Читать книгу The Mystery of the Strange Bundle - Enid blyton - Страница 5

Table of Contents

The two ate their soup in a pleasant silence. It was hot and well-flavoured. Fatty took two pieces of toast with it and crunched them up with appetite. He seemed to be hungrier even than Bets!

A distant bark came to their ears. Fatty listened and frowned. “I do think Mother might have let me have Buster in today,” he said. “He’d be good for me.”

“You didn’t want him in yesterday,” said Bets, spooning up the last of her soup. “You said his bark would drive you mad.”

“Did I really?” said Fatty in surprise. “Fancy my thinking old Buster’s bark would ever drive me mad. I think he’s got a very nice bark—not too yappy and not too woofy—a proper Scottie bark. I wish you’d ask Mother if I could have him in here this afternoon, Bets. She might do it if you asked her.”

“All right. I’ll ask her,” said Bets, getting up to take the tray. “But I bet she won’t let him get on the bed, Fatty. Do you really want some chicken now? I feel a bit full up already.”

“Yes. And plenty of bread sauce,” said Fatty. “And some more toast. That soup’s made me feel warm and comfortable, but it hasn’t done much else. Sure you don’t want me to carry the tray for you, Bets?”

“Idiot,” said Bets happily, and walked out with the tray. Mrs. Trotteville was surprised to hear that Fatty really wanted chicken. She filled a plate for him and one for Bets. “The pudding is stewed apple and rice pudding,” she said. “He said he wanted two helpings, but I’m sure he won’t want even one. There—can you manage, Bets?”

Bets arrived in the bedroom with the tray, and put it down by Fatty’s bed. He eyed it with satisfaction. “I’d better get on to that before my appetite fades away,” he said, and began to tuck in. Yes, certainly Fatty was on the mend. Nobody could eat like that if they were feeling at all ill!

He slowed down a bit before he reached the end of the chicken and vegetables. “What’s the pudding?” he asked Bets.

“Stewed apple and rice,” said Bets. Fatty made a face.

“Pooh! What a pudding to plan for some one in bed. It’s bad enough to be faced with that when you’re up and about. I shan’t have any.”

“I suppose you’re pretending you would have had two enormous helpings if it had been treacle pudding?” suggested Bets, slyly. “You’re a fibber, Fatty. You can’t eat another thing! Nor can I, as a matter of fact. I’ll take this tray down now.”

“Don’t forget to ask Mother if Buster can come up this afternoon,” Fatty called to her.

Bets delivered the tray, broke the news about the lack of appetite for apples and rice, and asked about Buster.

“Well,” said Mrs. Trotteville, considering the matter, “well, I wouldn’t mind if I thought Frederick would keep quiet, and not get excited with Buster tearing all over the place. Oh, and Bets, your mother said you could stay on to tea if you like. She says Pip has got some one coming to see him this afternoon, and it would be good for you to have a change and be with Frederick for a bit. Would you like to?”

“Oh yes,” said Bets. “But doesn’t Fatty rest a bit in the afternoon? I mean—I had to sleep after my dinner when I had ‘flu’.”

“Yes, certainly he must,” said Mrs. Trotteville. “But you needn’t stay with him then. You can come down here and have a book to read and then go back again when he is awake. He can bang on the floor or ring the bell when he has had enough sleep. And if he still wants Buster, you can take him up then.”

“Oh, good!” said Bets. “I’ll just go out into the kitchen and have a word with old Buster, Mrs. Trotteville. He must be missing us all so!”

Buster gave her a frantic welcome. He tore round her on his short legs, rolled over, bounced up again, and altogether behaved as if he was about six months old. He barked non-stop, and the two maids sitting with their cups of tea put their hands up to their ears.

“He’s going upstairs to his master this afternoon,” said Bets. “Did you hear that, Buster! Going to master!”

Buster thought that Bets meant he was going that very minute. He flung himself at the closed door, and barked madly. Bets laughed. “I’ll come and fetch you later on,” she said. “In about an hour or so, Buster.”

She managed to slide out of the door before Buster could squeeze out too. She left him barking crossly. What! She had gone to see his beloved master, and not taken him, after all her promises? Wuff, wuff, wuff! Grrrrrrrr!

Bets went back upstairs to tell Fatty the good news. “I’ll settle you down if you like,” she said to him. “Then you can go to sleep, and when you wake up, bang on the floor with this stick and I’ll come up with Buster. I’m to stay to tea, so we’ve plenty of time to talk and play games.”

“Good,” said Fatty, pleased. He was now feeling sleepy and he snuggled down. “But don’t go, Bets. There’s a nice comfy chair over there, look—and you can borrow one of my Sherlock Holmes stories if you like. There’s a pile on that table.”

“Your mother said I was to go downstairs and read,” said Bets. “I’d better go.”

