Читать книгу The Mystery of the Hidden House - Enid blyton - Страница 3

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“It’s today that Fatty’s coming back,” said Bets to Pip. “I’m so glad.”

“That’s the sixth time you’ve said that in the last hour,” said Pip. “Can’t you think of something else to say?”

“No, I can’t,” said Bets. “I keep on feeling so glad that we shall soon see Fatty.” She went to the window and looked out. “Oh Pip—here come Larry and Daisy up the drive. I expect they will come to the station to meet Fatty too.”

“Of course they will,” said Pip. “And I bet old Buster will turn up as well! Fancy Fatty going away without Buster-dog!”

Larry and Daisy walked into Pip’s play-room. “Hallo, hallo!” said Larry, flinging his cap on a chair. “Won’t it be nice when Fatty’s back? Nothing ever seems to happen unless he’s around.”

“We aren’t even the Five Find-Outers without him,” said Bets. “Only four—and nothing to find out!”

Larry, Daisy, Fatty, Pip and Bets called themselves the Five Find-Outers (and Dog, because of Buster). They had been very good indeed at solving all kinds of peculiar mysteries in the various holidays when they came back from boarding-school. Mr. Goon, the village policeman, had done his best to solve them too, but somehow the Five Find-Outers always got a little ahead of him, and he found this very annoying indeed.

“Perhaps some mystery will turn up when Fatty comes,” said Pip. “He’s the kind of person that things always happen to. He just can’t help it.”

“Fancy him being away over Christmas!” said Daisy. “It was queer not having Fatty. I’ve kept him his presents.”

“So have I,” said Bets. “I made him a note-book with his full name on the cover in beautiful lettering. Look, here it is—Frederick Algernon Trotteville. Won’t he be pleased?”

“I shouldn’t think he will,” said Pip. “You’ve got it all dirty and messy, carrying it about.”

“I bought him this,” said Daisy, and she fished a box out of her pocket. She opened it and brought out a neat little black beard. “It’s to help him in his disguise.”

“It’s a lovely one,” said Pip, fingering it, and then putting it on his chin. “How do I look?”

“Rather silly,” said Bets, at once. “You look like a boy with a beard—but if Fatty wore it he would look like an elderly man at once. He knows how to screw up his face and bend his shoulders and all that.”

“Yes—he’s really most frightfully clever at disguises,” said Daisy. “Do you remember how he dressed up as Napoleon Bonaparte in the waxwork show last hols?”

They all laughed as they remembered Fatty standing solemnly among the waxworks, as still as they were, looking exactly like one.

“That was a super mystery we solved last hols,” said Pip. “I hope one turns up these hols too. Any one seen Mr. Goon lately?”

“Yes, I saw him riding his bicycle yesterday,” said Bets. “I was just crossing the road when he came round the corner. He almost knocked me down.”

“What did he say? Clear-Orf?” said Pip, with a grin.

Clear-Orf was the nickname that the children gave to Mr. Goon the policeman, because he always shouted that when he saw them or Buster, Fatty’s dog.

“He just scowled like this,” said Bets, and screwed up her face so fiercely that every one laughed.

Just then Mrs. Hilton, Pip’s mother, put her head in at the door. “Aren’t you going to the station to meet Frederick?” she said. “The train is almost due!”

“Gosh! Yes, look at the time!” cried Larry, and they all sprang to their feet “He’ll be there before we are if we don’t hurry.”

Pip and Bets dragged on coats and hats, and the four of them went thundering down the stairs like a herd of elephants. Crash, went the front door, and Mrs. Hilton saw them racing down the drive at top speed.

They got to the station just as the train was pulling in. Bets was terribly excited. She hopped about first on one foot, then on the other, waiting for Fatty’s head to pop out of a carriage window. But it didn’t.

The train stopped. Doors were flung open. People jumped down to the platform, some with bags that porters hurried to take. But there was no sign of Fatty.

“Where is he?” said Bets, looking upset.

“Perhaps he’s in one of his disguises, just to test us,” said Larry suddenly. “I bet that’s it! He’s dressed himself up and we’ve got to see if we can spot him. Quick, look round and see which of the passengers he is.”

“Not that man, he’s too tall. Not that boy, he’s not tall enough. Not that girl, because we know her. Not those two women, they’re friends of mother’s. And there’s Miss Tremble. It’s not her. Golly, which can he be?”

Bets suddenly nudged Larry. “Larry, look—there’s Fatty! See, that fat boy over there, pulling a suit-case out of the very last carriage of all.”

Every one stared at the fat red-faced boy at the end of the train. “Yes! That’s old Fatty! Not such a good disguise as usual, though—I mean, we can easily spot him this time.”

“I know! Let’s pretend we haven’t spotted him!” said Daisy, suddenly. “He’ll be so disgusted with us. We’ll let him walk right by us without saying a word to him. And then we’ll walk behind him up the station slope and call to him.”

“Yes—we’ll do that,” said Larry. “Here he comes. Now—pretend not to know it’s Fatty, every one!”

