Читать книгу The Mystery of the Hidden House - Enid blyton - Страница 4

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The train drew in. People leapt out—and Bets suddenly gave a shriek that made every one jump in fright.

“There is Fatty! Look, look! And he isn’t in disguise either. Fatty, Fatty!”

Fatty swung little Bets off the ground as she and Buster flung themselves on him. He grinned all over his good-natured face. He kissed his mother and beamed round at every one. “Nice of you to come and meet me. Gosh, Buster, you’ve made a hole in my trousers. Stop it!”

Fatty swung little Bets off the ground as she and Buster flung themselves on him.

Mrs. Trotteville was very pleased to see Fatty, but she looked extremely puzzled. “The children said they had already met you once—in some disguise or other,” she said.

Fatty was astonished. He turned to Larry. “What do you mean? I haven’t arrived till now!”

The four children looked very foolish. They remembered all they had said to the other boy. Was it possible that it hadn’t been Fatty after all—well, it couldn’t have been of course, because here was Fatty, arriving on the next train. He couldn’t possibly be on two trains at once.

“We’ve made complete idiots of ourselves,” said Larry, going red. “You see ...”

“Do you mind walking out of the station before the porters think we are waiting for the next train?” said Mrs. Trotteville. “We’re the last on the platform as it is.”

“Come on,” said Fatty, and he and Larry set off with his bag between them. “We can talk as we go.”

Bets took his mackintosh. Pip took a smaller bag and Daisy took a parcel of magazines. They were all extremely glad to see the real Fatty, to hear his determined voice, and see his broad grin.

“You see,” began Larry again, “we didn’t know you’d missed the first train so we came down to meet you—and we thought you might be in disguise—so when a plumpish boy got off the train, we thought he was you!”

“And we didn’t say anything at first, just to puzzle you, as we thought,” said Pip. “We followed this boy out of the station and he was frightfully fed up with us.”

“And then we called to him, and said ‘Fatty!’ ” said Bets. “And you see, he was fat—and he swung round and said he fought people who called him rude names.”

“Golly! I wonder he didn’t set on you all!” said Fatty. “You might have known I wouldn’t say things like that to you, even if I was disguised. Where does he live?”

“He went to Mr. Goon’s house,” said Daisy. “He said Old Clear-Orf was his uncle.”

“Gracious! You’ve put your foot in it properly!” said Fatty. “Goon has got a nephew—and I bet he’s asked him to stay with him. Won’t he be wild when he knows how you greeted him!”

“It’s a great pity,” said Mrs. Trotteville, who had been listening to all this with astonishment and dismay. “He must have thought you were very rude. Now Mr. Goon will probably complain about the behaviour of you children again.”

“But, Mother—can’t you see that ...” began Fatty.

“Don’t begin to argue, please, Frederick,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “It seems to me that you will have to go and explain to Mr. Goon that the others thought his nephew was you.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Fatty in a meek voice.

“And on no account must you start a feud against this boy,” went on Mrs. Trotteville.

“No, Mother,” said Fatty meekly.

“I do want you to keep out of any mysteries or problems these holidays,” said Mrs. Trotteville.

“Yes, Mother,” said Fatty. Mrs. Trotteville heard a suppressed giggle from Bets and Daisy. They knew perfectly well that Fatty didn’t mean a word he was saying. Who could keep him out of a mystery if he even so much as smelt one? Who could imagine that he would go and explain anything to Mr. Goon?

“Don’t say ‘Yes, Mother,’ and ‘No, Mother’ like that unless you mean it,” said Mrs. Trotteville, wishing she didn’t feel annoyed with Fatty almost as soon as she had met him.

“No, Mother. I mean, yes, Mother,” said Fatty. “Well—I mean whatever you want me to say, Mother. Can the others come to tea?”

“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “I want to have a little chat with you and hear all your news—and then you have your bag to unpack—and soon your father will be home, and ...”

“Yes, Mother,” said Fatty, hastily. “Well, can the others come round afterwards? I haven’t seen them at all these hols. I’ve got presents for them. I didn’t send them any at Christmas.”

The mention of presents suddenly made Bets remember that she had given her precious note-book to the fat boy. She bit her lip in horror. Gracious! He had put it into his pocket! She hadn’t asked for it back, because she had been so scared when he had offered to fight them all, that she had forgotten all about the note-book.

“I gave that boy the present I had made for you,” she said, in a rather shaky voice. “It was a note-book with your name on the front.”

“Just what I want!” said Fatty, cheerfully, and gave Bets a squeeze. “I’ll get it back from that boy, don’t you worry!”

“Now, just remember what I say,” warned Mrs. Trotteville, as they came to her gate. “There’s to be no silly feud with that boy. He might be very nice.”

Every one looked doubtful. They were as certain as they could be that any nephew of Mr. Goon’s must be as awful as the policeman himself. Buster barked loudly, and Bets felt sure he must be agreeing with them in his doggy language.

“Mother, you haven’t said if the others can come round this evening,” said Fatty, as they went in at the gate.

