surprised when you turn up!” she said. “He’ll think you’ve come back from Tippylooloo already!”

“What a name!” said Daisy. “How in the world did you think of it?”

“Oh, things like that are easy,” said Fatty, modestly. “Poor old Clear-Orf! He just swallowed that telegram whole!”

“Are you going to use that disguise when we solve our next mystery?” asked Bets, eagerly.

“What’s our next mystery?” said Pip. “We haven’t got one! It would be too much to expect one these hols.”

“Well, you never know,” said Fatty. “You simply never know! I bet a mystery will turn up again—and I jolly well hope we’ll be on to it before old Clear-Orf is. Do you remember how I locked him up in the coal-hole in our last mystery?”

Everyone laughed. They remembered how poor old Mr. Goon had staggered up out of the coal-hole, black with coal-dust, his helmet lost, and with a most terrible sneezing cold.

“And we sent him some carbolic soap and found his helmet for him,” remembered Daisy. “And he wasn’t a bit grateful, and never even thanked us. And Pip’s mother said it was rather an insult to send him soap and was cross with us.”

“I’d like another mystery to solve,” said Pip. “We’ll all keep our ears and eyes open. The hols have begun well, with you in your new disguise, Fatty—taking old Goon in as well as us!”

“I must go,” said Fatty, getting up. “I’ve got to slip back and change out of this telegraph-boy’s suit. I’ll just put on my wig and eyebrows again in case I meet Clear-Orf. Well—so long!”