So when the plump boy walked down the platform towards them, carrying his bag, and a mackintosh over his arm, the others didn’t even smile at him. They looked right through him and beyond him, though Bets badly wanted to run up and take his arm. She was very fond of Fatty.

The boy took no notice of them at all. He marched on, his big boots making a clattering noise on the stone platform. He gave up his ticket at the barrier. Then he stopped outside the station, put down his bag, took out a red-spotted handkerchief and blew his nose very loudly.

“That’s how Mr. Goon blows his!” whispered Bets in delight. “Isn’t Fatty clever? He’s waited for us to go up to him now. Don’t let’s! We’ll walk close behind him, and when we get into the lane, we’ll call to him.”

The boy put his handkerchief away, picked up his bag and set off. The four children followed closely. The boy heard their feet and looked back over his shoulder. He scowled. He put down his bag at the top of the slope to rest his arm.

The four children promptly stopped too. When the boy picked up his bag and walked on again, Larry and the others followed at his heels once more.

The boy looked back again. He faced round, and said, “What’s the big idea? Think you’re my shadows, or something?”

Nobody said anything. They were a little taken-aback. Fatty looked so very spiteful as he spoke. “You clear-orf,” said the boy, swinging round again and going on his way. “I don’t want a pack of silly kids following me all day long.”

“He’s better than ever!” whispered Daisy, as the four of them walked on at the boy’s heels. “He quite scared me for a minute!”

“Let’s tell him we know him,” said Pip. “Come on! We can help to carry his bag then!”

“Hey! Fatty!” called Larry.

“Fatty! We came to meet you!” cried Bets, and caught hold of his arm.

“Hallo, Fatty! Have a good Christmas?” said Daisy and Pip together.

The boy swung round again. He put down his bag. “Now look here, who do you think you’re calling Fatty? Down-right rude you are. If you don’t clear-orf straight away I’ll tell my uncle of you. And he’s a policeman, see?”

Bets laughed. “Oh, Fatty! Stop being somebody else. We know it’s you. Look, I’ve got a note-book for your Christmas present. I made it myself.”

Looking rather dazed, the boy took it. He glanced round at the four children. “What’s all this, that’s what I want to know!” he said. “Following me round—calling me names—you’re all potty!”

“Oh, Fatty, please be yourself,” begged Bets. “It’s a wizard disguise, it really is—but honestly we knew you at once. As soon as you got out of the train, we all said, That’s Fatty!”

“Do you know what I do to people who call me names?” said the boy, looking round fiercely. “I fight them! Any one like to take me on?”

“Don’t be silly, Fatty,” said Larry, with a laugh. “You’re going on too long. Come on, let’s go and find Buster, I bet he’ll be pleased to see you. I thought he’d be at the station to meet you, with your mother.”

He linked the boy’s arm in his, but was shaken off roughly. “You’re potty,” said the boy again, picked up his bag and walked off haughtily. To the surprise of the others he took the wrong road. The way he went led to the village, not to his mother’s house.

They stared after him, shaken and puzzled. A little doubt crept into their minds. They followed the boy at a good distance, watched him go to the village, and then, to their enormous surprise, he turned in at the gate of the little house where Mr. Goon, the policeman, lived.

As he turned in, he saw the four children at a distance. He shook his fist at them and went to knock at the door. It opened and he went in.

“It must be Fatty,” said Pip. “That’s exactly the way he would shake his fist. He’s playing some very deep trick on us indeed. Gosh—what’s he doing going to Mr. Goon’s house?”

“He’s probably playing a trick on Mr. Goon too,” said Larry. “All the same—I feel a bit puzzled. We didn’t get even a wink from him.”

They stood watching Mr. Goon’s house for a little while and then turned to go back. They hadn’t gone very far before there was a delightful barking, and a little black dog flung himself on them, licking, jumping and barking as if he had suddenly gone mad.

“Why, it’s Buster!” said Bets. “Hallo, Buster! You’ve just missed Fatty. What a pity!”

A lady was coming down the road, and the two boys raised their caps to her. It was Fatty’s mother, Mrs. Trotteville. She smiled at the four children.

“I thought you must be somewhere about when Buster suddenly tore off at sixty miles an hour,” she said. “I’m going to meet Frederick at the station. Are you coming too?”

“We’ve already met him,” said Larry, in surprise. “He was in a frightfully good disguise, Mrs. Trotteville. But we spotted him at once. He’s gone to Mr. Goon’s house.”

“To Mr. Goon’s house,” said Mrs. Trotteville in amazement. “But whatever for? He telephoned me to say he had just missed the train, but was getting one fifteen minutes later. Did he catch the first one then? Oh dear, I wish he wouldn’t start putting on disguises and things—and I do hope you won’t all begin getting mixed up in something horrid as soon as Frederick comes home. Why has he gone to Mr. Goon? Surely something odd hasn’t turned up already?”

This was an idea. The children stared at one another. Then they heard the whistle of a train. “I must go,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “If Frederick isn’t on that train, after telephoning me he’d missed the other, I shall be very angry indeed!”

And into the station she went, with all the children following.