“No. Not this evening,” said Mrs. Trotteville, much to everyone’s disappointment. “You can meet them tomorrow. Good-bye, children. Give my love to your mothers.”

Fatty and Buster disappeared up the path with Mrs. Trotteville. The others outside the gate looked gloomily at one another and then walked slowly down the road.

“She might have let us have just a little chat with Fatty,” said Larry.

“We made an awful noise last time we went to Fatty’s,” said Bets, remembering. “We thought Mrs. Trotteville was out, do you remember—and we played a dreadful game Fatty made up, called Elephant-Hunting ...”

“And Mrs. Trotteville was in all the time and we never heard her yelling at us to stop because we were making such a row,” said Pip. “That was a good game. We must remember that.”

“I say, do you think that the boy was Mr. Goon’s nephew?” said Daisy. “If he tells Mr. Goon all we did we’ll get a few more black marks from him!”

“He’ll know who we are,” said Bets, dolefully. “That boy’s got the note-book I made—and there’s Fatty’s name on it. And, oh dear, inside I’ve printed in my best printing, headings to some of the pages. I’ve printed ‘CLUES,’ ‘SUSPECTS,’ and things like that. So Mr. Goon will know we’re looking out for another mystery.”

“Well, silly, what does that matter?” demanded Pip. “Let him think what he likes!”

“She’s always so scared of Old Clear-Orf,” said Daisy. “I’m not! We’re much cleverer than he is. We’ve solved mysteries that he hasn’t even been able to begin solving.”

“I hope Mr. Goon won’t come and complain to our parents about our behaviour to that boy,” said Pip. “Honestly, we must have seemed a bit dotty to him. Goon will probably think we did it all on purpose—made a set at the boy just because he was his nephew.”

Pip’s fear of being complained about was very real. He had strict parents who had very strong ideas about good and bad behaviour. Larry and Daisy’s parents were not so strict and Fatty’s rarely bothered about him so long as he was polite and good mannered.

But Pip had had some angry tickings-off from his father and two or three canings, and he and Bets were always afraid of Mr. Goon coming to complain. So, when they arrived home that afternoon to tea, they were horrified to hear from their maid, Lorna, that a Mr. Goon had been ringing up their mother ten minutes before.

“I hope as how you haven’t got into mischief,” said Lorna, who liked the children. “He says he’s coming to see your Ma tonight. She’s out to tea now. I thought I’d just warn you in case you’ve gone and got yourselves into trouble.”

“Thank you awfully, Lorna,” said Pip and went to have a gloomy tea in the play-room alone with Bets, who also looked extremely down in the dumps. How could they have thought that boy was Fatty? Now that she came to think of it Bets could quite clearly see that the boy was coarse and lumpish—not even Fatty could look like that!

The two children decided to warn Larry and Daisy, so they rang them up.

“Gosh!” said Larry. “Fancy listening to tales from that clod of a nephew about us! I don’t expect my mother will pay much attention to Mr. Goon—but yours will! Horrid old man. Cheer up. We’ll meet tomorrow and discuss it all.”

Pip and Bets waited for their mother to come in. Thank goodness their father was not with her. They went down to greet her.

“Mother,” said Pip, “We—er—we want to tell you something. Er—you see ...”

“Now, what mischief have you got into?” said Mrs. Hilton, impatiently. “Have you broken something? Tell me without all this humming and hawing.”

“No. We haven’t broken anything,” said Bets. “But you see, we went to meet Fatty at the station ...”

“And there was a fat boy we thought was Fatty in one of his disguises,” went on Pip, “so we followed him up the road, pretending not to know him ...”

“And then we called out ‘Fatty’ to him, and told him we knew him—and he was angry, and ...”

“And what you mean is, you made a silly mistake and called a strange boy Fatty, and he was annoyed,” said Mrs. Hilton, making an impatient tapping noise on the table.

“Why must you do idiotic things? Well, I suppose you apologized, so there’s not much harm done.”

“We didn’t actually apologize,” said Pip. “We really thought he was Fatty. But he wasn’t. He was Mr. Goon’s nephew.”

Mrs. Hilton looked really annoyed. “And now I suppose I shall have that policeman here complaining about you again. Well, you know what your father said last time, Pip—he said ...”

The door opened and Lorna came in. “Please, Madam, there’s Mr. Goon wanting to see you. Shall I show him in?”

Before Mrs. Hilton could say yes or no, the two children had opened the French windows that led to the garden and had shot out into the darkness. Pip wished he hadn’t gone, as soon as he was out there, but Bets had clutched him so desperately that he had shot off with her. A great draught of icy air blew into the sitting-room behind them.

Mrs. Hilton closed the garden door, looking cross. Mr. Goon came into the room, walking slowly and pompously. He thought that Mr. and Mrs. Hilton were proper parents—they listened to him seriously when he made complaints. Well, he was going to enjoy himself now!

“Sit down, Mr. Goon,” said Mrs. Hilton, trying to be polite. “What can I do for you?”