“No, don’t,” said Fatty. “I don’t like being left alone. Stay with me, Bets.”

“Don’t be silly! You don’t care tuppence about being alone—and you’ll be asleep in a few moments!” said Bets, with a laugh.

“Bets,” said Fatty suddenly, in a voice that made her look across at him in surprise. “Bets, you must stay with me! Because of the Voices!”

Bets gaped at him. Voices! Whatever did Fatty mean?

“What Voices?” she said.

“I don’t know,” said Fatty, still very mysterious. “Sometimes it’s a duck, I think. And other times it’s a hen. And once it was a dog whining.”

Bets was amazed. “What—here in your bedroom?” she asked, disbelievingly. “Fatty, you must have had a very high temperature to think you heard Voices.”

“I tell you, there are Voices in this bedroom when I’m all alone,” said Fatty, leaning up on one elbow. He looked very earnest. “There’s a silly old man too, who keeps asking for a cigarette. Bets, do stay with me. If you hear the Voices we could try and find out what they are. Do stay here and sit in that chair. But don’t you say a word to Mother, will you? She’ll think I’ve got a temperature or something again.”

“All right. I’ll stay,” said Bets, puzzled and disbelieving. “But I believe you’re making it all up, Fatty, just to make me stay here with you. You shouldn’t do that.”

“Bets, as sure as I lie here, there have been Voices in my room,” said Fatty. “Will you believe me, if you hear them? See that duck on the mantelpiece—the china one—well, I’ve heard it quacking. And see that dog in the picture? He barks and whines!”

“You lie down, Fatty,” said Bets, and she pushed him down. “You’re dreaming. Or just being silly. I’m going to sit in that chair and read Sherlock Holmes. Don’t say another word, or we’ll have your mother up here.”

Fatty lay down, Bets sat in the chair, wondering why Fatty spoke so much about Voices. She decided that he must have had such a high temperature that he had wandered a little in his mind and heard voices that were not really there. She opened her book and yawned.

Bets fell asleep, and so did Fatty. Except for a log falling in the grate, where a bright fire was burning, there was nothing to be heard. Buster was snoozing in the kitchen, keeping one eye open for the big cat. The cat had to keep a certain distance. One paw over the line and Buster flew at her!

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked on. Half-past two. Three o’clock. It was raining outside, and the afternoon was dark. It would have been too dark for Bets to read if she had been awake. Half-past three. Both Fatty and Bets were perfectly still, and the fire grew rather low.

Then Bets woke up with a jump. She sat up, wondering where she was. Of course—she was in the big chair in Fatty’s bedroom! How low the fire was! Fatty must still be asleep, because he hadn’t put on his light, and the room was really very dark.

“Quark, quark, quark!”

Bets almost jumped out of her skin. She gazed incredulously at the big china duck on the mantelpiece. Did the quacking come from there? Her heart began to beat fast. Was this one of Fatty’s “Voices”? She stared at the duck and thought she saw it move.

“Quark, quark, quark!” There it was again—a rather deep quack, just like the noise made by the drakes on the pond. Bets couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Cluck, cuck-cuk-cuk-cuk-cuk-cuk!”

Bets was glued to her chair. There was a hen clucking now—a hen in the bedroom! But how! Why? And now there was a dog whining softly!

She glanced at the picture of the dog but could hardly see it in the darkness. It whined again and gave a little yap.

And then a quavery old voice came from the wardrobe in the far corner.

“A cigarette, please, sir. Just a cigarette!”

“Oh, dear,” said Bets in fright. “Fatty, Fatty, wake up. Your Voices are here!”

There was a click as Fatty suddenly switched on his bedside light. He sat up in bed, looking at Bets. “Did you hear them too?” he said. “Hark—the old man is beginning again.” He pointed over to the wardrobe. Bets looked across at once.

“A cigarette, please, sir. Just a cigarette!”

“I don’t like it,” said Bets, and she rushed over to Fatty. “I’m frightened. Fatty, what is it?”

“Quark, quark, quark!”

“Cluck, cuk-cuk-cuk-cuk-cuk!”

“Moo-oo-oo-oo!”

“Oh, Fatty, Fatty, what is it?” wept Bets, and covered her face and ears. “Fatty, come out of this room. I’m frightened!”

“Oh, Bets, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

“Oh, Bets, don’t cry! I didn’t mean to make you cry,” said Fatty, and put an arm round the scared little girl. “I thought you’d guess what it was at once! You are a little silly, Bets, not to guess.”

“Guess what?” asked Bets, astonished. She looked up into Fatty’s smiling face. “Fatty! It’s not just a trick you’re doing, is it? What is it?”

“It’s a bit of a secret, Bets,” said Fatty, putting his mouth to her ear. “I’m practising to be a ventriloquist, that’s all. Did you really guess?”